*


    Harvey Butchart?s Hiking Log, Volume 1

    1945 - July 12, 1964

*

*Table of contents <47688.htm> | Volume 1 | Volume 2 <47690.htm> |
Volume 3 <47691.htm> | Volume 4 <47692.htm> | Index <47693.htm>*

*/To conduct a full-text search of this volume, use the Find in Page
Command (Control-F or under "Edit" in your browser's menu). For a
complete chronological listing of trails and locations, please see Table
of contents <47688.htm>. For alphabetical listing of trails and
locations, please see Index <47693.htm>. /*

*Butchart annotated a series of hiking maps, including western and
eastern half of the Grand Canyon
<http://www2.nau.edu/~libei-p/scadb/recdisplay.cfm?control_num=11524>
and others from throughout the Grand Canyon region
<http://www2.nau.edu/~libei-p/scadb/recdisplay.cfm?control_num=11523>
that are also available.*

*Wayne Tomasi, a Grand Canyon hiking enthusiast, prepared the following
version of Dr. Harvey Butchart's hiking log.   Wayne spent hundreds of
hours reading, typing, and editing the hiking logs housed at the
Northern Arizona University Cline Library.  This edited version of the
Butchart hiking logs includes only hikes in the area that Harvey and
Wayne mutually agreed to call Grand Canyon Country.  This Country
includes the Grand Canyon, Marble Canyon, the Little Colorado River
Gorge, the Paria River Gorge and Plateau, Lake Powell, and Lake Mead. 
Wayne notes that his transcription of Butchart?s logs begins with
Harvey?s brief introduction of backpacking.  Harvey's description of
Little Colorado River exploration has been moved to the beginning. 
Finally, a section of Butchart?s earliest logs, written by Harvey from
memory, are segregated under a heading of "Protologs." *

*Use of the Butchart logs is restricted to non-commercial use only.  Any
reproduction and/or distribution of the logs (either the original
Butchart logs or Wayne Tomasi's edited version) requires permission of
the NAU Cline Library. *

*Copyright Arizona Board of Regents.  All rights reserved. *

**

*INTRODUCTION*

    In 1945, I moved with my family to Flagstaff, Arizona where I was to
    teach mathematics at Arizona State College. Soon after our arrival,
    we spent a day at the Grand Canyon and came away saturated with its
    grandeur. On the way home, we noticed the little sign, Viewpoint 1/4
    mile. We had seen enough for one day and assumed that the view would
    only be an anticlimax, but we parked the car and walked out to the
    point overlooking the Little Colorado River Gorge. The sight below
    was anything but an anticlimax. This gorge was different from
    anything we had seen. At first you may wonder whether there is a
    bottom below those walls and towers. Of course there is, but down
    there it seems like a different world. Could a walker follow that
    sandy riverbed? Would he meet some impassable waterfall or go crazy
    hemmed in by prison-like walls for so many miles? This view became a
    must for our out-of-state visitors.

    Our first vacations in the west were family affairs. We hit all the
    show places: Bryce, Zion, the Grand Canyon's North Rim, and Oak
    Creek Canyon. We went on ambitious hikes to Supai, Phantom Ranch,
    and Rainbow Bridge. But as my wife and two children developed other
    interests, I began to go exploring in the Grand Canyon by myself or
    with a few college boys. Anything I heard about the Canyon from
    other hikers became a lure for me. My firsthand knowledge of Grand
    Canyon National Park grew.

           J. Harvey Butchart

*
Backpacking in the Grand Canyon

*

The hiker doesn't stand for very long on the rim of the Grand Canyon.
After he has tested his climbing legs on the 30 miles or so of mule
trails, he may want to get away from the dust and tourists to see for
himself some of the secondary attractions such as the high fall in Clear
Creek, the mines and caves below Grandview Point, Hermit Rapids, or the
Thunder River area. Joseph Wampler's little book is a guide to
activities for a couple of fascinating weeks at Havasu Canyon. There is
a challenging chapter in Sunset magazine's Discovery Trips in Arizona.
It characterizes the Grand Canyon as an expanding wilderness contrasting
the present almost-absolute solitudes off the beaten trails with the
hey-day around the turn of the century when mines were being worked,
guides were leading tourists to gardens and orchards by the river, horse
thieves were driving stolen stock across a ford in the river, and as a
sideline a lone miner was distilling his own moonshine. The writer also
has a few words of wisdom about the danger of dehydration, a far more
present hazard in the summer than the dramatic trail-side cliffs and
very scarce rattlesnakes. Before one ventures into areas where he may
well be the only visitor for years, he should test his hiking strength
in 100 degree plus heat. One can be overtaken by a feeling of weakness
even when he drinks all the water he wants.

After serving the sort of apprenticeship described above, I was caught
up by the canyon. The faint dotted lines on the classic Matthes-Evans
map were a challenge for me to see all that white men have ever seen.
The chapters in McKee's /Inverted Mountains/ concerning the old trails
became my bible and the early books by G. W. James gave me leads for
plenty of hikes.

Identification of pictures taken before the naming of canyon localities
was the grist for many a hike. One trail to the river, identified by
pictures taken both upstream and down, was completely lost and I
rediscovered it after half a dozen tries spread over several years. Otis
Marston of Berkeley briefed me on a number of canyon puzzles. He
suggested locating the lost Hopi Salt Mine, the route used by Harry
McDonald from the Walhalla Plateau to his mines at the mouth of Lava
(Chuar) Creek, a suspected Indian trail from Unkar Rapid to the south
rim, a climber's route used by shipwrecked river runners up to the south
rim between the Boucher and Bass Trails. These objectives offered a
consistent program of exploration. Finding the way to the summits of
named peaks and mesas was another objective. Breaks in the great Redwall
Limestone are rare enough to make finding them a satisfaction. The Grand
Canyon is less than a two hour drive from my home in Flagstaff, Arizona
and yet the details, natural bridges, Indian ruins, caves, and climbers'
routes seem as little known as if they were in some remote area of
Alaska. Possibly the most serious omission on the standard map was the
location of reliable water sources. Some of the springs which were
reliable at the turn of the century have since gone dry, but there are
dozens of seeps that were never charted.

Unless you have very precise information from experienced canyoneers,
and there are only a half dozen or so who have hiked widely in the
remote areas, you should learn the canyon in short stabs. You should
never be more than half your canteen away from a known water supply, and
you should remember that feet blister when the socks are continuously
wet with perspiration. You will need protection for your head even if it
is only a handkerchief with the corners knotted. Most climbs involve
walking on loose rockslides so one should remember the danger of rolling
rocks on companions below. Travel with as light a pack as possible so
you can cover greater distances between water holes. For summer nights
with a temperature minimum of 70 degrees, a single cotton blanket is
more comfortable than a too warm sleeping bag.

During the past 10 years, I have averaged about 30 days a year
backpacking through the remote areas of Grand Canyon National Park. I
started with the objective of going wherever I knew that anyone had been
without using a rope. Otis Marston, who practically retired from
business to become the greatest collector of Colorado River lore,
suggested numerous projects, and Merrel Clubb, the authority on Beowolf
at the University of Kansas, got me started trying to climb as many of
the named summits as I could. Whenever I could find a good teammate, I
would take him along, but no companion is better than one who is
accident prone or who can't keep a fair pace. About half my treks have
been solo.

One of my most ambitious hikes was a solo trip lasting six and a half
days. I left Lipan Point and started down the familiar Tanner Trail to
the river. After 50 years of neglect, it was surprisingly distinct.
There are a few places where it is marred by rockslides, and there is at
least one place where it is easy to lose. There is no water near the
trail until you reach the river after the 10 rough miles. Four hikers
have died in the park during the past ten years, and for some reason
this trail accounted for all four. A seasonal park ranger took a solo
hike and his body was found at the base of a 100 foot cliff. Whether he
got too close in the dark or became irrational from thirst is not known.
The next two victims were clearly cases of dehydration. A man led two
teenage boys down to the river without adequate canteens. On the return,
they were benighted and missed the trail up the only break in the
Redwall. By morning they were so thirsty that they knew their lives
depended on reaching the river. This would have been easy if they had
started back to the water as soon as they missed the trail to the rim,
but the man had become irrational by the time he and the boys came to an
80 foot fall in the bed of a dry wash. He insisted that they could all
climb down the vertical wall if they would take off their shoes, socks,
and shirts. After throwing the apparel to the bottom, the man started
down. After going only a few feet below the rim, he fell, turning over
three times in the air. One of the boys became hysterical and wanted to
jump after him. The younger and heavier boy led him back up the wash and
out to the west where they soon found a safe way to the bottom. They
were now walking barefoot on the 140 degree rocks of the dry wash, but
they didn't stop to climb a few yards to get their shoes. It was a
little over an hour of normal walking to the river from here, but the
lighter boy never made it. About half way there, he sat down in the
searing heat and didn't respond when the other suggested that they
should go o. After his companion left, he staggered in a couple of
circles and died.

All three thought they knew something about desert survival. They had
thought they could get enough water from cutting into barrel cactus and
they tried to eat raw mesquite beans instead of bringing food along.
Next the sole survivor further misused wilderness lore. When no help
came by noon of the third day, he followed the river which is sure to
lead one to civilization. He even used some logs for a raft and went
downriver eight miles to Hance Rapid before he realized he would surely
drown if he persisted. A helicopter and a crew of men on foot searched
Tanner Wash and the surrounding area from Monday until Friday. When hope
was gone, the chopper made one last sweep farther downriver than before
and picked him up. He was 30 pounds lighter, but he recovered rapidly.

The fourth victim of the summer heat at the bottom of the Tanner Trail
was an elderly Navaho Indian. He had come down ostensibly to gather
herbs, but he may have just been tired of living. He was carrying no
canteen and died about a mile from the river.

My thoughts as I hurried along with food for a week were far from such
disasters. I was interested in seeing the marvelous scenery and tracing
the old Horsethief Trail to the north rim. I doubt whether a dozen
people use the Tanner Trail in a year, but I was intrigued by fresh
footprints ahead of me. At the river I met the makers and we visited for
an hour before they started back and I went on. I soon crossed the river
by lying prone on an inflated air mattress, paddling with my hands. The
knapsack stays up out of the water, but I used a plastic sheet as a
liner to keep the contents dry in the event that I should roll off the
mattress. I had previously followed the east bank of the river to the
mouth of Lava (Chuar) Creek, but now I wanted to get to the upper part
of Lava Creek by a more direct but uncertain route, up Basalt Creek. The
map showed a spring in the east arm, but when I reached the place there
was only a few cupfuls of water there that were as warm as you would
like in a bathtub.

Furthermore, it tasted like a strong dose of Epsom Salts. It was already
dusk when I reached the divide between Basalt and Lava Creeks. I had
enough light left to find a safe way down through the Tapeats cliff and
was encouraged to hear the gurgles of the little stream in the bottom of
Lava as I approached in the dark.

A major project for the trip was to see whether I could find a route up
to a break I had previously discovered in the rim of the Walhalla
Plateau. On a visit to Cape Final, I had picked out a likely place in
the ravine just west of Hubbell Butte. On Saturday I started out taking
only a lunch and my canteen. Near the turn where the main arm goes north
there's an overhang in the Tapeats on the north side of the stream.
Thirty years before a party of rangers had reported finding Indian ruins
there, so I went up to investigate. Under the broad ceiling there had
been a cluster of six rooms and one of them was three-fourths intact.
There are pictographs on the rock above. The canyon country seems to
have had many inhabitants around 1100 ad. How they made a living in this
beautiful desert is anyone's guess. Midget corncobs have been found in
many places. There was a previous occupation, known only from peculiar
split twig figurines deposited in certain caves, that dates back to 1500
B.C.

Beyond the ruin the streambed is mostly dry, but at one place there is a
pretty dripping spring festooned with maidenhair fern. The ravine coming
down west of Hubbell Butte is not far beyond. The climb to the top of
the Redwall was quite routine except for a place in a lower shale cliff
where I had to backtrack to find the weakness. This was hardly the old
burro trail where McDonald came down from the rim. The Supai is the next
formation above the Redwall Limestone. I went southwest to get into the
main arm of Lava Canyon and then turned north, climbing breaks in the
Supai as I came to them. Eventually I was above it and on the Hermit
Shale. I made a loop around the base of a small pinnacle of the still
higher Coconino Sandstone. Time was running out, but this level would
give easy access to my break in the rim and I turned back with a sense
of accomplishment. Walking through manzanita along the broken ledges
takes all of one's attention, but at one point I happened to stop for a
moment. I saw something that had been completely missed before: a fine
natural bridge on the other side of the canyon. I estimated that it was
about two-thirds as large as the one Senator Goldwater had discovered
from the air nine years before. Sunday morning was spent visiting the
bridge from below and photographing it from across the canyon on its
level, the lowest fourth of the Redwall. At the end of the trip, I
reported it proudly to the Park Service. I was deflated when I learned
that it had been previously sighted from the air by the charter pilot,
James Hartman, but mine were the first and only pictures of it from the
ground.

This north-south inner valley of Lava Creek, under the rim from Point
Atoka to Cape Final, has a special fascination for me. A double fault or
graben parallels the rim. There are several small springs and groves of
small trees where the birds seem to congregate on their spring
migrations. It is not surprising that I returned to this valley
repeatedly. I learned that one can come down the deer trail from a place
along the rim west of Point Atoka, follow the Hermit Shale bench, and
then trace out a route directly into the north arm of Lava Creek from
the saddle separating this valley from Kwagunt Creek to the north. The
dry fall at the bottom of the Redwall bars further progress down the
wash, but one can go to either side and reach the bottom. On another
occasion, I found a fine route over the saddle to the south into the
Unkar drainage. With or without a companion, I have climbed Juno and
Jupiter Temples and rappelled down the lowest part of the Coconino
Sandstone to take a short cut off Cape Final. We also went up Hubbell
Butte and walked across the top of Poston Butte, the only one of all
these which was already capped with a cairn. I conjectured that the
solitary miner, Harry McDonald, went by here leading his burros from the
rim to the bed of Lava Creek. We found that we could walk down the
Redwall directly north of the ruin more easily than we could get through
the Tapeats directly up from it. A still easier way to get down the
Redwall is to go north and then come around below Point Chiavria. I have
found a second way to get through the Tapeats cliff to the east of the
ruin, but a still easier way that I noticed from a distance between the
two I have used, was probably the burro route. I should now go back and
connect in one passage from the bed of Lava to the north rim; the route
that I think McDonald used for his burros.

After the half-day for photographing Hartman's Bridge, I headed down
Lava with my pack for the beginning of the Butte Fault Trail. On this
occasion, I hopped back and forth across the small flow in the bed.
There is a substantial spring just below the ruin which in cool weather
keeps water running all the way to the river. During August the
evaporation is such that less and less water runs on the surface until
there is only water standing in potholes for the last two miles above
the river. On another trek I tried going up on a terrace on the south
side of the stream. Right where it topped out there was an Indian ruin,
and I saw another farther along. Potsherds at these sites indicate an
occupation of over 100 years around 1000 ad. Progress is faster on the
relatively unobstructed terrace. One wonders how much more humid a
climate was necessary to allow dry farming here. The terrace finally
gave out and I had to follow the stream. With Marston's information as a
guide, I had no difficulty in noting a large metal corn grinder fastened
to a cottonwood stump. The bootlegger had cut off the living tree and
then fastened the mill to the level wood. Even in 1928 when a ranger
party first reported this, four new saplings have grown around the
grinder. They now have diameters of approximately six inches. A tree
ring count would probably prove this still quite a bit older than the
prohibition era. Pictures taken 12 years ago show the flywheel intact,
but now part of it is broken and rocks and clay are caught in the
machine. Some superflood of the future may take the whole tree. Twenty
yards up a side ravine there is a small, cool spring near which is the
rock platform for the still itself. A few barrel staves and hoops are
still marking this spot. This old sign of private enterprise is only
about two hours walk from the river and has been visited by people who
were boating down the Colorado River.

Beginning at Lava Creek about a mile up from the river, there is a great
fault which roughly parallels the Colorado River. It forms a rough route
for crossing several side canyons: Carbon, 60 Mile, Awatubi, Malgosa,
and then over to Nankoweap. Between it and the river there are several
great buttes in a rough north-south line: Temple, Chuar, Kwagunt, and
Nankoweap Mesa. These give the name to the route, the Butte Fault Trail.
It has been used by prehistoric Indians, prospectors, horse thieves, and
geologists. There are two facts about a route which arouse my interest.
One is that someone has done it before and the other is that the route
has never been used extensively. This route was my main objective for
the trip. The geologist and authority on trails, E. D. McKee, had swum
across the Colorado and had walked some distance up Lava Creek and he
had been down with a pack trip into Nankoweap basin at the north end of
the fault, but he had not covered the Fault Trail. The horse thieves
crossed the canyon by coming down from the south rim on the Tanner
Trail, then along the east side of the Colorado River to a low water
ford, up Lava Creek to the Butte Fault, over to Nankoweap Creek, and
then up the Nankoweap Trail to the north rim. On Sunday night I slept by
Lava Creek where the fault starts. No water was running in the creek but
I could fill my canteen from a pool that was several inches deep. About
3:00 a.m., I was awakened by the sound of rushing water in the brook. It
had taken this long for the spring water miles upstream to saturate the
bed dried up by the August sun. For streams, as well as men, the same
amount of water goes farther at night.

On Monday morning I started early with my gallon canteen almost full. I
knew I would find water in Kwagunt Creek or at the worst, I could walk
down it two miles to the Colorado River. As I read the map, I wouldn't
be able to reach the river before then. There was a slight possibility
of some water before Kwagunt, but I didn't count on it. As it turned
out, there was no water before Kwagunt and I was wishing that I had
started with a full gallon. I found myself rationing my water and still
having to walk for at least an hour with an empty canteen. The
scientists say that a man can lose 5% of his body weight from
perspiration before he is in trouble. Camels and burros can lose up to
25% of their weight and drink back the lost water in a matter of minutes
with no ill effects. Today I climbed up 1000 feet and then went down
into the next valley about four times. There were clouds and a threat of
rain each afternoon, but there was no water at all for the eight hours
between Lava and Kwagunt Canyons and the sun burned down all day.

A Note About Sleeping - One thing to remember is that summer nights in
the Grand Canyon can be insufferably warm inside an ordinary sleeping
bag. A pitiful sight is a string of boy scouts toiling up the Bright
Angel Trail in their heavy uniforms wearing neckerchiefs and carrying
packs overstuffed with heavy sleeping bags. A corner usually protrudes
and you can see that they are brand new. It took me a few summers to
learn that a single blanket is about right. On the six nights of the
Butte Fault Trek described previously, one blanket was too cool for only
an hour or two one morning and my plastic sheet, which was my only
protection, was added reinforcement. The tenderfoot may also wonder
about rattlesnakes and mountain lions. A more important hazard would be
the night prowling rodents. At the camp on lower Lava, I kept hearing
rustling sounds around my pack during the night. After feeble attempts
to get it away from the mice, I carried my pack far enough away from my
bed so that I wouldn't hear the pests. Strangely enough, I didn't notice
any food missing in the morning.

In the arm of Carbon Creek that follows the fault, there are a few
seeps. The water dries leaving a white deposit. An old prospector once
told me that this water sickened his companion. The side canyons between
Lava and Kwagunt all lead to narrow gorges through the river cliffs with
impassable dry falls barring the way. Near the top of the divide between
Carbon and 60 Mile Canyons, there is an old corral formed with barb
wire. It seems like an odd place for this, especially since there is no
water nearby. This area must have seen some real traffic at one time.
After John D. Lee was executed for his part in the Mountain Meadows
Massacre, rumors flew concerning a cache of gold nuggets he was supposed
to have hidden somewhere in the Nankoweap basin. Mines were worked for
silver and copper near the mouth of Lava Creek, and there are many claim
markers along the fault, especially as you descend into Nankoweap.

After a trying day in the heat with barely enough water, I was glad to
make an early camp by the running water in Kwagunt Canyon. The next day
was a long one. I left my gear near Kwagunt and climbed over into
Nankoweap Canyon. This was my second visit but I still hadn't located
the end of the Nankoweap Trail. I had kept above the Supai formation and
then climbed down a crack to join the trail at the top of the Redwall.
The map shows the trail ending just below the Redwall. On a later trip,
I located the bottom end of the trail also, but this time I scrambled up
a ravine to find the lower end of the trail as shown on the map.
Occasionally it would be obliterated by slides, but I traced it rather
well to the top of the Redwall and then followed it far enough up to the
last cliff at the top of the Supai to identify it. It's hard to believe
that it was once used for stock, because now there are places where a
man on foot has to proceed with great caution. When I returned to
Nankoweap Creek, which has a better flow than either Kwagunt or Lava, it
was already dusk. I thought it would be easier and more pleasant to
inflate the air mattress and put my shoes and clothes in my pack.
Riffles sound like major rapids at night, and by the time I had landed
and tried to walk barefooted among the river boulders, I saw the error
of my planning. Instead I struggled through the willow and mesquite
thickets on the right bank. When I finally reached the mouth of Kwagunt
and had walked two miles to my bedroll, it was after 10:00 p.m.

The return to the south rim on Wednesday and Thursday was over a now
familiar route. It took nine hours to follow the fault from Kwagunt to
Lava Canyon, but the rest was clear sailing. I went down Lava to the
river and floated on my mattress for a half mile below the rapid. The
east bank of the river is mostly level sand and gravel with here and
there a struggle through a minor thicket, but I reached the foot of the
Tanner Trail in time to make camp by daylight. Most of the time I'm
impressed by the scarcity of rattlesnakes, but just as I was thinking
how long I had gone since seeing one, a small one buzzed at me on
Wednesday, and on Thursday a big one warned me when I was walking
straight toward it. Sometimes I go up the Tanner Trail in close to five
hours, but on the last day of the six day trek, it took me six and a
half. I must have been worn down but I had seen what a tough life the
horse thieves elected and had independently found one of the finest
Indian ruins in the park as well as one of the four best natural
bridges. I came back with numerous exclusive pictures and memories that
will last the rest of my life.

*
Exploring the gorge of the Little Colorado River
[1956 to 1964]

*

I had not heard very much about the Little Colorado River Gorge. I found
the US Geological Survey map of the lower portion, and the eight
indicated trails to the bottom of the gorge intrigued me. I soon
learned, however, that most of these are not trails in the usual meaning
of the word. For instance, a party of geologists carried a ladder for
use on the Blue Spring Trail. Bighorn sheep may still use the trails,
but burros could manage only two of the eight. In 1954, I became
acquainted with Otis Marston, the intrepid boatman from Berkeley who
chronicles all things pertaining to the Colorado River. His letters
contained a wealth of information about the entire area. He told me that
there had long been a rumor of gold at the mouth of the Little Colorado
River. Melvin McCormick of Flagstaff said that a man named Jim Coleman
had actually found a little gold seven miles up the river from its mouth.

In conversation, correspondence, and books; I learned a few more items
concerning the area around the Little Colorado River Gorge. Major Powell
reported seeing an Indian ruin near the mouth of the Little Colorado. In
the magazine Arizona Days and Ways, I saw pictures of a river party
swimming in a blue lagoon at the mouth of the river, and Life showed
this water contrasting sharply with the muddy Colorado where the two
rivers meet. Gradually, the Little Colorado rose to the top of my list
of hiking ambitions.

In April, 1956, I visited the river for the first of eleven treks deep
into the gorge. I had inferred that one could reach the mouth of the
Little Colorado by using the Tanner Trail, the head of which is on the
south rim of the Grand Canyon just east of Lipan Point. I knew from
previous experience that this trail is long, rough, and without water.
Still, with food for only two days, I was able to set a fast pace. What
a difference the summer heat makes, when the canyons become deep traps.
Thirst and resulting madness have killed four people near this trail
during the last decade. A thorough apprenticeship on the well maintained
trails shows you the necessity of carrying plenty of water, but even
when you observe this precaution, you are weakened by the heat.

In early April, however, conditions were perfect and I could enjoy the
views, the pinnacles near the north rim, and the great buttes near the
river. The Little Colorado River, in its lower course, goes west from
Cameron, then turns north, and finally goes west again for the last
seven miles before it joins the Colorado. The morning sun shining
directly through this 3400 foot gash in the plateau illuminated Chuar
Butte directly opposite the river's mouth. When I reached the foot of
the Tanner Trail, I paused to note on the other side of tumultuous
Tanner Rapid, the contrast of black lava and red shale in the same cliff.

It is only seven river miles from Tanner Rapids to the mouth of the
Little Colorado, but it must be about twelve rough miles on foot. My
eyes were my guide as I followed the best route I could; up over the
knolls to the east and then down through the willows, mesquite, and open
dunes along the east side of the river. Progress is comparatively easy
until you reach an old camp below an abandoned copper mine. Looking
north you see an abrupt change. There's a 300 foot cliff quite close to
the river, with rough slopes both above and below it. Fearing that the
upper talus might lead me higher and finally prevent me from getting
down to the river, I chose the lower route.

There was no sign and I began to have misgivings about the route. The
cliff came progressively closer to the water, and finally the bank gave
out. The great bulk of Chuar Butte loomed directly ahead, and I know
that I had come three fourths of the distance from the copper mine to
the mouth of the Little Colorado. A salt-draped wall came down into deep
water, and nearby a crude ladder made of driftwood poles leaned against
the cliff. Only three rungs were left, and two of them were loose at one
end. The rusted nails showed that a white man had intended to use this
route to the notch in the cliff above, but even if the ladder had been
sound, I could not have scaled the remaining ten feet to safety. I had
to retrace my path along the river and camp at the beginning of the
cliff near the copper mine.

The next morning I took the route above the cliff which I had decided
against the day before. In places the trail is still clear, but there
are gaps where one is only a few feet from a 300 foot cliff, and the
footing is on shale sloping right to the brink.
Carrying only a canteen and a light camera, I moved fast enough to reach
the Little Colorado River and get a few pictures, then returned to my
pack with time left to follow the Colorado back to the Tanner Trail and
climb back to my car the same day.

After I returned from this reconnaissance, Dock Marston introduced me to
the story of the Hopi Salt Expedition. Until 1912, a few Hopi Indians
performed the annual ritual of going from their reservation home to get
salt at the mouth of the Little Colorado. Although the Hopi obtained
most of their salt by trade with the Zunis, this strenuous pilgrimage
brought honor to the participants, and the special salt secured was
supposed to bring success to the entire clan. Mr. Marston told me where
to find a published account of the Hopi expedition of 1912. In 1937, a
Yale University scientist, Mischa Titiev, interviewed Sun Chief, who at
the age of seventeen had been one of the three participants in this
final Hopi salt trek, and obtained his firsthand story of the undertaking.

Sun Chief related that before starting out, the pilgrims had to purify
themselves according to certain rules. Along the way they performed
ceremonies at special landmarks. The Hopi had a feeling of superstitious
awe for the region near the mouth of the Little Colorado River. There
was even a taboo against gazing idly at the scenery.

About four and one-half miles upstream from the mouth of the tributary,
there's a large mound of travertine built up by a gas-charged mineral
spring, which forms a pool at the top. The Hopi believed that the
ancestors of the human race had come from the underworld through this
spring. They called it the original Sipapu or ventilators in the floors
of their kivas. Another reason for their awe here was that they believed
the spirits of their deceased kinsmen still lingered in the area.

The exact place where the three Hopi hobbled their burros in 1912 and
started their descent into the canyon is clear. The 1924 US Geological
Survey map shows Salt Trail Canyon reaching the river six and one-half
miles from its mouth. The trail is currently marked on the map. On the
rim of the canyon itself, a pair of large cairns, or rock piles, mark
the trailhead, and smaller cairns are frequent along the route.

Sun Chief remembered seeing pictures on certain rocks depicting a fur
quilt and a crowing chicken. He recalled a cave, which only the senior
member of the party was allowed to inspect. Anything new in the cave was
considered a bad omen, but an old corncob or grinding stone would
predict good health and prosperity.

In his account Sun Chief mentioned the Sipapu, but on this point his
story does not agree with nature. He reported that the spring was quiet
when the pilgrims arrived but suddenly began to boil. Every time that I
have visited this site, the gas has bubbled hour after hour without
stopping.

Near the Sipapu, there was a wet spot where one of the three men took
off some of his clothing and pulled out handfuls of the sacred clay. A
feeling of weakness which later affected all three men was attributed to
the fact that the clay digger should have removed all of his clothing.

Sun Chief related that when they came to the junction of the two rivers,
they followed the Colorado, but he failed to specify whether they went
up or downstream. Since he was a boy of seventeen when he went on the
famed pilgrimage and it was twenty-five years later when he gave his
verbal account, it is hardly to be wondered at if he was sometimes a bit
unclear about minor landmarks along the trail. He did, however, recall
that at the end of the trail it was necessary to use a rope to get down
to the river. He was also definite in remembering a peculiar rock where
they fastened the rope. This rock, shaped like a man's chest, was where
a demigod had changed himself into stone.

Using the Chief's account as a guide, Mr. Marston had been trying for
some time to identify the location of the source of the Hopi salt. On
one of his river trips he had seen a deposit of salt on the east side of
the river five miles upstream from the mouth of the Little Colorado, and
he thought this might be the location. It was around the bend in the
river, and this agreed with Sun Chief's account.

Accepting Marston's choice of this location for the salt site, I was
eager to cover the trail from Salt Trail Canyon to the spot. At the end
of May, 1956, two months after my first sortie, I started off. Since I
was not familiar with the reservation roads, I went to the mouth by the
same route as before. Two months had made a great change in both rivers.
The red flow from the upper Little Colorado had ceased weeks earlier,
and the only water in the bed had been coming from Blue Springs and
smaller sources in the lower twenty-one miles of the riverbed. This
mineralized water had covered the red silt with a filmy white mud as
smooth as cold cream. The Colorado was pouring past in the spring flood,
and the brown water held back the tributary in a deep blue lagoon. Above
this long pool the bed of the Little Colorado rises an average of
twenty-eight feet per mile, more than four times the grade of the
Colorado River. The permanent flow from the springs is more than three
times the flow of Havasu Creek, and the flavor of the water is a
disagreeable mixture of table salt and Epson salt. The tincture is weak,
and a doctor had pronounced it safe to drink indefinitely. I have used
it for up to thirty-six consecutive hours, but the flavor became
increasingly repugnant, and I was glad to dip my canteen again into the
muddy Colorado.

The minerals in the brackish water almost make it unfit for drinking,
but they make it a treat for the eye. Over the talcum powder mud, the
pools are pale blue, and the cascades break into sparkling spray. The
view from Cape Solitude, 3400 feet above the junction of the two rivers,
shows the contrast of the pale blue of the shallow upper stream, the
indigo of the deep and quiet lagoon, and the brown of the irresistible
main stream.

After a night near a rock cabin, I was off to an early start. Going up
the riverbed is relatively easy. Sometimes you may fight a bit of brush,
but mainly you walk on sand and gravel, fording the stream occasionally.
The coolness of the water is pleasant, but you may have to brace against
the current. Cameras should be kept in waterproof bags.

Each bend in the canyon presents another terrific vista of upsurging
walls cut by ravines into towers and ramparts. My senses could
appreciate only a limited amount of this overpowering grandeur, and I
began to notice the little things - a deer track or a water ouzel doing
its dipping curtsy between dives. I noticed a shallow cave at the base
of the wall on the north side and found smoke stains on its ceiling. A
few men have come and gone here, but the wilderness remains as it has
been for a million years. You wonder whether this Eden is still safe or
whether dam builders will harness the spring and summer floods. You hope
that a careful calculation will convince them that hydroelectric
development here would be a financial loss. Improvements should be made
on the trails so that more people could enjoy these glistening cataracts
and turquoise pools, but there the improvements should stop.

Up a side ravine I saw a salt spring, and my scramble to reach it was
rewarded by a fine view down the river. Around the next bend I came upon
the original Sipapu. It is a chocolate-colored cone about twenty-five
yards wide at the base and ten yards across the flat top. A pool ten
feet across occupies the center, and the billious yellow water hides the
bottom. By the cupful the water is clear, and the taste is no worse than
that of the mineralized river water. More gas than water is coming from
the stem of this morninglory pool where, according to the Hopi, the
ancestors of the human race emerged. Mr. McCormick of Flagstaff, who was
here in his teens when his father and uncle were working the mines,
tells how they would jump into the center of the pool. The gas would pop
them to the surface for an unintended reenactment of the Hopi myth. When
I had picked my way through the tamarisks, over rocks, and along gravel
bars for another two miles, I came to the first side canyon. It had to
be Salt Trail Canyon, but for the first hundred yards I could see no
trail. After I had scrambled up the shale to the east, I saw a trace of
a trail on the other side. Numerous cairns guided me, but it is a rugged
route, especially through the Redwall and again in the limestone at the
top. It occurred to me that the discovery of this route must have been a
hunter in hot pursuit of a bighorn sheep. I could see why the Hopi felt
the need of supernatural help for this pilgrimage. I sampled the water
from a pothole near the top of the Redwall and was surprised to find it
just as salty as the springs below. At one or two places piles of bright
chert fragments decorate the top of flat rocks. They must have been
carried down from the rim and left as calling cards. I realized how much
more this trip would mean to a Hopi believer than to a vacationing
mathematics professor. It satisfied my craving for natural beauty and my
curiosity about a little known part of Arizona. To a Hopi it would be
linked with prosperity and status and even have a bearing on the afterlife.

When I hike away from my bedroll and food supply, I usually turn back
soon after noon, but this trip was an exception. It was nearly three
o'clock when I passed the large cairns marking the head of the trail and
continued on to the ridge where I could see the Echo Cliffs beyond
Highway 89. Car tracks showed that one can drive a car to within a
quarter of a mile from the trailhead. While hurrying back, I was
careless at the top of the Redwall and lost twenty minutes by
overshooting the right place for a safe descent. Darkness caught me more
than an hour's walk from my camp, but as it was too cool to sleep
without my bedroll, I stumbled on through rocks and brush until I
reached it.

I had planned to go to Marston's salt site in the morning, but after
thinking it over I decided that it did not fit Sun Chief's description
of the location he had visited. True, it was around the bend in the
river, but it did not fit in a more important detail. The site could be
reached without the need for using a rope. One can walk the bank
upstream to the spot. I thought Sun Chief could hardly have been wrong
in remembering the need for a rope to scale the cliff at the site of the
salt he had visited. I had previously walked the west bank past
Marston's location. So I decided to return to the car without visiting it.

Less than a month after this trip up Salt Trail Canyon, two airliners
collided twenty thousand feet above the mouth of the Little Colorado.
Most of the grisly debris fell on the west side of the river, but the
park authorities closed the area to all except investigators of the
disaster.

By the time I was free to go there again, I had read in the August, 1914
issue of National Geographic Magazine an account by Emery and Ellsworth
Kolb, photographers at Grand Canyon village, of a trip they took with a
loaded burro down the Tanner Trail and along the east bank of the
Colorado River to the mouth of the Little Colorado. They photographed
and described things which seem to have been fairly well known at the
time, including the rock cabin where I had camped on my first trek into
the area. The Kolbs not only found tools and a plough left by the man
who built the cabin (supposedly a man named Beamer) but they saw the
clearing for his garden. River runners can still note the swinging door,
the neat window, and the bed made of driftwood with plaited rope
springs. One can only wonder what sort of man wanted to live here, how
he thought he could make a living, and when he came and left.

If I had read the Kolb's article before my first trip into this region,
I would have followed their route above the river cliff on my first
attempt and would not have observed the driftwood ladder which I had
noticed leaning against the cliff where I was forced to turn back.

About this time I read another account of Sun Chief's 1912 salt
expedition, this time in his biography, Sun Chief, by Simmons. His story
of the trip was essentially the same as what he told Titiev, but with
one very important addition. To Simmons he stated that about thirty feet
from the spot where the pilgrims had to use a rope to get down the cliff
to the river, they saw a ladder of driftwood poles made by a white man.
As soon as I read this, I knew that Marston had been wrong and that I
had already been to the Hopi salt source. The ladder was a positive
identification and I was sure there could be no mistake. However, I
still wanted to find a way down from the trail above, and I was also
eager to see the Blue Spring Trail.

My desire to see the latter was increased by reading the account in
Desert Magazine of a trip taken by Kit Wing and Les Womack, two park
rangers. They had used most of two days carrying two hundred pounds of
equipment from the rim to the river. To get down they considered a
climbing rope an absolute necessity. Their heaviest load contained a
sixty-pound boat, and they also carried forty pounds of drinking water.

Just after Christmas in 1957, I tried to find the Blue Spring Trail.
Leaving my car at Desert View, I followed an old wagon road north to the
vicinity of Comanche Point. This is the prominent peak along the rim
four miles north of Desert View. Acting on impulse, I detoured to climb it.

About once a year I reach another finest viewpoint in the park , but my
vote for Comanche Point still holds. The nearest point on the horizon is
four and one-half miles away, behind Desert View. You can swing through
360 degrees of striking scenery, from the pastel colors of the Painted
Desert to the needle-sharp summit of Vishnu Temple.

After climbing this peak, I returned to my project of attempting to find
the Blue Spring Trail. I went east into the valley which begins at the
very rim of the Grand Canyon and drains into the Little Colorado north
of Gold Hill, the northern most of two buttes rising above this plateau.
Navaho sheep corrals and abandoned hogans are common in this area, but
near the dry streambed I came upon a structure which aroused my
curiosity; a straight wall built of fieldstone, about three feet high,
forty feet long, and two feet thick. The absence of any other walls here
made me think it may have been a hunting blind.

After reaching the end of this valley above a sheer precipice, I made
camp. Among the numerous water pockets in the limestone, I found one
with several inches of water beneath two inches of ice. Winter camping
is rugged, but at least there are no bugs. No frost formed on my bag
because I slept under a cozy ledge.

In the morning I picked the most likely looking ravine for my descent.
On the north side of the bay, the position of this agreed with my
recollection of the position of the Blue Spring Trail as shown on the
map. No car tracks were to be seen, and there was no cairn at the top,
but I started down anyhow. It was difficult enough to challenge a man
without a rope, but I finally reached the rim of the Redwall directly
above the river. Here, about ten miles up from the mouth, the vertical
walls often come right into the quiet pools. The spring water stays
above freezing, but I had no desire to go swimming. It was just as well
that I had missed the Blue Spring Trail and couldn't get down the last
cliff into the river. My return to the car that night was different in
that I improvised a more direct cross-country route, but I still had to
walk two and one-half hours after dark.

Further study of the map showed me where I had missed the trail. It was
in the next bay to the south. On a morning in late May, 1958, I walked
from Desert View to the north of Gold Hill so early that I decided I had
time to visit Cape Solitude above the junction of the rivers. Ranger Dan
Davis has nominated this for the finest viewpoint, and I can see why.
The sky island called Chuar Butte is just a mile to the northwest,
Marble Canyon opens to the north, and to the west the pinnacles of
Walhalla Plateau loom above you. The morbid note was the debris of the
double plane wreck still exposed below.

The detour to Cape Solitude was longer than I had anticipated, and it
was about six o'clock before I neared the head of the Blue Spring Trail.
My gallon canteen was nearly empty, and I faced a situation which could
become embarrassing. Where would I get water? There was a frog croaking
several hundred yards away at an apparently empty stock tank. If I
stopped long enough to investigate, I would lose my bare chance of
reaching the river by daylight. But from what I had heard of the need
for ropes and ladders, could I hope to reach the bottom that night
anyhow? Brashly I started down.

There is something odd about this trail. For the first fifty yards it's
a well constructed horse trail. This ends abruptly above a hand-and-toe
scramble down rough ledges. Quite soon I came to a place which really
made me wonder. Twenty feet ahead was a cairn, but to reach it I had to
sidestep along a mere crack, holding to another at shoulder height. This
is above a forty-foot shear drop, and I was not too much surprised on a
later occasion when some friends who wanted to see the Blue Springs
changed their minds right here. Luck was with me that evening, and I
never lost the route for more than a few yards. I reached the springs by
8:30 p.m., only twenty-five minutes after dark. Incidentally, some of
the arrows do not locate the trail. I think geologists used them to
indicate locations of fossils.

After the difficult upper part of this trail is past, you are due for a
surprise. There is a well built horse trail the rest of the way to the
top of the Redwall. In 1921, surveyors were here locating dam sites.
Perhaps they brought supplies down the hard part of the trail on their
backs and then used horses. I wonder how they could bring horses down
these cliffs, but recently found the answer. Five miles upstream, the
Horse Trail comes down from the opposite rim. Don't ask me why they
didn't just bring their supplies down that trail in the first place!
Since I only wanted to reach the mouth the next night, I spent my entire
time reconnoitering upstream. The mud and quicksand were so bad that I
carried a stick to jab down and make sure that there was a bottom. At
one place a spring in the bed keeps some black sand dancing. Another
spring up on the wall forms a fan of travertine covered with ferns and
moss. I had hoped to reach the last of the spring water, but later
learned that this is twenty-one miles above the mouth, five miles
farther than I had time to go on this occasion. I did go three miles
upstream from Blue Springs until the Redwall Formation was out of sight
below ground. These big springs at the foot of the trail issue from
fissures less than a foot above pool level. To collect so much water
from the desert, there must be quite a system of underground plumbing.

Back from my six mile side trip, I started downriver with my pack at
8:30 a.m. Quite soon I had to cross deep pools with no bank except the
wall. Wing and Womack chose the hard way to do it, with their
sixty-pound boat. I simply lay on my air mattress and paddled with my
hands. Getting wet every fifteen minutes was a pleasant relief from the
hundred plus heat. The deepening Redwall trench forms the most
spectacular part of the entire gorge. White cascades over the travertine
barriers lured me into using the last of my color film. A mishap
occurred when I caught my inflated air mattress on a catclaw. For the
next two nights, I would go to sleep in comfort, only to wake up with a
rock in my ribs.

Below the Redwall, I stowed the mattress and forded the river at will. I
missed seeing the Coleman Gold Mine, but I noted the mouths of Big
Canyon and Salt Trail Canyon. There was time to examine the Sipapu. I
had been drinking the spring water for twenty-four hours, and the muddy
Colorado was a welcome relief.

The next day as I started down the Colorado along the Beamer Trail above
the steadily rising cliff, I watched for a ravine where I could go down
to the ladder and the Hopi salt. After an hour of rough walking, I came
to one with a ruined cairn at the angle where the rim turns away from
the river. Across the way, most of the descent was in sight. This
obvious slope ends at a small cliff above the bed of the wash. Before
giving up, I looked over the edge and saw a cairn on a shelf eight feet
down. A large block of sandstone furnished a safe anchorage for my rope,
and I got down by using knots to assist my grip. (This is not the rope
descent the Hopi remembered. In fact, when I brought my friend Allyn
Cureton here in 1959, he was able to climb down without a rope.) The
shelf I had now reached led to an easy scramble down to the flat bed,
which soon ended at a thirty-foot drop to the riverbank.

This was the right place - I could now see the ladder. I crawled under
an overhang to a pocket directly above the ladder, but I was afraid to
test the crumbling wind-eroded ledges below. I even had some bad moments
while getting back. I must have been a bit shaken, for I forgot to look
for the fabulous rope-support rock that is shaped like a man's chest.
Halfway to the Beamer Trail above, I remembered it and went back to
look. It is in plain sight, the most peculiar example of erosion of
bedrock I have ever seen in the bed of a wash. It stands out like a
saddle horn a foot in diameter, and it is located exactly where you need
to fasten a rope for the shortest rappel. (When I was back here with
Cureton we doubled a seventy-five foot rope around this projection, and
it was more than adequate.)

Although I had left my one short rope above, I could have followed the
Beamer Trail to the south end of the cliff and returned along the river.
But since pictures would be needed for a full report, I went home
instead and wrote letters to Dock Marston and Dan Davis, telling them
how to find the place. I said that I would return later and take
definite pictures in cooler weather if they didn't do this before I got
back to it.

Dan passed the word to Fred Kiseman Jr., who is now teaching in Phoenix.
Fred had been interested in repeating the Hopi expedition before I had
even heard of it, and his wife had glimpsed the ladder while they were
coming down the river. With two companions he now went down Salt Trail
Canyon, rappelled to the river, and found the shallow salt caves. He
identified most of Sun Chief's landmarks, and recorded the trek on film,
had the salt analyzed, and published a full account in Plateau, the
journal of the Museum of Northern Arizona.

I heard that some young Hopi tried to renew the salt tradition a few
years ago but were unable to locate the place.

My next visit to the Little Colorado River Gorge was by far the easiest,
but nevertheless it was a real thrill. One of my students, Alan Osbon,
had a Saturday job tending an automatic river flow gage eleven and
one-half miles downstream from Cameron. The USGS engineers have
constructed a most interesting means for reaching this gage. You cross
from the south rim to the north by a hand-powered cable car. It
accommodates two people, and there is no railing above the seat level.
As you gather speed in your coast to the middle of the canyon, the
one-inch cable seems very inconspicuous above the thousand feet of empty
space. We let the old cat die so that I could take a couple of pictures,
and then Alan pumped us up to the north rim. From there we walked a half
mile to the head of Sheep Trail, the only well built and maintained
trail into the gorge. Another cable can get you across the bottom during
floods, but Alan led me over the rapidly drying bed on stepping stones.
An ingeniously constructed trail goes along the cliffs to the gage.

For several years after this trip I did not visit the Little Colorado,
but in January, 1963, my daughter flew me over the gorge. The views
changed so fast that I lost track of details. I was unable to identify
some of my own pictures. A few weeks later I took several students, and
we located the Hopi Crossing seven miles below Cameron at the beginning
of the final gorge. We also inspected the dam site a mile and one-half
downstream. Steel rods and cut wires show that a ladder had once been
anchored here. The main canyon at this point is about three hundred feet
deep, but a vertical walled inner gorge forms a sluice gate about
thirty-five feet wide and seventy feet deep. Bureau of Reclamation
engineers built a foot bridge that still spans this chasm. What a place
this would be to stand during a flood! The bed is wide and not steep
above this gate, and a seventy foot dam would back water under the
Cameron bridge.

The topographical survey map of 1926 shows the general profile of the
bed, but it does not locate the relatively abrupt slopes such as a drop
of twenty feet in a hundred yards. This seems to indicate that the
surveyors did not run a line along the entire bed but rather took spot
checks from the rim. The profile map shows a steeper grade for the
lowest twenty-eight miles, an easily remembered average of twenty-eight
feet per mile. For the next twenty-two miles, the average is twenty-one
feet per mile. To interpret these figures one might recall that the
grade of the Virgin River in Zion National Park is thirty feet per mile
and that the Colorado in the Grand Canyon drops six feet per mile. The
steepest mile of the Little Colorado is the part just upstream from Salt
Trail Canyon, where the drop is seventy feet.

After seeing the Hopi Crossing and the dam site, our group tried to
locate the Dam Site Trail. The difficulty in using the map is that since
nothing is shown back from the rim, it's impossible to distinguish
between a mere notch in the rim and a major drainage. We went down a big
wash which ended at a precipice. A search on another occasion showed how
we could get halfway to the bottom just west of the ravines, and on the
third attempt we found, still farther west, the cairn-marked trailhead.
The top thirty feet of this trail seemed steeper than the Blue Spring
Trail and may require a rope.

Another trail shown on the maps a few miles north of the tourist
viewpoint is the Moody. It is also well hidden, and a Navaho whom we met
in the area told us that there was no way to get to the bottom. He spoke
English well and certainly understood our question. He did point out
Hell Hole Bend and thus confirmed our location. We were ready to agree
with the Indian about the impossibility of getting to the bottom of the
canyon when we decided to examine the end of the valley just north of
Hell Hole Bend. During rains it would produce a 1200 foot fall, but now
I could follow a bench north to an almost vertical crack. When I had
descended as far as I dared, I found a heavy wire looped around a
boulder. The wire had kinks in it for better gripping. We had run out of
time, and I preferred to bring my own rope rather than try the wire.

A year later I was back. Numerous ledges made rappelling unnecessary,
and a strong climber could have come down without a rope. Below the top
cliff the route was still confusing, and I wasted a half hour
investigating a dead end. The discovery of some fossil footprints
compensated for this effort. I finally began to find cairns.

On the return these markers led me to an easier slot in the rim. A crude
bridge of three juniper logs is at the bottom of this break, and higher
is a fixed cable. Near the top a huge limestone slab has fallen across,
forming a roof. Large cairns mark the trailhead, but it is easy to miss
since it is about a third of the way from the plateau to the bed of the
wash. The Moody Trail reaches the riverbed at Mile 33, twelve miles
upstream from the fourth trail going down from the left rim, the Piute
Trail. The best approach to the Piute Trail is by Jeep from Desert View
past Cedar Mountain. When I undertook the investigation of this trail
with some students, we would have appreciated having a map showing the
region back from the rim. We walked for fifteen minutes in the wrong
direction before we could locate ourselves on the river map. The route
goes down a geologic fault where the strata to the east are sixty feet
higher than the same rocks to the west There is considerable danger of
rolling rocks onto the person below you on the trail, but in only one
place is it necessary to use one's hands for climbing. This route is
direct and easy compared to the Blue Spring and Moody Trails. The first
permanent spring is at Mile 21, but the water tastes just as bad as at
Blue Springs. We dunked in a pool to cool off on this July 4, 1963, and
then walked three miles down the bed to where the map shows the Horse
Trail. I climbed the talus to look for this east rim trail, but I came
away thinking that no ordinary horse could negotiate the lowest two
hundred feet.

There were only two trails left for me to investigate. To find the head
of the Horse Trail, I used the map of the Blue Springs Quadrangle. After
a day of scouting the reservation roads, I was ready for another major
project. I wanted to walk the rest of the bed from Mile 16 to Cameron at
Mile 57. There was no record that this had ever been done.

A Navaho had told Womack that a waterfall would make boating through the
upper gorge impossible even if the river contained enough water. I was
willing to bet that I could find a way past any obstruction in the bed
of such a silt-choked stream. Mud would be a greater threat to steady
progress than would a rockfall. During early summer, heat would be a
problem. In April, July, and August; floods would present another
hazard. Drinking water might be scarce in the autumn. Therefore,
Christmas vacation seemed the best time to undertake the long walk.

On January 1, 1964, my wife and another faculty couple, the Gibsons,
drove out with me to a point on the right rim at Mile 9. We ate our
lunch and then climbed a knoll for a better view of the blue water in
the Redwall trench and of Salt Trail Canyon to the north. Then we drove,
after one bad guess, to a draw that led to the Horse Trail. When Ellery
and I began to find signs of a trail, he turned back, wishing me success
in my venture, and I was on my own for the next two and one-half days.
He was to park my Jeep for me at Cameron. If I couldn't get to the
bottom of the gorge or if I came to an impasse in the bed, I would be in
a difficult situation. I hoped that my two-quart canteen would be adequate.

The Horse Trail soon reached the usual dropoff at the top of the
Coconino Sandstone. After a short search, I found the bypass to the
right. A ledge carries the trail to a scree-filled ravine. The only
other problem was the 200 foot descent to the riverbed. I wasted 15 or
20 minutes before I noticed a ledge on the other side of a dry fall. A
huge slab had fallen on this shelf, but even a horse could walk through
the tunnel formed by the leaning rock. On reaching the bottom, I walked
downstream until I found the Redwall Formation, which proved that I had
overlapped my previous trek. Ice covered the pools but the riffles were
open water. The weather was relatively mild, and my down bag was warm
enough.

The geological formations in the Little Colorado are not as colorful as
those in the Grand Canyon. The transition is gradual until the
nondescript brown of desert varnish covers all but the scars of fresh
rockfalls. The charm here depends not on color but on form. There are
towers cut off from the rim, great pyramids of shattered rock, and then
smooth walls that are shear for a thousand feet. To keep my bearings
among these miles of confusing similar walls, I noted the time on my map
at each right turn in the canyon. I thus avoided the lack of orientation
I had felt on solo trips down the San Juan and Marble Canyons. The cold
had frozen the mud on my January trip, and I could walk over the
waterholes on safe ice. Still there were places where I could fill my
canteen. At Mile 40.5, a hip-deep pool crosses from wall to wall. The
ice was a fine bridge.

The bed is mostly sand and gravel interspersed with fields of boulders.
Near Mile 40 is a Hell's Half Mile , a jumble of rocks, some of which
are as big as a house. The bed must drop twenty feet within a hundred
yards. The Little Colorado has been known to flow seventy thousand cubic
feet per second, more than the usual spring flood in the Colorado itself.

If I had been prospecting for ore, I would have been disappointed.
Still, there was plenty to notice. Eight miles upstream from where the
Redwall went under, it showed again, and here at Mile 24 was the best
cave shelter I saw. The floor had been cleaned by a flood, but there was
still one burnt stick, the only sign besides the trails that people had
even been down here. A geologist would find this trip rewarding. I found
fossil footprints and noted that the Hermit Shale is missing.

A more startling discovery was a rockfall crater. A block of sandstone
seven by seven by five feet had fallen 950 feet into the wet sand. The
shock wave had stopped in a circle twenty-three feet in diameter,
forming a hole five feet deep. The rock must have fallen recently, for a
flood would have washed away the sandy rim of the crater. This rockfall
was in Hell Hole Bend, and I still had twenty-three miles of walking and
another night in the open before I would reach Cameron, my destination.
For the second campsite, I found a brushy terrace with a concentration
of driftwood. An all night fire dispelled the cold. On the home stretch
I came once more to the cable crossing. Farther east the walls drop
fast, but this narrow part of the canyon is still breathtakingly deep. I
believe the view was even more impressive from below than when we were
hanging from that spider line in the sky. The monotony of the last weary
miles was broken by finding a ringtail cat dead from unknown causes and
a live porcupine far from the nearest pine. The trek was a great
experience, but I was glad to see the Cameron Bridge.

The map gave me one last challenge, and it was a first rate puzzle. The
map shows the Indian Maid Trail going up to the east rim directly
opposite the Moody Trail. Several men went with me to trace the Indian
Maid Trail to the opposite rim. Allyn Cureton found some pottery
fragments of a rare type, which an expert at Window Rock has identified
as early Navaho. Jay Hunt, sponsor of the college hiking club, found two
cairns and wanted to continue up the main ravine. I insisted, however,
that we follow the route shown on the map over to a parallel ravine
farther west. Here Allyn and I did some interesting rock climbing before
we had to admit that this ravine is impassable. By this time it was too
late to check the main ravine that day. On another weekend I took some
men down the Horse Trail to see Blue Springs. We returned to our car on
Sunday early enough to look for the head of the Indian Maid Trail. There
are no road signs, and we were lucky to hit the rim within a quarter of
a mile of the right ravine. The prospect was not encouraging. Behind a
promontory, where I had hoped to find the trail, there was no sign of
it. We passed three cracks in the rim as we walked to the ravine where
the map showed the trail. The top of this ravine was smooth-walled, more
obviously impossible than where Allyn and I had turned back on the
previous trip. I returned to the most likely looking location of the
three slots in the rim near the main ravine where I started down. Within
a few yards I came to the severest test, a block wedge in the crack. I
had to let myself down and feel for footing beneath. The rest of the
descent was steep, but care in route selection brought me to a series of
cairns. The way was clear to reach the part of the Indian Maid Trail
which we had found on our earlier trip.

Map study and many systematic sorties over a period of several years had
brought me to my goal, an intimate knowledge of this fascinating gorge.

*EARLY PROTOLOGS
My first visit to Phantom Canyon
[date unknown]*

This was on the first day of a two day hiking club trip to Bright Angel
Campground. Three of us got away soon after lunch and went up the bed of
Phantom Creek. The two students (Taylor and Wilson) were real hustlers
and I was struggling to keep them in sight. When they came to the fall
in the Tapeats, they stood back and waited for me. One of them said It's
Your turn Dock. Show us how to go on. I backed up a few yards and
climbed the wall on the south side. They saw me find the grips, but
still neither of them offered to come up the same way. I went on to the
junction with Haunted Canyon and figured that it was time to turn back.
I met one of the boys who had succeeded in getting up the same wall, but
he turned back with me.

*My first visit to Supai
[spring, 1946]*

Jim Jackson was president of the hiking club at the college and they
went to Supai for their spring outing. I recall that we cooked as a
group. The mine shacks were still in place at the campground just north
of Havasu Falls. I can recall going up Carbonate Canyon and noting the
mine shaft there, but the most impressive thing I did on that trip was
to walk to the river and back. Right after the second World War, there
was no trail down to the river, at least for long stretches where the
way was overgrown with a dense tangle of wild grape vines. Jean Rowe had
told me about killing seven rattlesnakes on the way to the river so I
carried a big stick to defend myself. I wondered how I would ever see
the rattlers under the tangle of growth. There were places where I tried
going along the base of the cliff in order to pass the worst thickets,
and in this way I found a couple of mine shafts quite far downstream.
They were deep enough to require ventilating machinery.

Toward the river I got rather high on the slope to get away from the
vines and I slipped and came down with one hand on sharp limestone and
the other on a barrel cactus. I used my stick to help keep my balance
when I was crossing on the tops of the travertine dams in the creekbed.
It took a long day of struggle to go from our camp near Havasu Falls to
the Colorado river and back. This was a four day trip since at that time
qualified hikers were allowed to add Thursday and Friday to their
weekend for the club spring trip.

*My first trip to Clear Creek
[sometime in 1948]*

This must have been quite early, perhaps about Veterans Day, 1948. It
was an overnight hiking club trip to Bright Angel Campground. I got down
to the camp well before noon and I would have taken off for Clear Creek
soon thereafter, but one of the students wanted to go along. He held us
up until about 12:30 p.m. With darkness so early, we knew that we had to
shortcut down the steep shale to get a refill for the canteens and then
come back by the regular trail. On the way back wherever there was a bit
of downhill trail, I broke into a jog but still we got back to camp
after dark. The student was nearly lame the next day and had a bad time
while getting out.

*Indian Gardens to Hermit's Rest loop hike
[perhaps February 21, 1949 to February 23, 1949]*

I recall that Jean Rowe and I had 40 pound packs to carry down to Indian
Gardens where we camped overnight, in fact two nights. I had only a
bunch of old blankets for a bedroll which I carried over my shoulder
like a horseshoe in addition to a pack with the communal food. This was
the time that I left the party just before sunup and walked the Tonto
Trail over to Hermit Creek and then returned to Hermit Rest and got back
to Indian Gardens about 11:00 p.m. I had been given a three mile ride
along the West Rim Road, but it was something like a 26 mile day.

*Supai
[May 14, 1949 to May 15, 1949]*

This was a family trip taking our kids and Tommy Benson and Yvonne
Cogdill with us to see Supai. The children got horseback rides and
plenty of swimming. We did the usual climb down to the bottom of Mooney
Falls and probably scrambled at least part way up Ghost Canyon to the
west of the campgrounds.

I am rather sure I was at Supai with the hiking club again before I
began taking pictures of my trips, say for four days in 1948.

*Roaring Springs and Ribbon Falls
[perhaps June 3 and 4, 1949]*

We had a family trip to the North Rim and Bryce and Zion. I walked down
to Phantom Ranch from the North Rim and got back the same day even
though I took the short detour to see Ribbon Falls and almost an hour
for the inspection of Roaring Springs. I climbed up into the mouth of
the cave and found an old pair of rubber boots that had been left there.
On this trip, we scrambled down through most of the Kaibab on the
Transept side of the campground to look at a small Indian ruin that we
had been told was there. There were signs that they had pumped water up
to the rim from a small spring down there.

*Grandview Trail
[perhaps sometime in 1949]*

On a day trip with the Pullens down the Grandview Trail, we went around
to the west side of Cottonwood Canyon and Jean Rowe and I tried going
down the creekbed below the Tapeats. We didn't get very far because of
the lack of time. I recall that I wondered how we would get out of there
if the Grandview Trail should give way where it was held up by logs.

*Old Bright Angel Canyon Trail
[sometime in the 1950's]*

I was camping at the North Rim sometime in the fifties when I decided to
see the Old Bright Angel Canyon Trail that was replaced by the
constructed trail down Roaring Springs Canyon. I didn't have my own map
and I recall that I studied the map under glass at the North Rim Lodge.
The next morning I went down the North Kaibab Trail to Bright Angel
Creek and up the trace of a trail along the far side of the creek. I was
able to tell where to cross the creek and go up through the Redwall.
Some telephone line was lying around which helped. I got along the top
of the Redwall over to Trough Spring, but then I lost the trail in the
Scrub Oak. Rather than beat my way up the brushy slope, I backtracked
and went up the Kaibab Trail. After more map study, I went out the next
morning and followed the road that crosses a meadow away from the Point
Imperial and Cape Royal Highway. When I got to the rim across from where
the trail comes up, I could see the switchbacks in the brush below. I
walked around and went down the trail, most of which was still in
evidence to Trough Spring and then came back out the same way.

*Down the Old Hance Trail to Sockdolager Rapids
[sometime in 1952]*

Where do we go from here? That was the thought occurring to the three of
us: Marvin Hole, Boyd Moore, and I. We were in Hance Canyon, a side
canyon leading down to the Colorado River between Grandview Point and
Moran Point. We had been told that you couldn=t get down this creekbed
to the river by two experienced canyon hikers who were professional
geologists. And yet we were almost sure that this must be the route
referred to as the Old Trail. Mr. Edwin E. McKee, the geologists and
former Chief Naturalist at Grand Canyon National Park, had written that
the Old Trail, although completely obliterated, had been located a few m
iles west of the Red Canyon Trail, which is still shown on the official
map. We were in the only deep side canyon between Grandview and Red
Canyons below Moran Point.

We also knew from reading G. W. James, that ropes and rope ladders were
used near the river in the granite. We could see why. Before us the
little stream dropped over a ten-foot fall and just beyond that we could
see a still deeper drop. The sides of the narrow bed were verticaland
well polished. We didn=t intend to use ropes, and we hated to give up.
Upstream a few yards, ther seemed to be a chance to climb out of the bed
to the east. When you are approaching the crest of the ridge, there is a
tense moment. Will the other side give a route for descent, or will it
be vertical? This one was all right and we were soon down to the bottom
of the wash below this series of falls. It would be awkward if we were
to miss this route on our return, so we left a marker, a dead stalk from
a century plant.

After only five minutes of easy walking, we came to another barrier
fall. This time we thought the route lay to the left or west. After an
attempt to scale the cliffs here, we gave it up as being too dangerous
in the rotten rock. Only 50 yards farther upstream, we found an easy
climb up and over this ridge. It was farther down to the bottom this
time, but the walking was over nothing worse than a talus slope. It
seemed only a short time until we were stuck again. We knew by now that
we must be rather near the river, and it would be most annoying to have
to give up at this point. The only possiblity seemed to be to the east,
and it was steeper here than it had been before where we had succeeded.
The climb wasn=t very long, but the other side seemed still harder to
descend. I went ahead past another ridge and saw that the descent there
was out of the question. One of the boys started down where we had
topped the first crest and soon reported success in getting to the
bottom. Right at the river, we easily saw that we had to make a very
slight detour to the west again.

Success and vindication! We recognized the view up the Colorado as the
scene given in an old book above the caption, AAt the foot of the Old
Trail.@ We were in the heart of the Granite Gorge although the beginning
of the granite was less than two miles upriver. The river seems very
narrow here, although we found that it takes a good arm to throw a rock
clear against the cliff on the other side. We were at the beginning of
Sockdolager Rapids which made such an impression on the two Powell
parties. Here there was no question of walking along a boulder strewn
beach even at low water. When we first saw the mouth of Hance Creek, it
was near the end of May and the high water was racing by. The estimates
of waves as high as the boat was long, seems like something the badly
frightened party had imagined, but the four or five foot waves we noted
had a way of popping up across the entire river and continued as far
downstream as we could see. Anyone who fell into that water would go a
long way whether alive or dead.

The high water had backed up into the south of the creek and this lagoon
was quiet, a most pleasing contrast to the torrent a few feet farther
out. The day was warm and we followed the example of the travelers who
had been here more than a half century earlier. The comments in the
Hance Ranch guest book often mentioned a swim in the Colorado. We were
able to swim up to a platform in the granite below the last fall which
was iinaccessible except from this approach.

*Echo Cliffs and Navaho Bridge
[May 8, 1952]*

This was a hiking club trip to Zion and Bryce but I have pictures only
of the Echo Cliffs and Navaho Bridge. I recall that we stopped there
long enough to drop big rocks from the middle of the bridge and were
impressed by the noise they made when they hit the water. The
reverberation in the canyon was almost like a cannon. I walked west
along the north rim of Marble Canyon to get a better picture of the bridge.

*First Trip to Thunder River
[July 4, 1952 to July 6, 1952]*

This was my first trip to Thunder River, the one with Henry Hall. I
followed the east rim of the lower gorge of Tapeats Creek to the
overlook down the river, but I didn't get down to the mouth of the creek
on this trip. I saw how it could be done using the scree slope on the
west side. Henry had a hard time on this trip and took something like 12
hours to get from the car to the creek. We must have started out very
early because I don't recall that we separated. I believe I went ahead
on the first day and got down to the river and back while Henry was
continuing down to the campsite. We had a little rain on our way out and
this relieved the water situation since it put fresh water in rainpools.

*South Kaibab and Bright Angel Trails
[December 27, 1952]*

This must have been a one day trip down the South Kaibab Trail and up
the Bright Angel Trail.

*Grandview Trail to New Hance Trail loop hike
[January 22, 1953 to January 23, 1953]*

This was going to be a one day trip down the Grandview Trail, along the
Tonto to Hance Rapids, and up the New Hance Trail. When Robert Gardner
couldn't make it in one day and he and Boyd stayed by a fire at Hance
Rapids overnight, I went home and carried food back the next day. I met
Gardner on the Bright Angel Shale of the Hance Trail and then went
around and met Boyd coming up the Grandview Trail Sunday evening. I had
no map and missed the proper way to come up the Redwall in Red Canyon by
very little. I was on the trail until I was supposed to follow a shelf
around the corner and walk up the trail to the top. Instead I scrambled
up a crack to the top on the north side of the promontory. The last
light of the winter day showed me where I should try to go up the
Coconino and then I lost the trail in the dark when I had a few ledges
above me in the Kaibab Limestone. I scrambled from ledge to ledge and
got out about 8:15 p.m. Then I had to walk the rim road to pick up the
car at Grandview Point. I was driving toward the village when a ranger
car came east with three college girls to look for me. After I took the
students to the campus, I tried to sleep about three hours before
getting started back to help Gardner and Moore. We were home to
Flagstaff about 11:00 p.m. on Sunday.

*Phantom Creek and Haunted Canyon
[May 23, 1953 to May 27, 1953]*

A four day trip with Boyd Moore. We went down the Hermit Trail and
probably camped at Monument Creek. I believe we had time the first day
to go to the mouth of Monument and back. The second day we walked to the
Bright Angel Trail and went to the river and over to Phantom Ranch. We
still had time to walk up Phantom Creek and camp above the fall in the
Tapeats. On the next day we walked up Haunted Canyon and inspected the
shallow cave above the spring. I recall that we went up to the Redwall
at the head of Haunted Canyon and I climbed a lot higher on the wall
than Boyd wanted to. Still I couldn't bring myself to take the chance of
getting spread-eagled helplessly reaching for tiny handholds and make it
out on top as I think a very good climber might have. On the fourth day
Boyd and I walked out the South Kaibab Trail and over to our car. I
can't recall having to walk all the way to Hermit Rest, so I suppose
Roma took us to the take-off point while we left one car at the South
Kaibab Trail head. One point of interest was that we found a name and
date in pencil in the cave above the spring in Haunted Canyon. I recall
that the date was 1926. Later Euler found split twig figurines in this
cave after Peck had missed them.

*South Kaibab Trail and Bright Angel Trail loop hike
[July 20, 1953]*

A one day trip with Jim and Linda Burdette down the South Kaibab Trail
and up the Bright Angel Trail.

*Hance Rapids
[January 23, 1954]*

A one day trip to Hance Rapids and back.

*Clear Creek
[February 21, 1954 to February 24, 1954]*

This was the time Boyd and I went down and slept at Bright Angel
Campground. Then when we were high above Bright Angel Creek on our way
to Clear Creek the next morning, I remembered that I had not let the
water out of the radiator of the 34 car. It had a slow leak already and
I was carrying five gallons of water in the back seat to fill the
radiator before returning to Flagstaff. I put down my pack and took my
canteen and a lunch and hiked back down to Phantom Ranch and then up the
South Kaibab Trail. After starting the water to drain about noon, I
turned around and hiked over to Clear Creek. On that day Boyd had tried
to go down the bed of Clear Creek to the river, but when he saw that he
would have to trust his shoe soles to get back past the little
waterfall, he gave up that idea. On the third day we hiked out. When I
was coming up the South Kaibab Trail with only my canteen and a lunch, I
did the walk from the campground to the rim in 170 minutes. This was my
fastest time ever. In 1957 I made my fastest time carrying a pack. It
only weighed about 19 pounds and I made the trip in 188 minutes from the
campground to the head of the South Kaibab Trail.

*Hermit Trail to Granite Rapids
[August 1, 1954 to August 2, 1954]*

Ellery Gibson and I went down the Hermit Trail and to the river at
Monument Creek. At that time the Purtyman river running gear was cached
there. Later they got mules to the place and took out all but two heavy
rubber boats. Georgie White came along later and with Elmer's
permission, she tied them with their bottoms exposed and set them loose
in the river. They were found several months later among the driftwood
of upper Lake Mead. I experimented above Granite Falls with air mattress
navigation and found it quite handy. I could cross to the far wall and
get back with no tendency to be swept into the rapid. We then walked
over and camped by Hermit Creek. The next morning Ellery and I went down
to see Hermit Rapid. Then he walked back to the rim while I paddled down
to Boucher Creek on my mattress and then walked up the Boucher Trail. I
got there about a half hour behind Ellery.

*Floating the Colorado River through Sockdolager and Grapevine Rapids
[sometime in September, 1954]*

This very memorable trip occurred just after college began. I met a
young GI teacher in the training school, Ben Surwill, who liked my idea
of using an air mattress on the Colorado River. He went with me down the
New Hance Trail and we took to the water below Hance Rapids. The most
noteworthy sighting was a bighorn ram in the Supai ravine of Red Canyon.
It was large but old and not quick and it lay down as soon as it was out
of sight the first time, at very close range of about 15 feet. We caught
up with it two more times until it went down the Redwall break to the
bottom of the gorge about a quarter mile from its head in the Redwall.
Ben and I tried to walk past the rapids, but at Sockdolager and
Grapevine Rapids, we got by only about a third of each on the right
side. We rode the waves in good style with the mattress extended
crosswise like waterwings. Ben went over one rock where the water seemed
to fall several feet at a steep angle on the downhill side. I had gone
to the rocks on the left to try to crawl past this pace, but he hailed
me just as he went over. I would guess that the water over the rock was
only three feet deep, but he went over it without scraping or getting
flustered. He had to pull over in an eddy and wait for me to catch up.
We got to the Kaibab Bridge after 6:30 p.m. and ate our supper before
starting up the Kaibab Trail. Ellery Gibson had come down to the bridge
to see us arrive about 6:00 p.m. and at 6:30 p.m. he went back to the
rim and told our wives that we wouldn't be along that night. Ben had
been good in the water, but he was slow on the trail, six and a half
hours to the rim. Roma had taken Ellery's advice and finally drove home,
but Mrs. Surwill came up to get us about 2:00 a.m.

*Floating the Colorado River from Tanner Rapids to Hance Rapids
[sometime in September, 1954]*

About two weeks later, I undertook to paddle my air mattress from Tanner
to Hance Rapids. A freshman from Winslow, Arizona (I believe his name
was Hanson ) convinced me that he would be good at that sort of thing
including the walk to the rim. Dale Slocum, who had gotten me quite a
bit of publicity for my previous trip by air mattress through Grapevine
and Sockdolager Rapids, and his friend, Young Veazy, wanted to go too.
In fact Dale furnished the transportation up to Lipan Point where we
slept by the car to get an early start. This was my first trip down the
Tanner Trail and I lost it below the Redwall. I believe we walked the
bed part of the way and then paralleled the trail but below it in the
Tapeats. The freshman and I got to the bed below the Tapeats and then
had to wait for the other two. When we did take off in the river, Veazy
soon became quite ill and threw up. I asked Dale to take him back up the
Tanner Trail while the boy and I went ahead with the project. My
companion was fine in the water, but when we started up the Hance Trail
I found that he was even worse than Ben had been. We took about eight
hours to get to the rim and arrived long after dark. The boy was so
sleepy that he took the two air mattresses for warmth and lay down in
the gutter beside the highway. I spent the rest of the night trying to
keep warm. After finding that the men's room was too cold and the floor
of a generator room too greasy, I finally fell asleep for a short time
when the sun hit Lipan Point. I couldn't get my sleeping bag because
Dale had locked his car. Dale Slocum and Young Veazy hadn't arrived even
by morning light, and I wanted to take food and water down to them. A
ranger loaned me a canteen but no food. I waited until a car came from
Flagstaff with food before walking down to meet them. They had found a
cache of canned food but they hadn't had a refill for their canteens
since about 4:00 p.m. the day before. They had botched the trip by
starting up too far west of the trail and then going back to the river
to stat again. When Veazy and Slocum finally came to the rim shortly
before noon, Slocum was having a harder time keeping any sort of pace
than Veazy.

*Grandview Trail to Hance Canyon
[sometime in November, 1954]*

This must have been the Thanksgiving trip with Boyd Moore and Marvin
Hole. We went to Hance Canyon from Grandview Point and tried to get to
the head of Sockdolager Rapids, but we turned back without quite enough
time. Then we got on the Tonto without using the burro shortcut from the
Archean of the bed and walked around Horseshoe Mesa and slept the second
night at Boulder Canyon. The next night we slept on the sand below the
River Trail and came out the Bright Angel Trail the last day.

*New Hance Trail to Old Hance Trail loop hike
[December 21, 1954 to December 23, 1954]*

For the first night I slept at Hance Rapid and then went over to Hance
Canyon via the Tonto Trail and the shortcut in from the east. I looked
for a way to get down into Mineral Canyon without success. Later on
students told me that they could do this with an approach from the west.
At the end of the second day I was trying to find the right bypasses to
get around the falls in the lower bed of Hance Canyon, but I didn't
allow enough time to complete this project. I wanted to be sure that I
could go up the Old Hance Trail and have time enough to retreat and go
out the Grandview Trail if necessary. The old trail was all right.

*Navaho Bridge Sheep Trail
[May 1, 1955]*

This one day might count as experience in the Grand Canyon. We walked
down the sheep trail a half mile upriver from the Navaho Bridge on our
way to Bryce Canyon.

*Point Imperial to Tanner Trail
[May 24, 1955 to May 27, 1955]*

This was the trip when Boyd was drowned. We came down from Point
Imperial to the Saddle and then lost the trail. We spent a dry night on
the Hermit below the east end of Saddle Mountain and then got down a
break in the top Supai to the trail leading to Tilted Mesa. Our break
faced Little Nankoweap and was not what I used by myself on another
occasion. After a late breakfast at Nankoweap Creek, we walked up and
inspected Kolb Bridge and I measured it with a string. That second
night, and Boyd's last, we slept by Nankoweap Creek, and then went down
to the Colorado river through lower Nankoweap Creek. We walked the right
bank of the Colorado River to within about a mile from the mouth Little
Colorado River and then tried to get across the flooded river. As I have
detailed these events elsewhere, Boyd drowned and I slept that night
near Palisades Creek and struggled out the Tanner Trail the next day.

*Clear Creek
[sometime in November, 1955]*

This must have been a two day trip to Clear Creek because I have
pictures of Cheyava Falls to show for it. I believe Allyn Cureton and
Don Finicum came to college in the fall of 1956, so I wasn't with them.

*Tanner Trail and Hopi Salt Mine
[April 3, 1956 to April 4, 1956]*

This was a two day trip to the mouth of the Little Colorado River. I got
down the Tanner Trail and went to the mouth of Palisades Creek in good
time. Then I had to decide whether to walk above the bluff for the rest
of the way or to stay closer to the river. I had no advance information
to help me so I stayed close to the river. When I got to the ladder
against the wall and the salt deposits, I came to where the wall came
straight into the water and further progress was impossible unless one
were to climb the ladder. It was obviously not safe so I retreated to
Palisades Creek and spent the night. Early the next morning I went up
the bluff and found the Beamer Trail marked with a few cairns but with
very little recognizable trail. I took a few pictures of the mouth of
the Little Colorado River and then turned back. I was able to pick up my
pack at Palisades Creek and still walk out to the rim on the Tanner
Trail that same day.

*Old Hance Trail to Sockdolager Rapids then out the Grandview Trail
[May 25, 1956 to May 26, 1956]*

This was the time that I took Jack Morrow down the Old Hance Trail and
we succeeded in getting to the head of Sockdolager Rapids by means of
the three bypasses, first to the right, then the left, and then again to
the right. We didn't encounter any chockstone near the river as it is
now. We went back out the Grandview Trail.

*Little Colorado River
[May 28, 1956 to May 30, 1956]*

This was the trip when I expected to go to the Hopi Salt Mine which
would be opposite the mouth of Kwagunt Creek, according to Dock. Then as
I was approaching the Little Colorado River, I convinced myself that he
had to be wrong, and I went up Salt Trail Canyon far enough to get a
view of the Echo Cliffs. I slept at the mouth of the Little Colorado two
nights and saw the Beamer Cabin, but I didn't go off the Beamer Trail
and locate the descent to the Hopi Salt Mine. I think I noticed the big
cairn on the point just north of the descent.

*Deer Creek Falls
[June 4, 1956 to June 6, 1956]*

This was a visit to Tapeats Creek and Deer Creek Falls. I must have been
by myself. I was able to see the clear water of Deer Creek falling into
the muddy Colorado, but the river was not as high as it was in Reilly's
photo. I slept along Tapeats Creek and went over to Deer Creek and back
without my pack.

*South Bass Trail
[October 20, 1956 to October 21, 1956]*

This was my solo trip down the South Bass Trail and across the river on
my air mattress. I got as far as the bank of Shinumo Creek without going
as far as Shinumo Gardens to see the old campsite. I slept on a pocket
of sand near the Ross Wheeler.

*South Bass Trail and Copper Canyon
[November 10, 1956 to November 12, 1956]*

This was a trip with Don and Allyn. We left our packs near the old Ross
Wheeler and hiked west on the Tonto Plateau. Without knowing about the
descent to the mine in Copper Canyon, we walked the Tonto until we could
look across to Hakatai Canyon. On the way back we saw the mine and went
down to it. Then we followed the trail going up behind it and out toward
the river beneath the Tapeats. We saw a mine across on the west wall of
Copper Canyon, but we continued east near the base of the Tapeats
without finding a trail all the way. We got down to the river a little
upstream from the mouth of Shinumo Creek and then made our way back to
our packs. We hiked out the following day.

*South Bass Trail and Elves Chasm
[December 29, 1956 to December 31, 1956]*

Allyn Cureton and I went down the South Bass Trail and along the Tonto
to the west. This time we found the trail off the Tonto to the mine in
Copper Canyon and then we climbed out the other side. We put down our
packs between Garnet Canyon and Elves Chasm and then hurried in the
fading light to see Elves Chasm and back to our packs. The following day
we walked up to the rim and spent a fairly comfortable night next to the
barn at Pasture Wash Ranger Station. We spent more time down here than I
had remembered. This was the time when we had Roma drive our car home
from the head of the South Bass Trail. We intended to walk the Tonto
Trail back to Hermit Rest, but I got worried about reaching water and we
decided to go to the rim and walk the park boundary road. We spent a
fairly comfortable night by a fire next to the barn at Pasture Wash
Ranger Station and then we walked most of the way along the park
boundary before a ranger named Iverson picked us up and took us to our
car at Hermit Rest.

*Cremation Canyon
[February 16, 1957]*

This was a one day trip to see the split twig figurine cave in Cremation
Canyon. I believe this was the time that I visited the seep spring high
in the Bright Angel Shale on the east side of Cremation Canyon.

*Clear Creek
[March 2, 1957 to March 3, 1957]*

This was a trip over to Clear Creek to see the split twig figurine cave.
Allyn Cureton was with me. This may have been the time that he and I
walked up to see Cheyava Falls and then back to our packs. We still had
time to walk clear out that same day.

*Sockdolager Rapids
[March 9, 1957]*

Ellery Gibson, Don Finicum, Allyn, and I went down to the foot of
Sockdolager Rapids and back in one day. We used the trail off the west
fork of Horseshoe Mesa. Allyn went down a harder way from below the
Tapeats than I used, and he went up through the Redwall east of the
trail in the hollow of the horseshoe.

*Old Hance Trail
[March 16, 1957]*

This was a trip down the Old Hance Trail and up the Grandview Trail with
the variation that we went along the east side of Grandview Point on the
trail that used to come off the rim back near where the hotel once
stood. I believe that Allyn Cureton and I went out along the east base
of Sinking Ship and then made our way down to the Redwall to intercept
the Old Trail down there.

*Old Hance Trail
[March 31, 1957]*

Allyn and I went down the Old Hance Trail and took time out to climb
into the big cave in the Redwall, Tse An Bide. Then we went down Hance
Creek and did the three bypasses, but didn't have the bother of the
chockstone near the river. We came back to the spur trail through the
Tapeats on the west side of Hance Canyon and used the Grandview Trail to
get out.

*The Colorado River at Mile 79.9
[April 13, 1957]*

This was the trip with Sharon and Elaine Crowder when I got to the river
by a difficult route at Mile 79.9. In 1974 one boy made it down here but
his companion fell to his death trying to reach water. I didn't have a
very big canteen in those days and I was also pressed for water, or I
might not have persisted in getting to the river. It was questionable
right to the end.

*My first hike down the Boucher Trail
[April 18, 1957 to April 21, 1957]*

This was my spring vacation hike from Hermit Rest down the Boucher Trail
and along the Tonto to come out the Bass Trail. It was my first time
down the Boucher Trail and Dan Davis had given it a bad name. He said he
had needed 11 hours to get down it, but I got down in five hours and 10
minutes including the time it took me to eat lunch under an overhang out
of the rain. I looked around at the area including a visit to the river
the first day. On the second day, I walked the Tonto Trail rather
steadily without many detours except to look down on the Colorado River.
I camped at Ruby Canyon after quite a long day of hiking. On the third
day I reached the Bass Trail before noon and proceeded up to the rim. I
believe I was able to get a refill for my canteen on the Esplanade and
then I went on to Pasture Wash Ranger Station in the afternoon. The day
was very windy and cold for April. I knew I would be cold sleeping out
and it was too windy to think about keeping a fire going. I checked the
back window of the ranger cabin and found that I could get in without
breaking anything. I had a comfortable night on the floor inside and
walked back to Hermit Rest on the fourth day.

*Phantom Creek and Haunted Canyon
[May 4, 1957 to May 5, 1957]*

This trip was at the height of the spring runoff from the North Rim and
Allyn Cureton and I had some difficulty in crossing Bright Angel Creek.
We went up the bed and had some assistance from a cable and a ladder
that the engineers had installed when they were studying the idea of
using the water from Haunted Canyon Spring to supplement Indian Garden
water at the South Rim. They rejected this supply as not being enough
and later removed the ladder at the Tapeats Fall. Allyn and I slept near
where a couple of sleeping bags were left in a garbage bag near the
junction of Haunted Canyon and Phantom Creek. Lynn Coffin had told us to
notice whether these supplies were still all right. As I now recall this
trip more clearly, Allyn and I slept farther up Phantom Canyon. We went
up the bed and saw a lot of water in a chute in the Bright Angel Shale.
We didn't go up the last slope of water covered shale and around a bend
into a sort of vertical tunnel or we would have seen a fine fall. This
was the time when I left Allyn at camp early in the morning and went
close to inspect the possible Redwall break in the Phantom Creek
headwall. I had told him that I would be back at 8:00 a.m. or I might
have gone up the Redwall at this time. We walked out that second day,
using the route past Cheops Pyramid and down to the campground.

*Great Thumb Trail
[May 25, 1957 to May 28, 1957]*

Allyn Cureton and I had the idea of walking the Esplanade from the Great
Thumb Trail around and down into Supai. We drove to the south rim with
the idea of going out to Topocoba Hilltop from there, but the word from
the rangers was that the road was muddy and dangerous, so we got into
the car and drove around to Hualapai Hilltop. We were able to reach
Topocoba Spring for camping although both of us were as tired as we have
ever been by then. On the following day we went up the trail and out on
Great Thumb Mesa around to the east side of 140 Mile Basin where we got
down the trail to the lower spring. I didn't know there was a more
reliable spring above at the base of the Coconino Sandstone. We pushed
on to a pool fed by a seep in Olo Canyon for camping. We could see that
the route was too slow to go on back to the car on the Esplanade to
Supai in two more days, and since I wanted to be at home for our son's
high school graduation, I elected to return much as we had come in. We
varied the return by going up a talus and then into a ravine between
Gatagama and Hamidrik Points. There was a place here that was hard and I
had to give Allyn my pack. We slept near the end of the better part of
the Jeep road and went down to the rain barrel at the end of the
Topocoba Road for water in the morning.

*Rim to rim with car exchange
[June 1, 1957 to June 2, 1957]*

This was the only time I crossed the canyon one way and then came home
in a different car. Henry Hall and I walked one way and met three men
who were friends of Henry walking the opposite way. We exchanged car
keys in the middle. The creek was still running high and we had just a
bit of trouble in fording it all right . They used to have makeshift
foot bridges and this seems to have been one of the times when the
bridges were out.

*Climbing Shiva Temple
[June 5, 1957 to June 7, 1957]*

Allyn and I wanted to climb Shiva Temple. We found the Tiyo Point Road
blocked by fallen trees and we couldn't get very close to the take off
point near the ridge that extends toward Shiva. We walked for about four
miles through the woods from a road junction marked by a piece of metal
nailed to a pine bearing the words Shiva Temp Exp. The west fork ended
in the woods not very close to the best place to leave the rim. I
conjectured that for some reason the 1937 Museum Party started from the
end of this fire road and this poor choice explains why they didn't get
any farther than the saddle below Shiva the first day. We got off the
rim where E. D. McKee had suggested and then we didn't know whether to
cross the ravine and proceed along the top of the promontory to get
through the Coconino in the canyon directly east of the Tiyo Point Road.
There was still some time so we experimented with getting through the
Coconino in the canyon directly east of the Tiyo Point Road. We got
through about two-thirds of the Coconino and then we were stopped. On
the following day we went to the right departure point and got through
the Coconino directly beneath it. After my study of the 1937 published
photos, we were able to pick the right ramp to go up Shiva, the first of
two reasonable looking places on the east side. Allyn helped me once by
going ahead and pulling out a dead agave from the best route, and we got
to the top in just over three hours from the time when we left the north
rim. We turned west from the work table near the top of the ascent and
crossed the mesa near its middle. Then we followed the rim east and
north until we came back to the access route. We passed two of the four
corners of Shiva where Emery said that he had erected cairns, but we
didn't see any rock piles. I wondered whether the Anthony party had
knocked them down. Allyn and I spent more than an hour on top and then
got back to the North Rim in just under three hours. We went up the
Coconino at the end of the promontory and found this a lot better.

*Widforss Point and west
[July 4, 1957]*

This was a one day hike along the rim to Widforss Point and west. Keith
Runcorn was doing some geological collecting along the North Kaibab Trail.

*Dripping Springs and Mesa Eremita
[August 3, 1957]*

This was a hike to Dripping Springs and up the Boucher Trail to look
around from the rim of Mesa Eremita. We walked south to a road and then
came back to Hermit Rest on the Hermit Trail.

*My first visit to Powell Plateau and the North Bass Trail
[August 17, 1957 to August 19, 1957]*

This was my first trip down the North Bass Trail. I spent the first day
getting out to Swamp Point and then walking out to Dutton Point on
Powell Plateau. On the second day I walked down to Shinumo Creek using
the trail as shown on the map and left my pack where I reached Shinumo
Creek. Then I had time to go down past the old Bass Camp and on
downstream to where I had been when I crossed the river from the south
side on my air mattress. On the return the next day I took the burro
route to shortcut the swing to the west in the shale.

*Looking for the Point Atoko Route
[August 21, 1957 to August 22, 1957]*

On these days I was scouting for a way down into Lava Creek. I walked a
lot of the rim the first day and figured I had a way through the Redwall
west of Hubbell and on the next day I found the Coconino Route west of
Point Atoko. I went down here and took a picture from below the Coconino.

*Thunder River and above Tapeats Creek Source Cave
[August 27, 1957 to August 28, 1957]*

Dale Hall and I went down from the rim between Monument and Crazy Jug
Points and slept near Thunder River. In the morning we went along the
slope above the inner gorge of Tapeats Creek over to the source cavern.
We must have come back and carried our packs out the same day. Dale
hitchhiked to Flagstaff while I drove on to Toroweap.

*Toroweap and the Lava Rapids Trail
[August 29, 1957]*

I spent a few hours at Toroweap. I talked to John Riffy and then went
down the Lava Trail in 70 minutes and came back up in 80. While down
there I went along the bank to get a good look at Vulcan Rapid. I recall
that there was some water in the lake north of Vulcan's Throne and I
walked from there to the rim.

*Cottonwood Creek to the Colorado River
[September 14, 1957]*

This was the day that we found a way to go down Cottonwood Creek and get
to the river by using the talus just upriver from the mouth of
Cottonwood Creek. We also entered Cottonwood through the Tapeats break
on the east side. Then we went rather high along the west side beneath
the Tapeats and came down to the bed just back from the river.

*Lee's Ferry to Badger Rapids
[October 27, 1957]*

We were waiting at Lee's Ferry to meet Gene Foster and I figured I had
time for a hike. I crossed the bridge to the south side of the river and
followed rather close to the rim until I could look down on Badger
Rapids. Then I went back to the south and got into the bed from the east
tributary. Upon reaching the river, I went upstream and crossed the
river on my air mattress. I had seen from the south side a place to go
up about two-thirds of the way to the top and then go west along a bench
to enter a ravine that brought me out on the plateau well to the east of
Badger Creek. Then I walked back to the car at the bridge parking lot.

*Clear Creek
[November 9, 1957 to November 11, 1957]*

This was the Veteran's Day trip to Clear Creek when Don Finicum and I
followed the arm that starts below the saddle separating The Howlands
from Angel's Gate. We didn't try to go through the pass but stayed on
the Tonto around the base of The Howlands. We got into the valley below
the Tapeats immediately to the east of Clear Creek and were able to get
down it close to the river. Finally, near the bottom we had to climb out
and go down a break slanting toward the mouth of Clear Creek. We
finished the loop by going up the bed to our packs near the foot of the
Clear Creek Trail (cf. Clear Creek Trip - November 9, 1957 later entry).

*Big Saddle, Tapeats Cave, Deer Creek Falls, Chamberlain Canyon, and
Kanab Canyon
[November 27, 1957 to December 1, 1957]*

This was the Thanksgiving trip when Don, Allyn and I were dropped off
from my car at Big Saddle and came up to my car taken to the mine in
Hacks Canyon by the Finicum's. We slept the first night at the Tapeats
Cave after Don and Allyn explored it as far in as the main channel. The
next night we spent a cold and windy time on the beach a mile or so west
of Deer Creek Falls. The next day was warmer with a fire in front of me
while I slept at the base of a cliff in lower Kanab Creek. The following
day we wasted some time by trying to find a way out Chamberlain Canyon
because we didn't know what Hack Canyon looked like. We slept in the dry
bed of Kanab Canyon and got to the car at the mine about noon the next day.

*Blue Springs Trail
[December 29, 1957 to December 30, 1957]*

This was the time that I took a cold weather hike to look for the Blue
Springs Trail. I went along near the Palisades of the Desert and got the
view from the top of Comanche Point and then headed for the north side
of Gold Hill. I mistook the bay to the north of Blue Springs Bay for the
real one and I succeeded in getting down a ravine that slopes south on
the north side of the bay as far as the rim of the Redwall. There is no
way to continue here short of following the Redwall rim upstream to
where the Blue Springs Trail goes down. I had to break over an inch of
ice to get water for camping, but I slept surprisingly warm by getting
down to the Redwall and back. I walked back to the car at Desert View
and went home late at night.

*Mouth of Horn Creek Rapids
[January 25, 1958; February, 25, 1958; and March 15, 1958]*

These were one day trips down the Bright Angel Trail and over toward
Horn Creek. On the third trip, Allyn took me down his route to the mouth
of Horn Creek from the south.

*New Hance Trail to Old Hance Trail loop hike
[March 30, 1958]*

This was a one day trip down the New Hance Trail and up the Old Hance
Trail to identify pictures in the book of Stoddard's Lectures.

*Asbestos Canyon
[April 4, 1958 to April 8, 1958]*

This was the Asbestos Canyon trip starting across from Phantom Ranch.

*Hermit Trail to Boucher Trail loop hike below the Tapeats
[April 19, 1958]*

The one day trip down the Hermit Trail using the cutoff down the Redwall
to Hermit Camp south of Cathedral Stairs. I stayed below the Tapeats
from Hermit Rapid to Boucher Rapid in order to see how a river runner
could have done this along a beach trail. He couldn't! I went back up
the Boucher Trail in five hours and twenty minutes at the end of this
strenuous day. The boys with me went directly up the Hermit Trail from
the river and were waiting for me at the car. It took me three and a
half hours to go from Hermit to Boucher, slower than if I had gone back
and used the Tonto Trail.

*Spur trail west of Cottonwood Creek to the Colorado River
[May 3, 1958]*

This was the day that I finally got to the river on the spur trail west
of the mouth of Cottonwood Creek. I checked the old map right where the
trail had fallen away and went east below the Tapeats and then down to
the west.

*Aerial tram across the Little Colorado River Gorge
[May 10, 1958]*

This was the time that Alan Osbon took me across the Little Colorado
River Gorge via the aerial tram east of the viewpoint. We went down the
Sheep Trail and while we were there he cleaned out the automatic river
flow meter.

*Cape Solitude, Blue Springs, and Tanner Trails
[May 26, 1958 to May 29, 1958]*

This trip took me out to Cape Solitude, down the Blue Springs Trail, up
the Little Colorado River Gorge three miles, then down to the mouth of
the Little Colorado River, along the Beamer Trail with a detour down to
identify the Hopi Salt Source, and out the Tanner Trail.

*Grand Scenic Divide, South Bass Trail, and Royal Arch Creek
[July 4, 1958 to July 6, 1958]*

I went down the South Bass Trail and camped at the seep spring below the
Coconino around to the west. The next day I went down the east arm of
Royal Arch Creek and down the main bed as far as the spring, but I
didn't get far enough to find the natural bridge. On the first day I
went out to the end of Grand Scenic Divide and also climbed Mount
Huethawali.

*Phantom Creek
[July 25, 1958 to July 26, 1958]*

On this trip I went up Bright Angel Creek to where I could go up on the
Tonto and walk around into Phantom Creek. This time I went up to the
very end of Phantom Creek right below the usually dry fall. I also
climbed Cheops Plateau.

*Butte Fault Trail
[August 22, 1958 to August 28, 1958]*

I went down the Tanner Trail and across the river to go up Basalt Creek
over into the bed of Lava. Then I climbed through the Redwall just west
of Hubbell and walked around to the pass between Lava and Kwagunt. I
spotted Hartman Bridge and spend the following half-day going up to it
from below. Then I followed the Butte Fault to Kwagunt and Nankoweap and
went up Tilted Mesa returning to Kwagunt via the riverbank. For the
return trip after using the Butte Fault again, I crossed the river below
the mouth of Lava and went up the Tanner Trail.

*Atoko Point Route to Nankoweap Trail loop hike
[September 20, 1958 to September 21, 1958]*

This time I got out of the car near Point Atoko and went down through
the Coconino and around to the Lava-Kwagunt Saddle. I didn't know that I
could get down into Kwagunt here, but I did and slept in lower Kwagunt
below the spring. The next day I went over into Nankoweap via the Butte
Fault Trail and out to the river to inspect the cliff dwellings. Then I
tried to go up the Little Nankoweap Canyon and found that the main bed
is blocked by dry falls. I had to go back and out the Nankoweap Trail,
without a trace (at the time) of where the trail went. I climbed up
through a crack in the Supai and ate dinner on the Hermit level. Then I
had to walk in the dark to Point Imperial where Roma picked me up about
twelve hours after I was supposed to get there.

*Unkar Creek
[October 18, 1958 to October 19, 1958]*

This time I went down the Tanner Trail and up Unkar Creek above the
Tapeats Fall bypass. I visited the Lookout Ruin above Unkar.

*Hopi Salt Source
[December 6, 1958 to December 7, 1958]*

Allyn Cureton went with me to see the Hopi Salt Source. We left out
packs at Palisades Creek and followed the Beamer Trail to rappel down to
the salt source and walk back mostly in the dark beneath the bluff to
find our packs in the dark (cf. December 6, 1957 - Hopi Salt Spring
later entry).

*DETAILED HIKING LOGS

Floating on the Colorado River
[August 27 and 28, 1954 and September 18, 1954]*

During this last weekend of August, Ellery Gibson and I took our packs
down the Hermit Trail to sleep out a couple nights. I had been down here
several times before, so we kept going at a steady pace and aimed for
the bottom of Monument Creek. We knew that Purtymun's gear was cached
there, and we wanted to see about the trip to the river here. As usual,
there was a little water running in Monument Creek, and we saw the bed
springs under the overhang which had been used in the old days when the
loop from the Hermit Trail over to the Bright Angel Trail was an
accepted and popular outing. Walking to the river down Monument Creek is
a pretty simple task, which didn't surprise me since I knew that horses
could make it. We timed ourselves back up from the river to the Tonto
Trail at about 45 minutes. I don't think the Inner Gorge is as deep here
as it is at the South Kaibab Trail.

The river seemed very low and the rapids known as Granite Falls were
concentrated over toward the right bank. The water was pretty wild, and
I was not surprised that the Purtymun Party had given up here. What
surprised me more was that they had come through Horn Creek Rapids with
portaging. We found the pile of duffel. A life jacket was near the top
and we tried it on for size. Georgie White had already pushed the rubber
boats out in the current but they had soon been caught by eddies. The
story is that they showed up at Lake Mead about four months later. Elmer
finally brought some pack horses down Monument Creek and took the rest
of the stuff away overland. The only approach by horse now is along the
Tonto Trail from Indian Gardens, because the shorter route down the
Hermit Trail is blocked by rock slides.

I forgot where Ellery and I left our packs, but I know I brought my air
mattress down to the river here. Somehow I had gotten the idea that it
would be fun to paddle around on it in the river. I believe I had done
this on a picnic in Oak Creek, and I wanted to see whether it might be
possible to use a mattress as a means of going down river. It worked
fine for me in the quiet pool. I could paddle upstream with the
backwater along the edge and then cross over and return without getting
too close to the rapids. Ellery tried it too, and right away he had the
curiosity to see how hard it would be to get back up on the mattress if
you had slipped off or been turned over for some reason. That maneuver
is awkward at first, but with a bit of thought and patience, you can get
the hang of it. The technique is to lie crosswise across the middle of
the mattress and then to pivot your body until you're lying lengthwise.
We didn't know this then, and it was comical how the mattress would pop
up the wrong way.

Ellery and I still had time to leave Granite Falls and go back over near
Hermit Creek before it was time to make camp for the night. I had never
been to Boucher Creek nor Boucher Camp, so I resolved to test out my
theory that the mattress would furnish good transportation downstream
and see that region too. Ellery went with me to see Hermit rapids and
then while I was blowing up the mattress, he waited around to see me
off. I hadn't at that time worked out a system to keep the contents of a
knapsack dry as I floated along so all I took with me was shoes and
socks. I figured I would get back to Hermit Camp where I had left the
pack in time to eat lunch. Later I wished that I had brought my watch,
because I would have liked knowing how long it took to float the 1.6
miles downstream from Hermit to Boucher Rapids. Ellery figured that it
might take him a bit longer to go up the trail to Hermit Rest than it
would take me, so we agreed that he should go on ahead at a leisurely
pace while I was returning from Boucher Creek by the Tonto Trail. It
seemed to me that I floated the 1.6 miles in less than 45 minutes. There
were no rapids or riffles of any kind along this section of the river. I
inspected the left bank to see whether I could walk upstream near the
water without going up onto the Tonto Plateau, and I came to the
conclusion that this would not be advisable. There would be too much
rock climbing. However, my impression wasn't too firm because when I
heard later from Dock that Russell and Monnette had done this going from
Hermit to Boucher, I supposed that it would be feasible. Finally, in
April, 1958, we tried doing just this. Don, Ivan, and Marshall Maynes
gave up the long one-day loop hike. When I went on, I had to go up to
the base of the Tapeats, but this trip is covered in another place in
these logs. Going downriver was so simple along this stretch that I
became enthusiastic about the method.

At this time, I believe there was a little water in lower Boucher but
none up by the camp. From my later trips, I learned to expect water
during all seasons somewhat higher than the camp. I must have been in a
hurry, because I went right past the rock cabin without seeing either it
or the small structure I later called the rock chicken coop. It was easy
to see the old trail leaving the bottom of the wash going up to the
Tonto level. I also noted the branch which goes on up the Redwall to
form the Boucher Trail. On the way back to Hermit Creek, I experimented
with going higher and straighter than the regular trail. The experiment
was not a success as the route was rougher and I probably lost time.
When I crossed Hermit Creek, I noticed the old corral they used for the
mules. One item of interest before you get to the creek is a high and
well built fence from the base of the Redwall down to the edge of the
Inner Gorge. I thought it probably had something to do with the limit of
some mining property, but I learned later that it was put up by the Park
Service to keep the wild burros out. They reasoned that the bighorn
sheep would come back if there was no competition with burros, and that
the sheep could climb around the fence while the burros could not.
Actually, the burros could go up the Boucher Trail and come down the
Hermit to restock this basin. We found burro bones along the trail down
into this area where rangers had shot them. There were also some live
burros somewhere around to judge by the manure.

Hermit Camp used to be quite an elaborate affair with tents mounted
above wood floors. There were even concrete bases for some sort of
structures in regular rows. They had piping to bring water to the
grounds from higher up the creek and with this irrigation, there were
cottonwoods growing. There was a cable car to bring down supplies from
Pima Point above and wagon roads for moving food and supplies around.
The one thing that is most nearly in its original state is an
underground storage cellar.

After a late lunch on the path approaching Hermit Camp where we had
spent the night, I left for the rim and got out in good time, a half
hour after Ellery.

I'm not sure whether the move away from Hermit Camp over to Phantom
Ranch was a good one. You get a better view of the surrounding cliffs
from Hermit. The walk down to the river at Hermit Rapids is interesting
, and the rapid itself is much more spectacular than anything along the
River Trail to Phantom Ranch. It must be that Phantom Ranch is more
strategically located on the way to the North Rim. Also there are so
many interesting places to go to from Phantom Ranch like Clear Creek,
Ribbon Falls, and Phantom Creek. I believe you get a broader impression
of the whole Grand Canyon from the South Kaibab Trail than you do from
the Hermit Trail. In making this comparison, it is interesting to read
James chapter on the Hermit Trail which was only in the planning stage
when he wrote about it. He called it a trail to the scenic heart of the
canyon.

*From Hance Rapids to the Kaibab Suspension Bridge
[September 4, 1954]*

The mattress worked so well going from Hermit to Boucher that I was
excited about using it for more ambitious projects. I knew that the part
of the river from Sockdolager Rapids to Bright Angel Creek was
noteworthy for the steepness of the banks and the impossibility of
walking around the rapids, or at least two: Sockdolager and Grapevine. I
figured that if I could do that part, I could do it all. I don't
remember how I got Ben Surwill interested in going with me. We didn't
know each other very well and he had never hiked with me. He was young
and had been in the Army, so I thought he would be in good condition for
the trip. I didn't even find out how good a swimmer he was. I suppose I
chatted with him in front of the training school and mentioned my
ambition. He was enthusiastic.

It took us a little longer to get to the bottom of the Red Canyon Trail
than I had figured it would. On the way through the Supai, we had an
experience that I have never duplicated. We were following the bottom of
the wash instead of keeping to the slight remains of the old trail. When
we came around a big rock about the size of a room, there was a bighorn
ram only about 15 feet away from us. It got to its feet rather
deliberately and walked away in front of us without showing much alarm.
Possibly it was not in good health because it lay down again not very
far away. It let us catch up and then moved on several times so that we
must have had three or four close encounters over a period of about 20
minutes. Most unfortunately, I was not sure I could keep a camera dry on
the river, so I was not armed at the time.

It was quite warm near the bottom of the wash, and I think we ate our
lunch under the shade of a big rock about a half hour before we reached
the river. At this time I was not aware that the trail strays away from
the bottom of the wash most of the way down. I know now that when you
are below the Redwall, you should go nearly to the bottom of the wash
and then turn north at about the same level until you come to the
tributary from below Zuni. The trail goes down into the shale here
toward the east and then stays rather high above the bottom of the wash
as it turns the point back into the main arm of Red Canyon. There are a
couple of places where you have to scramble down past big rocks if you
stay in the bed of the wash.

It must have been after 1:00 p.m. when Ben and I were finally ready to
shove off below the bottom of Hance Rapids. I was not familiar with the
Inner Gorge along here when we did this, and the only times that I had
my bearings for sure were when we were negotiating Sockdolager and
Grapevine Rapids and when we were passing the mouth of Clear Creek. I
had looked at the river from the mouth of Cottonwood Canyon, about 60
feet above the level of the water. However, I have to confess that I
didn't recognize Cottonwood as we were passing it. We were wearing
sneakers so that we could get out and walk without hurting our feet, but
we found that the wet rubber soles on the polished schist and granite
were exceedingly slippery. Once when we were just standing and thinking
things over, I lost my footing and fell in such a way that my hip hurt
for a number of days. When we were going along a narrow ledge 30 feet
above the water to bypass one rapid, Ben and I agreed that we were
probably taking the hard way out. We would have been safer down in the
water. At both Sockdolager and Grapevine Rapids, we climbed along the
right bank for about a third of the way through the rapid and then
pushed off where the waves were not quite so high. We must have walked
clear past some rapid or riffle about 12 different times.

Once I saw that there was a rapid ahead which I thought we ought to
scout from the bank and gave Ben the sign to land to the left. As I was
getting out of the water, I heard him say, Here I go, I can't make it to
the bank. It was a short but sharp drop. It seemed about the steepest
place in the river that I have ever seen. The river narrowed and then
spilled over a huge rock in about the middle with the water apparently
only a foot or two deep over the top of the rounded rock. It seemed too
me that Ben went over the south end of this smooth spillway and dropped
five or six feet at about a 45 degree angle. He did it in fine style
without seeming a bit unnerved and waited for me in an eddy at the end
of the millrace several hundred yards downstream. I suppose I should
have pushed off and done likewise, but I climbed down the rocks on the
left and had to paddle to get into the current below.

We were in the water when we passed Clear Creek, but we walked past
Zoroaster Rapid. On the whole we stayed quite close together while we
were in the water. Ben could paddle a mattress about as fast as I could.
Sometimes we would be abreast and talk things over, but most of the time
I was slightly ahead and made the decisions about landing and inspecting
rapids ahead. We had a bit of trouble keeping out of eddies, but on the
whole we were able to do it. One thing that made the trip a bit
unpleasant was a cold drizzling rain that came down on our bare backs
from time to time. When the wind blew, we were a bit too cold. Another
thing that worried us was the lateness of the day. We were a half hour
behind my schedule when we pushed off from Hance Rapids, and I had told
Ellery that we would get down to the bridge by 6:00 p.m.

When we did get to the bridge, it was nearer 7:00 p.m. The engineer was
just finishing taking his water sample and readings, so we stopped above
the bridge and talked to him briefly. We noted a very small rubber boat
about half full of water moored near the path leading to the cable car.
We later learned that someone had come down from Lee's Ferry in it but
had decided to abandon ship here. Ellery had been waiting for us on the
bridge until 6:30 p.m., and then had hiked up and told Roma and the
others that we must have stopped our trip along the river somewhere and
that we would probably not be coming along that evening. Getting out of
the river up by the cable was a mistake as it was a climb through brush
and rocks up to the path. We ate our supper near the bridge and then
started up the South Kaibab Trail as it was getting near dark. Now I
began to wish I had checked Ben for hiking speed before bringing him. He
had no wind at all and needed six and a half hours to go from the river
to the rim. When he saw how long it was going to take him, he asked me
to go ahead and tell the others he was all right and telephone his wife
in Flagstaff that he was OK. I tried to get to the top by 10:00 p.m.,
the time I had predicted, but I didn't make it until 10:15 p.m. The car
had waited until 10:00 p.m., and then they had gone to Bright Angel
Lodge. If I had phoned the lodge from the telephone three-fourths of a
mile down the trail, I would have intercepted the car. As it turned out,
I waited near the rim in a shed and didn't see the car when it checked
back about 10:30 p.m. Then they took the kids back to Flagstaff. In the
meantime, Mrs. Surwill had gotten Miss Tyson and Miss Burton to babysit
for her and came back up to the canyon to get Ben and me. Roma was quite
disgusted at the mismanagement at the tail end of this expedition, and I
don't blame her!

*From Tanner to Hance Rapids by water
[September 18, 1954]*

At the first hiking club meeting, I told how I was going to float by
mattress from Tanner to Hance Rapids. Gary Hanson , from Winslow,
besieged me with the request that he should go too. He talked a big line
about how much canyon hiking he had done. We both took it for granted
that he could manage himself in the water. I also invited Dale Slocum
and he brought Young Veasey. In fact, Dale drove his car for the trip.
We took bedrolls up to Lipan Point Friday evening so as to get an early
start on Saturday. It was my first time down the Tanner Trail.

I had learned something about the trail, which is not shown on the
official map, from Mr. Pullen. We followed his directions and followed
it well enough until we were below the Redwall. We must not have been
looking carefully from above as we came down, because from the Redwall
switchbacks you can see what the trail does next. First I went to the
right of the little knoll, but I soon decided that this was wrong. I led
the others down into the ravine to the left, which was correct, but when
we got down into the wash in the Muav Limestone, we didn't notice that
the real trail goes along at this level or actually climbs a bit to the
left. We went on down and then couldn't make up our minds. Slocum and
Veasey decided to head for the bottom of Tanner Wash while I got Hanson
to follow me north along the slope above the Tapeats Sandstone. We went
along here with no great difficulty and actually came to within a few
yards of joining the real trail without seeing it. When the Tapeats
cliff was replaced by a rocky slope, we went to the bottom of the wash.
Slocum and Veasey were nowhere around. I took a chance that they were
not ahead, after we had waited for them for 20 minutes, and went up the
wash looking for them. They had been stopped by the same fall in the
Tapeats that later killed Father Gavigan and they found the same bypass
to the west that Mahaney and Owens used. I was going up this bypass when
they started down it, so it was obvious that their route was slower than
ours. When we got together again, I hurried them down to the river
because I could see that we might have trouble with darkness again and I
didn't relish going up the Hance Trail after dark.

We ate a quick lunch and took off. It is easy to walk below Tanner
Rapids to start, but I wanted to show the others what you could do on a
mattress, and I rode through this one. The others did likewise and we
were off. In no time, however, we saw Veasey out on the bank walking. He
had begun to feel sick and shortly after, he threw up. Since he was
Dale's guest, I asked Dale to go back with him by land to the car. By
this time Hansen was quite far ahead of me, but he waited and we
proceeded together. He was good enough in the water. This is supposed to
be an easier stretch of the river than the part I had been down the
preceding week, but we were caught by eddies and taken back upstream
more than once. The only rapids we bypassed on land were Unkar and 75
Mile. When a wave tipped us over, we both had the same reaction, to let
our feet hang down while we lay across the middle of the mattress
crosswise. This worked fine for even the worst water, but where a lot of
rocks were showing, I preferred to have us walk rather than risk collisions.

It was well after three when we got to Hance Rapids, and by the time we
had eaten some more lunch, we had started up the trail by 3:30 p.m. I
thought we might be at the top by 8:30 p.m., but I hadn't reckoned on my
hiking companion. Again he had no wind, and it was completely dark by
the time we were going up the ravine in the Supai. It was after 11:00
p.m. when we finally hit the road. For some reason, Gary was so sleepy,
he wanted to lie down with no more cover than a deflated mattress and go
to sleep beside the road. He took both of the mattresses to do this, and
I walked on, hoping to get my sleeping bag out of Dale's trunk and tell
them that we had made it out all right. When I reached the car, Slocum
and Veasey were not around, and the trunk was securely locked. I walked
on to Desert View but I couldn't find a warm place to lie down there
either. The shed where a generator was running was warm, but the floor
was a mess of dirty oil. I got all the water I needed and went back to
Lipan Point. Finally I built two fires and sat between them with my head
down on my knees. However, I didn't get any real sleep until the sun
came up. I stretched out under a juniper where the sun could reach me
and slept for about an hour.

Veasey and Slocum had started back along the river from a little below
Basalt. First they thought they could save time by going up the valley
west of the ridge where the trail comes down. Then they decided they
couldn't climb the Tapeats anywhere and returned to the river, thus
wasting quite a bit of time. Actually, they could have gone up the
Tapeats at one place and came right out on the trail, since I left the
trail there on another occasion They filled their one quart canteens at
the river about 4:00 p.m. and started up. Somewhere they found a cache
of canned goods left from the search for the body of the seasonal park
ranger who was killed by a fall off the Tapeats cliff down here. They
must have gone up the bottom of the wash using the same route as on the
way down, because they said a seep which had had water in it in the
morning was dry by evening. They tried sleeping with the flat air
mattress for warmth. It's too narrow to do much good, but they spent the
night in one place without trying to continue after dark.

On Sunday morning, I could have carried more water down to them, but I
was afraid I might become a drawback without any food in me. Joe Lynch
at the ranger station couldn't let me have any. I called Flagstaff and
Veasey's wife came up with food for the rescue. By the time I was
starting down to meet them with food and water, Veasey was about out.
Slocum had given him the last of the water to help his speed. I went
down to meet Dale and we came up together about 1:00 p.m.. So ended
another snafu!

*Grandview, Tonto, and Hance Trails in one day
[January 23, 1954]*

Some of the students wanted to take an overnight hike between semesters,
but I overruled them saying that it would be too cold for sleeping out
even at the bottom of the canyon. We compromised by taking a one day
hike. The three girls elected to go to Plateau Point, following the spur
away from the Bright Angel Trail at Indian Gardens out to the viewpoint
overlooking the inner gorge. We let them out at the head of the Bright
Angel Trail and then went to talk to Frank Sylvestre about the loop trip
down the Grandview Trail, along the Tonto across Hance and Mineral
Canyons to Hance Rapids, and then up the Hance or Red Canyon Trail. He
thought that we should allow two days for such a trip but that we could
get to the river and back by way of the Red Canyon Trail all right. He
told us a little about finding the break in the Redwall from above on
this trail but said that it was quite a bit easier to see from below.

Boyd Moore, Robert Gardner, and I thanked him and started driving east
along the rim road. I felt in the mood for something ambitious and I
figured that I had companions that were at least my peers in hiking, so
I convinced them that we should go over the whole loop in one day. We
made very respectable time down to the mines by Horseshoe Mesa, but in
crossing a slope of mine tailings, we got the first hint that Gardner
might be a handicap. He took a long time making up his mind to come over
the way we had.

We crossed Hance Canyon without going clear around on the contour as the
Tonto Trail seemed to do. However, we were about as high as the place
where you first find water when going down the wash. When we ate lunch,
it developed that Gardner had only one can of Sardines and a box of
Cheesits. Before long he was complaining about his internal workings and
slowed down practically to a standstill. It became clear that he would
not be able to make it out in one day. Since I had to meet the girls and
take them back to Flagstaff, and since I thought I had better bring some
more food to Boyd and Robert, I left them with the advice to get to
Hance Rapids and try to keep a big fire going all night.

The territory was new to me and I was not carrying a real map, although
I did have a crude sketch of the route. I was not positive of the
identification of Hance Rapids, and when I saw no trail going up Red
Canyon, I was a little uncertain that I had the right canyon. However, I
followed my best guess and proceeded after leaving a message and a
flashlight on the sand at the rapids.

I followed the route along the bottom of the wash for a mile or so and
then I began to worry about getting caught by a dead end in the Tapeats,
so I climbed out to the left on the shale and went towards the most
promising break in the Redwall. It turned out to be the right place
except that I didn't follow a ledge around a promontory and go up by the
regular trail. When I saw a chance, I climbed up a crevice and got out
on top of the Redwall. The way ahead from here seemed very dubious. It
seemed to me that the bottom of the Supai, a shaley slope above the
Redwall, might pinch off to nothing in some of the bays ahead, so I
considered going high up on the Supai right where I first came out on
top of the Redwall. It was a toss-up, but I decided to proceed south
before ascending. This turned out to be the right decision, because
although the ledge became a narrow and rather steep slope in the shale
in a couple of places, it never gave about entirely and I reached the
valley below Coronado Butte without any real trouble.

About here darkness fell and I just had time to pick out the most likely
part of the Coconino to ascend before I lost sight of everything farther
away than my feet. It was quite dark, a moon-less night, when I reached
the Coconino there was quite a bit of snow on the rocks, but I had the
great satisfaction of finding signs of trail construction here where it
was most necessary to find the right route. Above the Coconino, there
was quite a bit of vegetation, and I was able to go on up even though I
had lost the trail again. It took about fifteen minutes more among the
junipers to find the highway and it was a fairly long and cold walk
before I came to the car parked at Grandview Point. It was a good thing
that I had kept my Machinaw instead of leaving it at the river for the boys.

As I was driving along the rim road towards the village, I met a car
which stopped after it passed me, so I stopped too. It was Frank
Sylvestre with the girls who had become worried. I took the girls back
to Flagstaff with me where we arrived rather late, about midnight. I set
the alarm to allow about three and a half hours of sleep, but I lay
awake quite a bit thinking of how cold the boys might be getting. After
picking up all the food that was handy, I started back to the canyon
before daylight. The boys were supposed to be walking up the Red Canyon
Trail to meet me. I had more trouble locating the right place to go down
through the Redwall than I had had on the ascent, and it was nearly noon
by the time I was down in the bottom of the wash about a mile or so from
the river. I hadn't seen the boys at all, but just as I was about to
round a bend out of sight from anyone above, Robert Gardner hailed me. I
climbed up and we had a meal together. Boyd had given up about 11:00
a.m. and had gone back to the river to retrace the route we had followed
the day before while Robert had persisted in following some burro trails
that didn't lead much of anywhere. After eating, Robert and I went back
up to the car which we reached about 5:30 p.m.

As luck would have it, I had brought another flashlight with me on
Sunday and before I had gone down the Grandview Trail very far to meet
Boyd, I was using it. It was most gratifying when I saw another
flashlight coming up a long way off. He had also seen me coming. I
reached him about 8:15 p.m. and we ate a fairly good meal cold out of
the can. It was almost 1:00 a.m. before we were back to the car with no
casualties. It turned out that the boys had kept quite warm down at the
river beside their big fire and had been able to sleep for almost an
hour at a time before it was necessary to build the fire up again.

*Tragedy between Point Imperial and Desert View
[May 24, 1955 to May 27, 1955]*

My air mattress experiments were carried out in September, 1954 when I
had begun by going from Hermit to Boucher Rapids, then from Hance Rapids
to the Kaibab Bridge, and finally from Tanner to Hance Rapids. All had
gone well both when I was by myself and when I had a companion, except
when Ben Surwell had been carried through a short but sharp rapid after
I had given the word to land and walk around it. When Boyd came to
Flagstaff for the start of the trip, he then told me that he was
practically a non-swimmer. I told him that swimming had very little to
do with the case as we would be merely paddling over the sides of the
mattress or holding on and kicking with our feet when we get tipped
over. Since the superintendent of the Park had denied my request for
permission to go through the Park by that method in the high water of
late May, I suggested that we go down from Lee's Ferry to Nankoweap
Creek and get out when we came to the Park border.

Roma and Wanda Euler took us up to Lee's Ferry to see us off. In the
short distance from the boat landing to the mouth of Paria Creek, Boyd
decided that it was not for him. I waited and we walked over to the car
together. We had to cross the quiet water of the lagoon to get to the
road, and I should have seen the great difference between the way I
crossed with a few gliding strokes and the way he inched across very
slowly. I told myself that he would catch on with a little more practice.

We went back to Flagstaff and decided to see Goldwater's newly
discovered bridge by a different route, down from Point Imperial along
the Nankoweap Trail. Dale Slocum wanted to get some good pictures of it,
so he joined us on the project. He took us to the North Rim in his
Austin. He was to return the same way we were going down while Boyd was
coming with me out to the river, along the bank to a quiet stretch where
we would cross, and then go out by way of the Tanner Trail.

One mistake was starting as late as 2:30 p.m. from Point Imperial. We
had to follow the rim around to the north, but we still didn't see any
signs of a trail where we thought one ought to be. This bothered Dale
considerably, and he was always stopping to look at his map. He had two
gallons of water while Boyd and I had only an afternoon's supply. After
protesting Dale's needless delays a few times, I suggested that we part
company and that Boyd and I could then perhaps reach water before time
to camp. That suited Dale too, so we hurried ahead while he went on
studying the map. Later I learned that he spent the night in the woods
at a high elevation with his water, heavy photo equipment, and no blanket.

Boyd and I worked around to the north to get down to the saddle at
Saddle Mountain. Here we could have studied the map to good advantage
ourselves, for then we would have seen that we were supposed to get
below the highest part of the Supai right at the saddle. As it was, we
followed the Hermit Shale clear out to the east end of Saddle Mountain.
This was slow going and darkness caught us here with too little water
left in the canteens to let us think about eating much more than a raw
carrot.

In the morning we were convinced that we had missed the trail
completely, but we found a crack in the Supai where we could climb down
to the ridge separating Big Nankoweap from Little Nankoweap Canyons.
This climb was not dangerous although in a couple places we had to hand
our knapsacks down. We saw traces of the trail at this lower level, but
we soon lost it again while we were trying to get down to the creek in
Big Nankoweap. Some of the way down the Muav was pretty much of a
scramble, but we eventually got to the creek and ate a combined meal
consisting of supper and breakfast by 10:00 a.m. on the twenty-fifth.

While we were moving our packs upstream to a place where the creek again
had water, marked by a grove of cottonwoods, we passed a peculiar place
in the bed where the bottom appeared as smooth as flagstone. We went on
without our packs and made good time following the directions Goldwater
had given in the Arizona Highways article to head for Mount Hayden and
then to turn so as to keep it on one's left. As we approached the
Tapeats, we scrambled up where there was a break on the north side and
were soon rewarded by a good look at the bridge. This was the third time
it had been seen from the ground in historic times, first by Goldwater
and his helicopter pilot and next by a ranger who climbed down to the
top of the Redwall from Point Imperial. The fourth time was when the
Life photographer and his party, including Dale Slocum, got clear below
the bridge off Point Imperial using ropes. Dan Davis reported in May,
1956, that a guide has cleared out the Nankoweap Trail so that horses
can make the trip. I took color pictures although the bridge was in the
afternoon shade. I stretched a string across the span, and when I got
home I measured the piece and found that the bridge is 147 feet across
and, from the pictures, one might conclude that it is about the same in
height. The Life party give the width as 162 feet without saying how
their measurement was made.

After a night where we had left the packs, Boyd and I got an early start
on the twenty-sixth. It was easy to go down to the river along Nankoweap
Creek and we were impressed by the way the broad, open valley gives way
to the narrow canyon at the fault line a couple of miles from the river.
On a broad rock in the middle of the streambed, there was a distinct
trail cairn, probably set there to show where one should leave the bed
to take the Fault line Trail. We also noticed the Indian ruin at the top
of the talus south of the mouth of Nankoweap Creek. We had the objective
of reaching the mouth of the Little Colorado on the other side of the
river for our campsite, so we did not climb up to investigate the ruin.

Walking along the bank was not too difficult although the river was high
and we were forced to plow through a good many thickets of willow and
some mesquite. Before we came to Kwagunt Canyon, we decided to try out
the air mattresses. Boyd got along quite well and seemed quite pleased
with that method of travel, but we didn't get far from the west bank and
were careful to land safely above Kwagunt Rapids. I tried towing him by
a short rope we had along, but we could make almost no progress that
way, and he remarked that he could see that we were strictly on our own
when out on the river. Between Kwagunt and 60 Mile Rapids there was a
lot of swift but otherwise untroubled water but we passed up the chance
of crossing until we were rather close to the mouth of the Little
Colorado River. I should have remembered the slowness with which Boyd
crossed the quiet lagoon and we never should have entered the river
where the current was 10 miles or so an hour. I also should have had
Boyd wait for me while I crossed it two ways before he attempted it.

As it was, however, when we came to a place where an eddy would carry me
half way across, I decided to start. Boyd elected to watch my progress.
It wasn't good, for the current swept me down a short rapid back to the
west side of the river. After I tried some more to paddle to the east
bank, I gave it up and landed on the original side. I climbed up on a
ledge and tried to signal Boyd not to try it. While I was looking
upstream to locate him, I saw him riding swiftly by in the middle of the
river. I hurried to join him, but I might never have seen him again
except for the fact that he was stopped by a big eddy below the mouth of
the Little Colorado. All I could see of him was his mattress in a big
roll with his legs locked around one end and his hands gripped around
the other. He was first caught by the backwater at the east side, and I
cut over there trying to intercept him. I had to be content to follow
the current myself but before could I overtake him, the current at the
top of the eddy had taken him downstream again but now it threw him into
the bigger eddy on the west side of the river. I identified this later
as being just upstream from the wash which comes in from the west, north
of the place where the TWA plane fell 13 months later. This eddy seemed
to be as big as three tennis courts and it was a closed concern. After
both of us had gone around a couple of times, I caught up with him. I
couldn't get him back on top of his mattress with his pack completely
waterlogged, so I had him drop it off. With the help of my hand, he got
back on the mattress. He was white from shock but he talked rationally
about having very little strength left. I had him hold on to my feet for
a time, while I tried to paddle for both of us. It was after sundown,
and I was beginning to worry about how long we could take the cold
water. We passed within a few feet of a projecting rock in our repeated
circuits of the eddy, but the current was always too strong. I should
have decided that our best bet was to get into the center curret again
and try to land somewhere else. After a time, Boyd let go of my feet,
and I thought he had got his strength back and was going to try to
paddle himself again. I don't know why I didn't fall in behind him and
stay with him, unless I had the idea that if I could make the bank I
could throw him a line and pull him in. At any rate, we got quite far
apart and for some reason, he was the first to escape from the big eddy.
While I was wheeling around for my turn at getting out, I could see him
propping up on his elbows in an effort to get his head farther above the
water. Then before he disappeared downriver, I could see that he had
upset and was lying on the underside of the mattress again and still
hadn't learned the trick of holding on to the middle with his feet down
and his head up. This was the last I saw of the best hiking friend I
have ever had. I followed downstream through the turbulent water where I
was holding on to the middle of the mattress making no effort to get
back on and paddle because it would have toppled me again very promptly.
When it was too dark to see anything at all far away, I began working
over to the east bank which was now lined with willows. There was so
much water in my knapsack that I found it difficult to get back on the
mattress, but I did a few strokes of the scissors kick and was soon
climbing out on the bank. My matches were still dry and a fire was easy
to get going, but eating anything was another matter. I felt that I
should try to keep up my strength for the job of getting out the next
morning and telling the story, but falling asleep was difficult. Walking
along the bank the next day, I prayed that somewhere I would see a
miracle and that Boyd would be waiting for me on the bank; it was all a
waking nightmare. At the foot of the Tanner Trail, I dropped off the
food I no longer needed and Boyd's as well which I had brought across
the river to lighten his pack. I found that a heavy heart is the worst
load a person can carry up the trail, but I made it to Joe Lynch's home
by five o'clock and told my story. Roma almost fainted when I told her
over the phone. Sam drove to Desert View to pick me up. I was no help in
the ensuing days because I was sick the night after I got home and was
weak for several days after.

*Atoko Point Route
[sometime in the summer, 1956]*

After a lecture by the arctic explorer, Steffanson, he was approached by
a little old lady who remarked "Your talk was very instructive, but
didn't you have any adventures?" The explorer is supposed to have
stiffened and replied "Adventures, Madam.! Adventures are a sign of
incompetence."

My rambles in the Grand Canyon have been seasoned very slightly by
adventures. I usually have a good idea about what will go before I
attempt a project. I may not know all about a route, but I've developed
a good ability to interpret maps and distant appearances. I want a
better than 50% chance of finding a route before I begin the search. An
example was my hope to go off the rim of the Grand Canyon west of Atoko
Point in order to get into the beds of Kwagunt and Lava Creeks. These
areas have interested me ever since Dock Marston told me that an old
time miner named Harry McDonald had been seen leading his burros toward
the rim on the Walhalla Plateau on his way to his diggings at the mouth
of Lava Creek. According to the map and current information, no way was
known to get down between the Nankoweap Trail at Saddle Mountain and the
Old Bright Angel Canyon Trail.

Marston had suggested the north side of Cape Final as a possible descent
route, so I tried that first. Actually, I inspected it from the rim at
Naji Point and thought it looked quite good. I could see a big forested
ravine that seemed sure from the rim down through more than half of the
Coconino, and the lower third of that formation was obscured by forest
trees. When I went over to check it, I was not encouraged by a deer
trail, and when I got through more than half of the Coconino, I found
the lower part possible only by using a 40 foot rappel. This was not a
route for McDonald's burros, but on other occasions I used it for a
rappel route that saved hours in getting down to the bed of Lava.

I had an agreement to meet a friend at the North Rim Campground in the
late afternoon, but there was plenty of time to stop at the viewpoint
looking towards the mouth of the Little Colorado River and check the
north side of the promontory leading to Atoko Point. I could see a
promising break only about one-quarter of a mile from the highway. When
I drove back about 1.3 miles and parked near the low point of the road,
I acted impulsively and started down the ravine at the very head of
Kwagunt Canyon instead of going over to the break I had chosen. This
idea worked fairly well in that I got to within 20 feet of the bottom of
the Coconino, but I couldn't do the final vertical drop.

It was an effort to backtrack up the dirt filled ravine and get on a
deer trail going east. This route led to a viewpoint near the base of
the Kaibab that showed me the broad bay where I had hoped to get down. I
soon was encouraged by noting a deer trail descending here. To be honest
about reporting this route, I had to scramble over some big rocks and
down some rock slopes where a loaded burro would have needed some help
from a constructed trail. I did get down to the Hermit Shale and found a
nice little spring a few yards to the west at the base of the Coconino.
That day I didn't have time to go any further. This discovery may not
have solved the question concerning McDonald's burros, but it made
possible numerous trips down into Lava and Kwagunt Canyons and to the
top of Siegfried Pyre.

*Notes: South Bass Trail
[October 20, 1956 to October 21, 1956]*

The road from Pasture Wash Ranger Station direct to Bass Camp seemed too
badly washed out to attempt in a car, but I was able to drive to Signal
Hill and Havasupai Point. I might have gone on from Signal Hill to Bass
Camp by car, but instead I parked there and walked the distance in 35
minutes. There is part of a rock house here, and just under the rim
below the house there's some sort of cistern (?) or shelter (apparently
artificial, at least in part). Could this have been the cave where G. W.
James did his writing? (I later found out that it was not; James study
is further to the west.)

Starting down at 10:10 a.m., I was below the Coconino by 10:30. I did
not see the altered trail shown on the map which joins the regular trail
at the top of the Coconino. Down on the Hermit Shale I lost the trail
for a while but found it again by 10:50 a.m. and noted a small pile of
fitted rocks which seemed to mark the junction of the trail to the west
under Chemehuevi Point. At 11:17 a.m., I was starting down off the
terrace at the top of the Supai east of Mountain Huethawali. I had
missed the trail on this terrace but found it lower down before rounding
the point to double back south to the head of the gorge in the Redwall.
The part of the trail down through the Supai was about the most clearly
defined of all except possibly the very top part of the trail in the
Kaibab. From 11:17 to 11:31 a.m., I was on this stretch and had arrived
in the wash below most of the Redwall at an old broken down gate. Brush
had grown over the trail pretty badly along here.

From 12:00 to 12:30 p.m., I was eating lunch directly under the cave in
the Redwall on the west side of Bass Canyon. I would suppose that this
cave is inaccessible unless one were prepared to use some hardware. From
here for quite some distance, the trail gets quite far above the wash on
the east side. By 1:06 p.m. I was down in the wash again. At 1:20 p.m.,
I came to the striking folded strata which James called Wheeler Fold.
This was about at Bedrock Tanks (which was completely dry) where I made
the foolish decision to climb around and up on the east side over a spur
instead of finding the easy way down past the tanks and soon out of the
wash a little to the east. I could have done this without ever having to
waste effort climbing. By 2:10 p.m., I was taking my picture of Bass
Rapids, having thus taken four hours in the descent including the half
hour for lunch.

The trail went on downriver past Shinumo Rapids, but that was where I
turned back and made camp on the sand above Bass Rapids. There was only
a little driftwood for fire building, but the site was beautiful and the
weather was perfect for my bedroll.

The current above the rapids was very moderate even in the middle of the
river, and I paddled upstream on my mattress until I came to a good
place for landing on the other side. I took about 55 minutes to walk
from there over the hump to Shinumo Creek. I couldn't go any further
because it was getting late enough to think about supper. The trip back
across the river was even easier.

I started hiking out on Sunday at 7:00 a.m. and was back to the rim at
Bass Camp by 2:05 p.m. after taking a half hour out for lunch and an
hour and a half to circle Mr. Huethawali. Mystic Spring, which is
located one mile north of its supposed position on the Matthes-Evans
Map, had been dry a long time to judge by the fact that there were no
water-loving plants to be seen anywhere in the vicinity. The wild burros
had used the trail recently enough, but the only ones I saw were in the
junipers up on the rim.

The only sign of fairly recent use was a couple of new looking tin cans
near the top of the Supai where the trail is about to leave the plateau.
Perhaps that was as far as the hikers went. Some very rusty cans were
set up apparently as trail signs lower down. One thing of interest was
the sheet iron boat high on the rocks at about the high water line near
the rapids. It still had two pairs of oars and numerous empty oil cans
inside for buoyancy. Incidentally, one of the striking features of this
part of the river is the narrowness of the channel and the resulting
waterline which stands possible 40 feet higher than the low water level.

*South Bass Trail to Copper Canyon
[November 10, 1956 to November 12, 1956]*

On Sunday with Allyn Cureton and Don Finicum, I doubled back up the
South Bass Trail and climbed up to the Tonto Trail missing any
established trail for some of the way. When we came to Copper Canyon, we
timed ourselves at an hour to get clear around it. We turned back when
we came to the next deep bay (which Allyn and I timed in December at 35
minutes) and dropped down into Copper Canyon where we found the mine
with plenty of water in the vertical shaft. We then came to a trail
which went towards the river but we left it to skirt the cliff upriver.
We had to do some scrambling to get back on the river trail rather high
up, but from there it was easy to go back to the sandbar above Bass Rapids.

*South Bass Trail to Copper Canyon
[December 28, 1956 to January 1, 1957]*

Allyn went with me on this trip. We drove the car clear to Bass Camp by
the direct route, but on the way back to town damaged the oil pan. We
spent the first night at the Copper Mine. On the second night we went to
Elves Chasm and back to the next wash upriver. Garnet Canyon water was
salty, but the next creek downriver was even more salty. On the third
night, we were back at Bass Rapids. We spent the fourth night in the
barn at the Pasture Wash Ranger Station. The trail down to the mine from
the east drops below the rim right at the little fall. Allyn found a
narrow strip of tinfoil in Garnet canyon. I believe it was from an
airplane. With a real early start and a light pack, I believe one could
walk from Bass Camp to Elves Chasm in one day. (four and a half hours to
Copper Canyon and six hours more to Elves Chasm.)

*Boucher Trail to the Tonto Trail and across to the South Bass Trail
[April 18, 1957 to April 20, 1957]*

I got an early start from Flagstaff but I needn't have. When I reached
Hermit's Rest, it was snowing hard and the ground was soon white. I
waited until 9:40 a.m. before I decided that the weather was going to be
tolerable for an extended walk. A few more snow showers fell for the
next hour, but by the time I reached the Dripping Springs Trail, the
weather was looking up. Dan Davis had really dashed any hopes that I
might have had about the Boucher Trail. He said that it was less visible
than the Old Hance Trail, which is only existent for a quarter of a mile
or so through its whole extent. He said that the only fairly easy
walking was right on the edge of the cliff, and that after so long a
time, it became quite nerve wracking. It seems to me that he must have
had a poor day of trail finding, because I'm sure that I was on the
trail 95% of the time, and very seldom was I even close to the edge. The
trail was usually from fifty feet to one hundred and fifty feet from the
top of the Supai cliff. It was at least as easy to follow as the Tonto
Trail and I would rate it decidedly better preserved than the New Hance
Trail and not to be compared with the Old Hance Trail. For long
stretches, one could walk along at a good clip with no hesitations about
being on the trail. I noted about 10 cairns along the way.

It is essential to have a map along when it comes to descending the
Supai. One part of the trail has fallen away making it impossible for a
horse. I missed a piece of the trail here by not swinging left
immediately after the first cliff had been passed. In fact the whole
trail through the Supai is the hard part to follow. There is quite a bit
of choice in getting down to the top of the Redwall after the Supai has
been passed. Just below the top of the Supai, there is a convenient
overhang where I ate lunch during the heaviest snow shower (the last
shower).

The descent through the Redwall is most interesting. t hardly seems
possible that anything better than hand and toe holds could be
constructed down a place so steep, but there are actually short
switchbacks all the way down. Some of the trail has fallen away, but it
would be easy for a wild burro. Below the Redwall, the trail is hard to
see, and I missed it for some distance. I feel sure that if I went over
it from the bottom up, I would be able to locate much more than I did.
For that matter, I missed a long stretch of the Tanner Trail the first
time I tried it. As proof that the Boucher Trail is still in reasonably
good shape, I cite the fact that it took me only five hours and 10
minutes to get from the car to Boucher Camp, carrying a full pack and a
half gallon of water. It took 25 more minutes to go down to the river.
In view of the distance on the map, the rate of travel compares
favorably with that on other trails. I a.m. sure that one could get from
Boucher Rapids to Hermit's Rest quicker by the Boucher Trail than by
going first to Hermit Camp via the Tonto Trail and then up the Hermit
Trail. However, a map would be more necessary along the Boucher Trail.

Two Park Service sleeping bags are suspended from a wire inside the old
roofless stone cabin that is all that is left of Boucher's Camp, just as
Dan had said. It is so small that when Louis entertained his guests,
they must have slept in their own tents. (However, three men have slept
inside the cabin at one time.) It seemed about big enough to hold a cot,
a small table, and a chair. Dan didn't pinpoint the location very well
when he said it was right at the junction of the Tonto Trail and the
Boucher Trail. A better way to locate it is to say that it is only a few
yards away from the junction with Boucher Creek, which incidentally has
a permanent spring a little higher up. This spring had gone underground
before it reached the cabin, and the creek was flowing on the surface.
In September, 1954, Boucher Creek was dry clear to the river, but now it
appears and disappears until about a half mile from the river where it
flows continuously. It may well be a permanent stream higher than the
cabin also. South of the cabin on the same side of the creek, there were
signs of terracing and one very small rock building, roofless now, that
might have been for chickens or a hog. There definitely was no sign of a
Camp at the junction of Topaz and Boucher Canyons. Judging by my rate of
walking, I would estimate the distance from the Camp to the river as
being between one and one and a half miles. The river was already
running a good flow, and the rapid looked considerably more impressive
than Sockdolager was just a few weeks ago. While climbing around to take
a picture, I looked upstream to check the desirability of going back to
Hermit Rapids along the bank. It seems doubtful that this would be
faster than going up and over the Tonto Trail. The mine shaft is there
as reported. In fact it is only about fifty yards from the cabin north
across the wash. The shaft only goes in about 40 feet. I'm not a good
enough miner to state whether Boucher had copper there or was just
taking a shot in the dark. It makes a nice cave to get out of the
weather, and I slept warmer just a little way in than I would have under
the sky.

Going from Boucher to Bass Canyons is quite a lot better right after a
rain. There are water pockets near where the trail crosses Slate Canyon,
Sapphire Canyon, in a tributary about halfway to Turquoise Canyon, at a
nameless ravine just east of Ruby Canyon and in Ruby Canyon itself. In
addition there was running water just a little above where the Tonto
Trail crosses Slate Canyon and right where it crosses Serpentine Canyon.
The flow was meager so they may well dry up in the summer. There are
many burros in this whole area, so there may be small seeps higher near
the base of the Redwall, but the burros may well go to the river itself
for water when necessary. I looked as well as I could from several
places, and I think that a person would have no difficulty going down
Ruby and Serpentine Canyons all the way to the river. I carried a full
gallon of water at all times across this stretch, but on the day after a
rain, this is unnecessary. The pockets at Ruby Canyon were big enough
for a bath which I proceeded to take. The total walking time from
Boucher Creek to Ruby Canyon was 10 hours, and from Ruby to the Bass
Trail four more hours. My estimate would be 35 miles for the whole
stretch. There were many places that would be hard for a pack animal,
but I don't think the trail was ever much better at these places, so I
suppose stock could be taken through still. There was only one place, at
the head of the canyon just east of Serpentine, which was clearly
man-made. This was a short stretch of retaining wall. I missed the trail
many times but there was no embarrassment, but on nearing the head of
Serpentine, I should have dropped below the top ledge of the Tapeats
somewhat back from the end.

All in all, this was a fine time of year for the trip with an abundance
of flowers and birds. I avoided the possibility of rain at night by
putting my air mattress under an overhang at Ruby. It was unseasonably
cold on the rim at Pasture Wash, and on Sunday I walked back to the car
at Hermits Rest just ahead of another snow storm.

*HIKING LOG:*

9:40 p.m. - Left the car.
12:10 p.m. - Ate lunch near the top of the Supai.
2:50 p.m. - Arrived at Boucher Camp - 25 more minutes to the river, 35
minutes return.
4:40 p.m. - Stopped at the mine at Bass Camp for the night (17 miles for
the day ).
6:00 p.m. - Left the mine at Bass Camp.
7:15 a.m. - Left for Slate Canyon.
8:35 a.m. - Arrived at the head of Slate Canyon (water pockets and
running water about 200 yards above the trail, probably dry in the
summer months).
10:30 a.m. - Took a picture of Sapphire Rapids from above Agate Canyon.
11:00 a.m. - Reached the head of Agate Canyon.
11:50 to 12:10 a.m. - Hiking to the head of Sapphire Canyon.
12:50 p.m. - Started up after lunch.
1:25 to 2:10 p.m. - Hiked to Turquoise Canyon. Water halfway (picture).
3:05 p.m. - Pictures near bench mark at mouth of Turquoise Canyon.
4:30 p.m. - Water at the draw just east of Ruby Canyon.
5:05 p.m. - Ruby from north side.
5:55 p.m. - Stopped at Ruby Canyon (water pockets, bath, could go to the
river) 25 miles for the day.
6:12 p.m. - Leave Ruby Canyon.
6:50 p.m. - Took two pictures of the mouth of Ruby Canyon.
8:00 to 8:25 p.m. - False Serpentine canyon. Trail construction (picture).
9:10 p.m. - Arrived at Serpentine Canyon. Running water. Trail drops
below the top of the Tapeats. I goofed!
10:00 p.m. - Took pictures of Serpentine Route to the river.
10:40 p.m. - Took pictures of Bass Rapids.
11:10 p.m. - Arrived at Bass Trail.

*Phantom Canyon
[May 4, 1957 to May 5, 1957]*

Allyn and I had a little difficulty keeping our feet under us while
crossing Bright Angel Creek in its high stage. The high water is due to
the melting snow from the North Rim. We carried rocks for ballast.
Phantom Creek was also high and we had to wade constantly instead of
hopping across it. By lunch time (45 minutes upstream.), we were almost
to the place where the engineers have now fixed a cable to assist in
climbing around to the left of a small fall. About an hour and
forty-five minutes later, we came to the pleasant surprise of an
aluminum ladder at the fall in the Tapeats Formation. This fall is
northeast of Cheops Pyramid. The isolated woods on the north of the
canyon is just below Sturdevant Point. There must be a spring there. 45
minutes from the fall to the mouth of Haunted Canyon and an hour more to
the split in Phantom. About a quarter of a mile northwest of the fall is
the only overhang we saw in the whole area of the upper valley. A very
rusty can and a low rock wall show that it was used as a Camp possibly
twenty or more years ago. The real mystery was the cow chips we noted.
How did anyone bring a cow in there? Later I found our how. By a horse
trail that leaves the North Kaibab Trail about a mile downstream from
Ribbon Falls (McKee and Davis). At one other place we noticed some old
burro manure, but not enough to indicate the presence of any wild burros
in there for a considerable time.

We turned at the angle in Phantom Canyon and followed the creekbed for
almost an hour into the Redwall (43 minutes to come back to the packs at
the angle). There was an interesting chute at the top of the Bright
Angel Shale and two rather impressive falls higher up. We were finally
stopped at a place where the high water took all the room. It was a
sharp turn in a very narrow part of the canyon so that we couldn't see
whether there was a high fall beyond. The canyon was very narrow and
dark here, similar to the box at Ouray, Colorado. In low water in the
fall, one might go higher and see what is around the corner.

The almost dry branch which goes on to the base of Shiva Temple also
splits in a manner not shown very clearly on the map. Instead of
tapering down to a narrow slit, they turn into large rounded overhangs
which would have beautiful waterfalls in wet weather. The one on the
west would give a fall of at least around 250 feet. A little to the
south, there is a narrow slit tributary which cannot be climbed even
when dry, but between the big dry fall and this slit, there's a talus
slope which goes high up on the Redwall. I believe the rest of the cliff
can be climbed here by working first to the south and then following a
ledge with some green growing on it up and to the north into the notch
above the big fall. In one long day, one might climb Shiva Temple and
return here.

In going back to Bright Angel Creek, we chose to follow a deer path
which went up and over the blunt ridge east of Cheops. We crossed to the
south of a shallow valley which was mostly bare red rock and came out in
view of Phantom Ranch. Instead of going down to the river where the
telephone line crossed, we found a rock cairn indicating an old trail
through a break in the Tapeats cliff. Getting through here involved
scrambling down over some rather large blocks so we still didn't think
we had found the way that the cow had followed to the upper valley.
There was another marker down at a saddle in the Archean rocks which
directed us to Bright Angel Canyon itself. It was a steep and rather
scree covered slope down to the north end of the campground, but the
return was about an hour shorter than it would have been if we had come
out the way we went in (up the bed of Phantom Creek). Furthermore, the
views were most interesting and we ran into acres of beautiful,
flowering cacti (Mariposa tulips and Indian paintbrush). Remember the
Indian cave lookout above the spring halfway up Haunted Canyon? Also,
Boyd and I tried to climb the Redwall at the end of Haunted Canyon. I
very nearly succeeded, but one place about eight feet long seemed a bit
too risky. If I had crossed that, I'm pretty sure that I would have been
able to do the rest. We found penciled names in the little cave above
the spring that's the source for Haunted Creek. (Mr. McKee tells me that
horse parties used to go into Upper Phantom Canyon by getting above the
Tapeats at or near Ribbon Falls and following the bench along the base
of the Redwall. They mentioned the lone steer of Phantom Creek.)

*Horse trail from Bright Angel Creek to upper Phantom Canyon
[July 25, 1957 to July 27, 1957]*

Dale Hall and I walked down to the Bright Angel Campground between 8:00
and 10:00 p.m. Friday evening. I got off fairly early by myself Saturday
morning to see about the horse trail to Phantom Canyon. It started just
where I had figured it did, about a mile south of Ribbon Falls where the
valley opens out. There were several cairns along here although I missed
the trail, if any, more than I found it. I began to feel pretty sickish
from the heat by eleven and it took me from 8:00 a.m. until after 1:00
p.m. to get from Bright Angel Creek to Phantom Creek. Heading the
canyons and gulches is time consuming, but in cool weather it wouldn't
have taken nearly so long.

I found two cane beds with a trickle of water coming out of the larger
one directly below Johnson Point. The bigger oasis below Sturdevant
Point has a most luxurious appearance with big cottonwoods, but I
couldn't see any water on the surface.

I was so pooped that I sat in Phantom Creek quite a while and then took
my time preparing some soup and then eating it. The end of the trail
doesn't show much as it gets down near the creekbed of Phantom. I think
it has gone by way of scree slides, but it is near the overhang with the
can and cow chips.

When I started on, I moved about as fast as Allyn and I had done in cool
weather, but I did rest some while sitting in the creek water. It took
just 45 minutes again to get from the fork to the final box at the end
of Phantom Canyon. The bed was dry this time, and it was easier walking.
There was a trickle of water in the shale chute at the lower end of this
branch, but the Redwall was dry where we turned back before. I was able
to walk up the ramp and around the corner where I saw exactly what I had
guessed I would, an impassible fall in two steps. At the top was a big
chockblock. The grotto was about 30 feet across at the bottom, but
higher up the canyon it appeared to be only half that wide. From most of
the bottom you couldn't see any sky at all. A couple of points of
interest you encounter in going up this branch besides the falls are
spots where the creek runs under rocks which have fallen together in
such a way as to form natural arches. There is a long vertical slit cave
on the right as you go along which is inaccessible. One point that I
think I can settle from my observations here is about deer trails. I had
been wondering whether a well established trail always means a through
street. The answer is negative. There is a well established trail around
one fall in Upper Phantom Canyon, and only about twelve minutes walk
farther up everything without wings is completely stopped.

On Sunday morning I got off before six feeling full of pep again and
went down to the vicinity of my arrival the day before. I started up the
slope with the intention of crossing on top of the Muav Wall from the
base of Isis to the base of Cheops. I had started up either too soon or
too late to do this, and I wasted almost an hour going up and then
returning to the creekbed. The next time I started up, I was doing it
the way Allyn and I had gone up towards the saddle east of Cheops. I had
forgotten exactly where it takes off, but it is definitely west of the
head of the fall in the creek where the ladder is fixed.

After passing a couple of ravines on the deer trail, I headed up to the
base of the Redwall at the northwest corner of Cheops. I left my pack at
about the level of the saddle that I would use on the way back, and
headed up towards the top with only my canteen which I had left behind
at the very base of the Redwall.

There is very little chance to miss the way up or down this approach
ridge. At times it looks a bit impossible, but when you get closer to
the bad spots, there are good holds. Plenty of the rock is rotten which
requires considerable vigilance. I don't think I have been up anywhere
before so continuously exposed and airy. Sometimes the ridge seemed only
about six feet wide with 300 foot drops on both sides. I put up two or
three cairns to guide me back in the best places. I would say that this
involves more risk than Shiva Temple. One interesting feature is the
natural window right where the ridge joins the very top of the Redwall.

I was on top about a half hour and got some pictures, all overexposed,
up and down the river and one good one of the pyramid to the south which
surely looks sharp from this direction It was a thrill which I may never
repeat, but there are a lot of other possible buttes in the Grand
Canyon. I noticed that it took an hour and 40 minutes to reach the top
after I left the bed of Phantom Creek. The ridge itself took me a half
hour going up and the same to come down. To get back to Bright Angel
Creek, I followed the same old trail Allyn and I had discovered, but
this time the rocks were so hot that I couldn't make good time at all. I
ended the trip to the creek with a dry canteen and was glad to sit in
the water again. After some swimming in the pool at Phantom Ranch and
eating at the campground, I got going up the Kaibab Trail at 2:45 p.m.
and got to the car at 7:30 p.m., an indication that my hiking is slowed
down badly in the heat.

At the head of the short canyon just west of Sturdevant Point, it looked
as though one could climb up through the Redwall. Then one might follow
the top of the Redwall around above Haunted Canyon and eventually up to
Widforss or Tiyo Point.

*Great Thumb trip
[May 25, 1957 to May 28, 1957]*

Allyn Cureton and I visited Dan Davis and talked trails on Friday
evening, May 24, 1957. He advised us against trying the road to Topocoba
Hilltop because of mud, so the next morning we drove around to Hualapai
Hilltop and started down the trail by 12:15 p.m. We reached the creek in
two hours and started up the long trail immediately. When we arrived at
the last level ground below the spring, we set up camp. We were both
more nearly exhausted from the heat and the heavy pack when we arrived
at 6:30 p.m. than at any other time of the trip. We noted that the two
springs in Lee Canyon, one a little above the mouth of Rattlesnake
Canyon and the other about halfway from there to Topocoba Hilltop, were
flowing very well. We took a cooling bath in the first one in a very
fair sized natural bathtub.

The next morning we got an early start and were in fine shape again. I
want to ask someone about the old road that was partly built up towards
the ravine which comes down from the draw at the beginning of the trail.
Perhaps a mining company was trying to put a road clear to Supai. They
must have been intending to build quite a trestle across the sheer cliff
up into the notch. We had already noticed one section of roadway farther
down the canyon. The grade is so steep at the upper end that they must
have been thinking in terms of horse drawn wagons or Jeeps, but of
course this was done before the time of the Jeep.

We noticed that the rain barrel by the hilltop warehouse is still
effective with a good sheet of screening to keep the bugs out of the
water. We left the road directly up the faint trail to the north and
made our way cross country past the telephone line to Supai and on to
the road leading north. We saw where this road branches; the main part
turning to the west and the other continuing north along the east rim of
the plateau for a good part of the way. The views east as far as Desert
View and also down to the river are terrific. If there were a good road
along here, it would be a tourist must. It is easy to see why the trail
along the Esplanade ends at Forster Canyon. There are impassible slopes
in the Hermit Shale. The rim along here is particularly unbroken by
ravines, the drainage being to the west right up to the east rim. There
are some interesting sinkholes near the rim however. We noted tire
tracks from some truck far beyond where the actual road gives out and
becomes a trail. We reached the head of the Great Thumb Trail about 5:00
p.m. Finding the little spring at the bottom was rather difficult as the
one cottonwood tree growing there is practically hidden by the steep
side of the ravine. The flow is so little that it just about stops
completely in the heat of the day. There was a shovel under an overhang
so that one could clean out the sandy pocket where the water collects.
On Monday we started on to round Gatagama Point. We noted at least two
places where one could climb back up to the rim in the general area of
the spring. There was a little water left in pockets from the rain on
the previous Friday, but most of them were dry by this time, and we
began to discount the possibility of getting all the water we might want
anywhere we looked. The going soon became very tedious although the
views in this wonderland of rocks were correspondingly striking with
lots of mushroom racks and other fantastic formations. We didn't
investigate the possibility of going down the fault into the west arm of
140 Mile Canyon because we could already see that our time was running
short. By noon, we had come to the seep spring in the east arm of Olo
Canyon, but it was pure luck that we saw it at all. By 2:00 p.m., we
could see that we would not get to Supai in one more day, so in order
not to miss Jim's commencement, we took what might have been our last
chance to climb out to the rim. It was very hot so our progress up the
talus above the Coconino was slow, but we found a very good deer trail
on the slope above the lowest part of the Toroweap and followed it east
to a draw in the Kaibab. Just as we thought we were about out, we came
to a vertical cliff in the middle of the draw with what seemed like
impossible sides. However, I saw one possibility, and Allyn found a
better one right near it. After we passed this with some difficulty, we
just had to hike on to get to the top of the plateau. The deer must be
able to negotiate this place, but I would like to see them do it. It
must require some fancy hopping. We were carrying enough water to take
us through a normal supper, but we hiked on until dark before bedding down.

Tuesday morning as I was reading before 5:00 a.m. and about to wake
Allyn, I caught a flash of light out of the corner of my eye in the
direction of Yucca Flat. When I told Allyn, he said that we would
probably hear the explosion of an atomic bomb about 21 minutes after the
flash and we did. In fact we got two reports. We didn't try to eat
breakfast there, but in two hours of walking on an empty stomach, we got
to the warehouse with the plentiful supply of rain water. We were able
to go down the long trail and up the short arriving at the car by a bit
after 5:30 p.m. It was furnace like in Havasu Canyon, but we found a
breezy, shady, side canyon where we ate lunch in the shade and had the
luxury of actually shivering a bit when the wind came through. We
figured that we had walked about 90 miles in three and a half days.

*Shiva Temple
[June 6, 1957 to June 8, 1957]*

We got to the North Rim and ate lunch in the campground. After dropping
in at the Administration Building, we drove as far out the Tiyo Point
road as we could. In fact, we bypassed three fallen trees by end runs
through the woods for short distances. Finally, we were completely
stopped about four miles from the point. We walked to the end of the
road and studied the view of the route to Shiva. Then we found a pool of
stagnant water and prepared to Camp. The mosquitoes soon convinced us
that it wasn't a good place, so we went back to the rolling meadow near
the clear stream in the basin. Here we didn't notice mosquitoes until
late afternoon, and they gave us no trouble when it got quite cold at night.

In leaving the road to turn the car around, I misjudged the nature of
the ground and got completely mired. We worked with the jack putting on
chains and putting rocks and wood under the wheels for a couple of hours
that evening and about three more hours the next morning, but we were
finally convinced that we would have to have help. By the time I walked
into the village and got a ranger to help us, which he did quite easily
with a Jeep, it was after noon. We spent the rest of the day trying to
go down the canyon just east of Tiyo Point, and found that it was
impossible to get through the lowest part of the Coconino Sandstone.
Then we came back up to the road by a direct route and went out the
faint road marked with yellow diamond shaped tin markers which was
labeled Shiva Xp Pt, presumably meaning Shiva Expedition Point. It
seemed to end far back from the rim and it also seemed to be going too
far to the west. From the double diamond which seemed to mark the end,
we walked southeast past a couple of tributary ravines and came to a
point which seemed like an excellent place to leave the rim on the way
to Shiva Temple. After making sure that we could get below the Kaibab
Limestone here, we walked back on the level and encountered Shiva Xp
road just a little way from its junction with the Tiyo Point road. We
marked it and returned to the car and our campsite in the basin. An
interesting feature of the basin was the prevalence of turkeys and also
the noisy coyotes that were quite near us the first night. Another
circumstance was the heavy frost on our bedrolls by morning. I was very
glad to have two sleeping bags along.

We got off early Saturday morning and left the car by 6:20 a.m. The
point of departure from the rim was just east of the draw whose west
side extends into the ridge which points out towards the saddle leading
to Shiva. We followed a deer trail a bit to the east below the highest
part of the Kaibab and then went down a gully in the Coconino. After
some floundering on the steep Hermit Shale, we followed a deer trail and
made good progress towards the saddle. This deer trail is rather high
just under the Coconino cliff most of the way.

On the first big clearing of the saddle, we parked the gallon canteen
under a tree and went on with two quarts for both of us. Just south of a
small hump which separates the saddle into two sections, we found a
large mescal pit or yant oven. There is some pretty bad manzanita on the
east part of the saddle which we had to buck on our way to Shiva and
avoided rather well on the way back. We knew from reading and our own
observations where to go up the shale to the sandstone on the east side
of the northern projection. On the sandstone, we went south for about a
100 yards and started up in earnest. The way up is rather difficult at
times, requiring some chimney climbing of a rather easy type. That is,
the chimney work is for only short stretches of say six or eight feet at
a time. The peculiar part is that there always seems as if there might
be a dead end around the next corner. At one place I took the precaution
of building a marker, and I was glad I had when we were coming down. The
toughest place for me was a crevice I had to inch my way up near the top
of the Coconino. There was an artificial pile of flat rocks for a step
at the top of the crevice. Allyn helped me here by climbing up and
stepping across above a large plant. He yanked it out of my way and I
was able to proceed. Above the sandstone, we went to the west and up to
the rim by a well established deer trail. The trail was not defined
right to the head of this route through the sandstone, but one wonders
whether the deer can go down where we came up. If they can drop about
straight down for eight or ten feet and land on a three foot ledge, they
could make it, but I can't imagine them going up this way. For about
three extra miles, one could go around to the southwest corner where
there is a simple rock slide over the Coconino and then a deer could
come back to the same break in the Kaibab that we and the other parties
have used.

We reached the top of Shiva in three hours and ten minutes from the time
that we left the north rim. We found a sort of lean-to and three milk
cans which had been used to air drop water right where we came over the
rim. We also found an old wooden frame that was probably used for a work
table. We crossed to the south side and ate lunch looking towards
Boucher Canyon. We inspected the southeast corner and couldn't see any
sign of a cairn that Kolb said he had built on each corner. We did see
the broken milk can which had come loose from the parachute, and we saw
plenty of deer signs including antlers. In fact the antlers seemed more
plentiful than they do in comparable areas on the two rims.

After spending two hours on the Temple, we started back and got to the
point of departure in two hours and 45 minutes. This time we climbed the
Coconino at the end of the point which is directly above the saddle.
It's shorter that way and we could have done even better if we had
stayed on a deer trail on the east side of the ridge instead of going up
on the top of the ridge. It seems hardly possible that the experts in
1937 could have taken one day to get down on the saddle and another half
day to get to the top of Shiva. The four mile approach to the rim and
the corresponding return to the car at its end are the only things that
keep this from being a simple day hike for anyone in our hiking club.
The official party had the downed timber cut away so that it could reach
the rim by car. We found a V-8 hubcap in the woods on the way to our
point, but I can tell from a picture in Natural History that they
started from a point some distance to the west.

*The Search for a trail into Lava
[August 19, 1957 to August 21, 1957]*

Otis Marston had the note that Charles McCormick had met Harry McDonald,
the miner who had shafts near the mouth of Lava Creek, with his two
burros somewhere on Greenland (Walhalla) Plateau. However, no one seemed
to know anything definite about the location of any sort of trail south
of the Nankoweap Trail.

Some friends and I walked out to Point Atoko and followed the rim to
Naji Point with the objective of studying the north side of Cape Final
where we thought the trail ought to be. We saw a considerable break in
the Coconino near the end of Cape Final, and there is also considerable
faulting in the Redwall east of the point. This seemed to be the best
bet. The next day, I went out there by myself to investigate. The Kaibab
was no obstacle, and I made good progress down the Coconino, although
there were a couple of places where trail construction would be
necessary before burros could make it. Just as I was beginning to feel
smug, I found that the bottom of the Coconino consisted of a 60 foot
sheer cliff, so I had to admit defeat.

As there was still quite a bit of time, I parked at the viewpoint called
Two Rivers Junction and did a bit of looking. On the north side of the
promontory leading out to Point Atoko, there seemed to be some promising
breaks in the Coconino. I walked along the rim to the ravine at the base
of this promontory and found that I could have parked very close to this
place. First I went down the main ravine and got to within about 25 feet
of the bottom of the Coconino, but from there it was sheer. I then
climbed to the top of the Coconino and proceeded east a few hundred
yards. Here was my last chance for the day, because I said I would be
back to camp rather early, and I didn't want to worry anyone by staying
out too late. This time everything went smoothly. There was an obvious
deer track clear to the bottom, and a burro could have done this ravine
with no improvement, unless one would like to cut a bit of brush.
Furthermore, from Cape Final I could see that there is a very promising
break in the Redwall just west of Hubbell Butte. This ought to provide a
trail into Lava Creek, although I'll have to walk down here before I'll
know that I can.

*Thunder River and Tapeats Creek trip
[August 26, 1957 to August 28, 1957]*

This trip was taken with Dale Hall, and the principal objective was to
reach the source of Tapeats Creek (not of course to be confused with
Thunder Spring) and visit the cave which Don Finicum had found.

We arrived by car at the rim from Big Saddle Camp in time to eat our
lunch. Not much farther on the way to Crazy Jug Point, the car wouldn't
pull up the rough, washed out road and we took off on foot.

I didn't know where the break in the Coconino was, and we used a little
extra time finding it. However, we worked west from where we went down
the Kaibab, and this was right. We not only found a possible place to
get through the Coconino, but we found the trail itself. A bit lower, we
lost the trail again, probably by going west too soon. Then we found it
for a while, and lost it once more, this time probably by going too far
south towards the outer side of the Esplanade. After quite a bit of
scrambling, we got to the main trail just about where it drops into the
little defile above Surprise Valley. The rest of the way to the campsite
was without incident. The total time from the rim to the Camp was four
hours and 50 minutes. Dale Hall appreciated a cooking pan that he found
at the cache of supplies. He had an $18.00 kit of dried food but not a
utensil for cooking. He also located a line and a fishhook, but was
unable to catch a single fish.

On Tuesday, after a night during which I was a bit cold in my one cotton
blanket and Dale was a bit sore from sleeping on a concave but not very
smooth rock, we started off for the source of Tapeats Creek. I followed
a plan that I had made before. We went up the trail until the way leaves
the stream about a third of the distance up to Thunder Spring. Crossing
there, we had a bit of a rock climb to get around the Tapeats, which
Dale thought was a bit risky towards the top.

At the top, I decided to do my hiking in the coolest possible costume,
my underwear shorts. As I was folding my trousers up to put away in my
knapsack, my watch slipped out and rolled over the ledge and only
stopped when it was about 60 feet and a couple of bruising bumps lower
down. It was a pleasant surprise for me to find it still running when I
came back that afternoon. We left a rock marker at the top of this
climb, and it really helped when we came back the same way.

At the level where we found ourselves, the going looked a bit bad with
plenty of little gullies in the way, so we climbed through most of the
Muav and went along rather close to the Redwall until we could see the
springs below us. Near the end, we had to go lower because there were
plenty of rough gullies at our level. I would guess that it took us
around two hours to complete this travel by contours, and it appealed to
us as being a lot easier than fighting our way upstream through cold and
swift water.

We saw one place where a person might swear that there was a bit of
artificial rock building for a trail. After considering it for some
time, however, and looking at the surroundings, we decided that it was
just a coincidence. Perhaps the same sort of thing got Lauritzen started
on his speculation about the Spaniards and their gold train. We saw no
deer signs along this upper level, but when we returned, we followed the
lower level, just above the Tapeats and were on a deer trail a good part
of the time.

The water from the spring flows south, and then when it reaches the main
canyon, which is usually dry, it turns west until it turns south again
just before it is joined by the water from Thunder Spring. The first
north-south section seems quite a bit shorter than the next west-flowing
part of the creek. It is also much steeper, about half the grade of the
creek below Thunder Spring. This point is not brought out in Lauritzen's
description, nor does the water issue quietly from a depression in an
amphitheater which can only be entered so he says, from the tunnel-like
streambed. The springs are in a jumble of rocks at the base of the
Redwall, or rather a little lower in the Muav. The whole area is
overgrown with verdure, trees, vines, moss, and ferns. The rocks as big
as rooms, have fallen from above and make travel through this area quite
a problem. The actual springs in the Muav are pretty well obscured by
all the small rocks and the side valley itself is a V-shape both in
horizontal cross-section as sell as vertically.

The cave, which quite clearly used to be the main outlet for the water,
is above and to the northeast of the spring area. For 60 feet, the mouth
is quite wide, about 35 feet by 10 feet high. There is an upper branch
beyond this, but the main arm goes left at a lower level. This one is
quite straight for a hundred yards and had a pool covering most of the
floor. During both nights, Dale was slightly bothered by the mice. In
fact, one took a nip at his ear the first night and some of the food
sacks had been nibbled at. The temperature was about right for my cotton
blanket the second night, quite a contrast to the night I spent at
Shinumo Creek about one week before, when I lay on top of the bag and
perspired until 11:00 p.m. with only my shorts on.

We made the trip back to the car with a little more use of the trail in
about five hours and 20 minutes. Dale was definitely a stronger hiker at
the end than I was.

*North Bass Trail to Shinumo Creek
[sometime in August, 1957]*

Seven miles on the Point Sublime road to W4, and then 14 more to Swamp
Point. In one meadow, a big rattlesnake crossed the road just in front
of the car. I just saw the fat body. I backed up and looked, but the
wheels had missed it.

I noticed the tree ladder lookout on Swamp Ridge and climbed it. I
couldn't see the Canyon but the cliffs in Utah were in plain sight.

From Swamp Point, Steamboat Mountain is a striking feature to the west.
Crazy Jug Point, near Big Saddle, is also a prominent landmark. I took
pictures of Steamboat and Point Sublime. The trail over to Powell
Plateau is still in fine shape although on the way south from the saddle
there is a spot for a few yards where it is a bit overgrown. From
something the ranger said, I inferred that this was improved by the CCC.
There is a frame cabin with stovepipe and glass windows just west of the
saddle. One window was broken and can be unhooked so that a person can
enter the cabin.

The trail across the plateau is marked by yellow metal blazes to show
the most nearly level route to traverse the length. The markers are a
bit too far apart, but the walking is easy. There were plenty of deer
visible, and one buck had about the biggest spread of antlers I've ever
seen. A coyote stood and watched me at about 100 feet range, and only
ran when I was just ready to take a picture.

I missed Dutton Point by going a bit too far west and reached the rim
above Hakatai Canyon. I followed the rim to a big recouple at the head
of Waltenberg Canyon. Wheeler Point looked tempting, but by the time I
had reached a place to cross Dutton Canyon, it was 5:00 p.m . Since it
would take until dark to reach the car, I started back. On the way, I
traveled more directly, but it would have been very slow and uncertain
on a cloudy night. It was just cool enough for my Dacron bag by the car,
and the one mosquito didn't bother me for very long.

I was on my way down the North Bass Trail by 7:05 a.m. on the 18th.It
took a little over an hour to see Powell Spring and return to the trail.
There is an old trail, wide but badly overgrown in places, which in
general follows the bottom of the ravine towards Powell Spring. Maybe it
went beyond the spring, something that is not clear now. The lowest pool
from the spring is up Grass Canyon a few yards from the bottom of the
ravine which eventually becomes Tapeats Canyon.

The trail from the saddle east going just below the Coconino is still
good as far as an unnamed seep spring which is only about ten minutes
walk from the saddle. A chimney is all that is left of a rock cabin just
east of the seep. As the rock work has no adobe mortar, it must be the
construction of a white man.

The trail seems to go on east, but soon splits into two deer trails. I
decided I should back up to a steep ridge west of the spring and then
head downhill. Most of the way down, I just followed any handy gully to
avoid the brush, At the lower part of the slope to the open wash below,
I was on a narrow ridge which had an obvious trail down it. The gulch
just east of this ridge had a nice little stream flowing down it, but
the water went underground just before it came to the main wash which
comes out of the east side from Powell Plateau. This is evidently where
the Bass Party camped on the way to Point Sublime. It is strange that
the main wash from the west should have gone farther east from the
spring below the Coconino and cut back across the running stream. There
is a recouple marker where the trail comes off the ridge into the wash,
and farther on I saw the bench mark at elevation 5697 feet set in a rock
on the west side of the wash. This observation was accidental because I
missed it when I was coming back. It took me over an hour to get from
the bottom of the Coconino down to the bed of the wash. There must be a
faster way!

The travel is easy down the wash through the rest of the Supai. This
formation is definitely arched down from Powell Plateau into Muav
Canyon. This is the only place that I've seen the Supai bent.

There is no chance of missing the place where the trail leaves the wash
at the beginning of the Redwall, because here the bottom drops out. I
soon missed the trail in the junipers by going too far away from the
edge and thus missed seeing a natural bridge just a 100 yards or so from
where the trail leaves the wash. On the way back, however, I saw it and
took three pictures of it. It's not much to get excited about, just a
hole in the red limestone about 50 feet in span in the Redwall where it
comes out on the canyon wall. You next go behind about three or four
promontories of Redwall which are higher next to the canyon than they
are to the west. The trail goes down the north side of the last of the
series. I overshot and had to study the map and backtrack. You go south
on a ledge below the promontory and then down a brushy slope first north
and then south to the creek bed. There is a shallow cave near the trail
just before you reach the ledge and several inaccessible caves near the
top of the Redwall across the canyon. Another small one was noted nearly
in the center of the ravine where the trail goes down to the ledge.

Before you reach the Muav Formation, there is running water for half a
mile or so. This was where Clubb and Schwartz made camp after coming all
day from the nearest place on the Shinumo, not a very long day's run. I
had a late lunch here and started on after a cooling bath about 2:00
p.m. There were better bathtubs a bit lower where the Muav starts.
Except for one short detour where there is a short fall in the Muav, you
keep to the wash until the Tapeats makes another forbidding canyon.
Burro signs are obvious here, and are found as high as the cave near the
top of the Redwall. Although I heard some braying lower down, the only
burro I saw was on the steep slope below the Redwall where the trail
comes down.

When you finally see Shinumo Creek below you, you can follow the map
across a shale slope to the southwest and then descend when you come to
a barrier cliff. Or, as I found on the return, you can go down a well
established burro trail that goes through a break in the Tapeats rather
near the bench mark. This follows the crest of a ridge that goes down
quite a bit more directly.

The heat below the Redwall was pretty bad. Rocks in the shade felt quite
a bit hotter than body temperature. The cold water of Shinumo was a
relief. Ants were all over the ground and when I hung my knapsack in a
mesquite tree, tiny ants got into about everything. I arrived at 5:00
p.m. after taking over an hour to see Powell Spring. This made the trip
down take about eight hours and 45 minutes overall. After cooling off a
bit, I went on down and saw Bass' Camp and Shinumo Gardens. This flat
impressed me as much better farm land than anything Boucher had. In
fact, it seems to me that it is about the most inviting place to
irrigate and grow things of all the possibilities in the entire Grand
Canyon. It was just a bit farther to the trail that I had covered last
October. I got back to my pack by 6:30 p.m.

On the way up, progress was smooth except at the very beginning and
again at the very end. It was still only 5:30 a.m., and in the dim
light, I couldn't locate the trail I had come down. I had to descend and
go up the burro trail along the ridge. Also at the end, I did not
recognize the significance of the trail cairn telling me to leave the
wash and start up the ridge to the Coconino. Instead I went up the main
wash towards Powell Plateau and had to fight manzanita for a good hour
to get over to the saddle.

*Down Cottonwood Canyon to the Colorado River
[September 14, 1957]*

Roma went with Don Finicum, Allyn Cureton, and me to the head of the
Grandview Trail. She toured the rim while we started down the trail at
8:45 a.m.. We went out to the trail off Horseshoe Mesa near the end of
the west spur and then across the Tonto to the edge of the inner gorge
where Cottonwood Canyon meets the Tonto Platform. The boys agreed that
the view downriver from there is about the finest they have ever seen of
the gorge.

We then backed up and went down into Cottonwood Canyon via the ravine on
the east side which is just south of the edge of the gorge. There is no
difficulty in reaching the bottom of Cottonwood here, but before you
have gone very far down the main wash, you come to a series of barrier
falls. We backed up a few steps and then climbed out of the wash to the
west. At the small saddle we found a very old rusted tin can and
considered this a good indication that we were on the historic Grandview
Trail. After descending a short distance, however, we found that the way
down below the falls was barred completely by cliffs and we had to work
our way much higher before we could finally descend. We found a slightly
risky way to climb past some granite pinnacles and then we were able to
get down without further trouble.

At the bottom, we went back up the wash to view the lowest of the dry
falls which had stopped us. These drops seemed to be fewer and
considerably higher than the corresponding barriers in Hance Creek. The
lowest one seemed to be about 60 feet high. Perhaps they had fixed ropes
and rope ladders to get by these falls, although I rather doubt it in
view of the height. There were pools deep enough for a float below the
falls. It was only a matter of minutes to walk from here to the river.
It seemed even farther directly down to the water than I had remembered
it from my previous trip, probably 50 or 60 feet almost straight down.

We ate our lunch in the shade of the rocks just a few feet back from the
river and were pleasantly surprised that it wasn't uncomfortably hot.
The air currents were interesting here. Once when Allyn held up a piece
of paper and released it, it went directly upwards for a couple hundred
feet and then came down just as fast only a few feet from us.

Don's recently broken toe was bothering him on the way down, and when
Allyn and I went in search of a way to get to the river, he rested. Only
a few feet farther away from the river, we found an easy way to go up
and to the east. Just a few yards of walking and we came to a simple
rockslide clear down into the water. I thought sure we had found the
official end of the trail until I remembered what the pictures showed at
the bottom of the trail. I then realized that still more searching will
be needed. However, I'll still bet that this is an easier way to the
river than the historic route, which I now believe must be somewhat
farther downstream. To return, we might have climbed up to see the spur
trail off the Tonto to the west, but since I had come down that way on
Thanksgiving, 1954, I elected to go up to the base of the Tapeats to the
west and then follow this level south. The walking proved to be fairly
easy and we even had burro trails part of the way. Perhaps this is what
was meant by the map which showed the trail coming down Cottonwood
Canyon to the river. The only place where the trail is a bit indirect is
just before you reach the dry arm of Cottonwood Canyon where the trail,
very distinct here, goes up to the Tonto Platform.

We followed the Tonto around until it came to the branch where the
spring is located. While the boys rested next to a standing pool of not
very choice water, I went upstream to see whether the spring was flowing
higher up. It got better the farther I went, but it seemed to start much
higher than I wanted to take time for. On the way back, I came to a
place where there had been some sort of structure, perhaps only a board
floor for a tent. What seems most puzzling here were the pipes for
bringing water from higher up. They were standard plumbing size. This
site had been used rather recently too, for there were some cans of
K-ration type lying around. These may date back only a year or so when
some men were working on the trail down the west side of the neck to
Horseshoe Mesa, according to Dan Davis.

Don and I went up the regular trail to the mining area, but Allyn
insisted on going out the upper end of Cottonwood Canyon, where from a
distance it appeared possible to get through the Redwall. He reported
later that it was quite difficult to do this, and that he had to prop a
tree trunk up to climb past a certain ledge. He made the trail above
just ahead of Don and I, but he wouldn't have if we hadn't taken the
time to investigate O'Neil Spring at the end of the spur trail just
below the Redwall as you are going up to the mines. I came to a fair
sized hole under some rocks, but there was no water in it at this time
of year. It was damp, however, and had one willow growing out of the
middle of the depression.

We got down to the river from the rim in three hours and 45 minutes, and
came back up in four hours and 40 minutes when the 20 minutes spent
investigating the spring was deducted.

*Badger Creek Rapids
[October 27, 1957]*

We were taking Gene Foster's truck and station wagon to Lee's Ferry. The
others in the party wanted to see the Glen Canyon dam site and would not
get to Lee's Ferry before 5:00 p.m., so I had the opportunity for a hike
in the area while waiting for them.

After an early start from Flagstaff, I got to the parking lot by Navaho
Bridge about 9:00 a.m., and soon afterwards started downstream along the
south rim of Marble canyon. There were numerous small ravines and one
larger one that took me about 15 minutes to find my way across, but I
had no idea that my progress was as slow as it turned out to be. In
about an hour, I was only opposite 60 Mile Wash and after almost two
hours, I was only down to Badger. One point of interest was that the
river was flowing very smoothly all along here and another was a big
rockslide on the north side of the river a bit downstream from 6 Mile
Wash. It covered the lower cliff and from its top, one could work west
to a ravine which cut through the upper Kaibab cliff. It was pretty
clear that one could go on out from there.

The side canyon from the south whose mouth is at Badger seems to be
larger than Badger Creek Canyon itself. I took 40 minutes to get back
along its rim to a place where I could go down to the bottom of the
branch farthest to the east. This branch is one of the most interesting
places along the route to the river as both walls overhang and give it a
very gloomy, yet romantic appearance. Walking is very easy here as all
loose debris has been swept away by floods. The natural steps in the
bottom of the canyon are sometimes embarrassingly large, but the only
place where there is any doubt about progress is at a place where
someone has fixed a chain to make the climb safer. Near the river, there
are big rockfalls which slow a person down considerably.

Just at lunch time beside the rapid, the sun came out nicely and I
enjoyed a bit of suntanning. I thought that this should be Soap Creek
Rapid to judge by the length of time it took me to reach it, and if it
was, the proper way to leave the river was directly across and up the
creek to the north if one would rely on Davis' instructions in his
booklet Escape Routes. Since my approach from the south fitted Badger, I
decided not to chance going up the canyon directly across, but rather to
get out on the north side of the rockslide and hanging valley mentioned
previously. I knew I didn't have time for further exploring and still
make connections according to my agreement with the others. I was able
to walk upstream on the south side without too much hindrance from the
willows, mud, and rocks. There were at least three places along here
where I saw beaver tracks and willows cut through. When I was in sight
of the talus slope, I crossed the river on my air mattress dropping
about three widths of the river downstream in the process.

The climb out was without incident. However, the walking on the upper
bench below the upper cliff was rather precarious. When I reached the
top, I angled toward the east and ran into 60 Mile Canyon which kept
branching and keeping me turning more and more to the west. The walls
were vertical until the canyon was only 30 feet deep. When I finally got
across, I soon came to the highway and had about two miles to walk to
Navaho Bridge. I had been traveling about eight hours with another half
hour for lunch.

*Clear Creek
[November 9, 1957 to November 11, 1957]*

Dan Finicum and I took this trip while Allyn went to Trinity in the
opposite direction. We made it from Bright Angel Campground to the water
at the end of the Clear Creek Trail in three hours and 45 minutes. Some
flood since last spring had caused more devastation than I would have
thought possible. It had made a new channel, much deeper than the old
and had torn up the willows and had covered the ground with boulders
where there had been cottonwood leaves and grass over the sandy areas.
Most of the cottonwoods are still standing, however, and in another ten
years, maybe this area will look more inviting. Farther up where the
canyon is wider, the devastation is not so noticeable. The supply cache
was not disturbed. We put our packs down at the Indian ruin where the
long arm of Clear Creek meets the canyon with most of the water. Between
4:00 and 6:00 p.m. we got up to Cheyava Falls where I snapped a couple
pictures. I noted that the source of the falls is about one-fifth of the
way down from the top of the Redwall which would make the falls
something like 400 feet high. There would be about 200 feet of cascades
below this before the water reaches the streambed below. Even though the
previous weeks had been unusually rainy, there was only enough water
coming out to keep the rocks wet. On Sunday, Don and I checked my theory
that the trail Hance had patented, going past the asbestos mines over to
Clear Creek, should get down to Clear Creek along the short canyon which
starts near the gap between The Howlands Butte and Angel's Gate. This
turned out to be correct. There is a good deer trail at the head where
it is easy to get through the Tapeats. Then we circled the west side of
The Howlands and came to the short bay which drains down a wash just
east of the mouth of Clear Creek. It was fairly easy to find a place to
get through the Tapeats. We came down on the east side of this bay, but
we noted three places on the west side which should have been just as
easy. In descending the steeper slopes to the river, we had to pass
small ridges to the west several times to find suitable rockslides, but
we made it to the river where we could go east a few steps to look up
the actual wash we had been in most of the time. The Cal Tech party and
also Stanton camped here. It took about 15 minutes to go the tenth of a
mile from here to the mouth of Clear Creek, although there was no real
difficulty in negotiating the interesting schist.

Going up the bed of Clear Creek was a simple matter of walking along the
gravel and stepping over the water about a million times. At one place
the canyon becomes very narrow and steep walled. We thought we were
coming to an impassable fall and would have to backtrack considerably,
but the worst was a ten foot fall that we could climb around by merely
exercising care in placing our feet. Even a fall wouldn't have been
serious, only a wetting after slipping down about ten feet into a pool
of cool water. We walked without hurrying from the river to the end of
the trail in two hours and 25 minutes, which would make the hiking time
from the Colorado River to Cheyava Falls less than four hours.

*Thunder Spring, Tapeats Source, Deer Creek, Kanab Creek, and Hack's Canyon
[November 27, 1957 to December 1, 1957]*

Kenny Burch drove Allyn Cureton, Don Finicum, and me to Big Saddle Camp
and then drove the car back to Fredonia for us. I learned from him that
there was a corral and a spring quite a distance up Hack's Canyon. One
thing that surprised us a little was to see that someone was still
living at Big Saddle even though the hunting season was over.

We didn't try to drive the car beyond the camp since the snow was eight
inches deep and the ruts in the road made by a Jeep were now solid ice.
It was a cold but beautiful walk through the winter woods, quite a
contrast to the dry, red regions below where we would be spending our
time for the next five days. We passed the marker I had left to point
out the head of the horse trail. We thought this was probably the route
known as the Big Saddle Trail but later found out that it was not. The
marker consists of four short sticks leaning against a big pine tree on
the south side of the car track. Don took Allyn out to the point where
he had left the rim before off Monument Point. As an experiment, I
scrambled down to a deer trail below the first cliff in the Kaibab
Limestone just before we were to start up a grade to get to the point.
My route was rather slow requiring care, but I arrived just before the
others at the meeting place. We decided not to try the steep climb off
the east side of the point where the Coconino sticks out the farthest
south. We followed the bench along to the west, perhaps a half mile,
until we could get down without danger. It did require a drop of about
four feet, however, and to get up there one might have to build a bit of
a rock pile. We reached the regular horse trail from Little Saddle
before it came to the main water pockets.

The rest of the way down to Thunder Spring was without incident. This
time we crossed the water from the spring just below the upper fall,
worming our way across a log that spans the stream with one end in a
perpetual shower of spray. We had a tussle to get through the jungle
here and out to the bench just below the Redwall. The footing wasn't a
bit good with our packs to balance and it took us an hour and a half to
go from the spring to the point where we could look into the gorge where
Tapeats Creek starts. I am quite sure the distance from this spot up to
the source is less than half the distance back to Thunder Spring, but
the going was so slow uphill that it took another hour and a half to
reach the cave just as it was getting dark. We had time to pick up
enough firewood and that was all.

After a leisurely supper we deposited our bedrolls in the dry right-hand
branch of the cave where the ceiling is low and the cold air of the
outer world does not come. Then we went exploring into the perpetual
night of the cave. It was much dryer than it had been last summer
although I was correct in trusting that there would be a rain pool right
at the mouth. We were able to walk right through places where I had
paddled my air mattress last summer. Keeping to the left, we came to the
end of a couple of modest branches. Then I went back to my bedroll and
read the Readers Digest by candle light while the other two did the real
exploring. They found a branch that would be to the right as you go in.
It soon came to a five foot rise and then turned to the left. The boys
found one of the waterproof matches left by their friends the previous
spring. A little farther was the waterhole that had stopped the fellows
before. You could hear running water ahead. Don and Allyn found that you
can step on a ledge to your left and get past this water. Rather soon
the corridor opens out into quite a large chamber, possibly 30 feet wide
and just as high. In places the flashlights didn't show the ceiling.
This soon brought you to the main stream. If you could wade against the
current here, there is no telling how much farther you could go into the
mountain, but we were willing to turn back. It took 12 minutes to get
back out from this spot when the fellows took me in to see their
discoveries the next morning. Cavers who have entered since, say that it
goes back 3000 feet or more.

We had a most comfortable night in this air conditioned cave even though
it gave one a peculiar feeling to have to strike matches to see by the
watch whether morning had come. In the morning, I found out that mice
had gotten into my raisins! We found a metal support for a camera at the
mouth of the cave. An indication of an earlier visit by a white man.
After we ate and took the morning trip into the cave, it was 9:00 a.m.
before we finally got started on, and again it seemed pretty slow to get
back to the Thunder River Trail. We had lunch by the spring before we
started over to Deer Creek.

On entering Deer Creek Valley, we followed the horse trail north of the
small spring which forms the fall and then crossed the talus to take
pictures of the spring. We kept to the east of the cane beds at the
bottom of the valley for about half the way to the exit gorge and then
crossed to the west side of the stream. We found the ledge through the
lower part of the gorge most interesting and noted the way the stream
cuts such a narrow channel so deep in the rock. I missed the best way to
get down to the river and led the boys through a terrific thicket of
cane and thorns. Allyn finally showed us that we could get down the last
steep place by holding on to trees. The river was low enough so that we
could walk far away from the falls to get a picture from any angle we
wished. The deep, clear pool at the bottom of the falls was a fitting
end for the beautiful 100 foot falls out of the 60 foot deep slit in the
cliff.

We followed the river bank with no particular difficulty for about 45
minutes until we came to a sandy beach which had a fair amount of wood
nearby. Just before we got here, we were perplexed by some peculiar
tracks in the sand until we decided that they were caused by rocks
rolling down from the cliffs above. Besides the marks in the sand, we
also saw where the corners had been knocked off other rocks. The night
here was a cold one with strong wind squalls at times. Sparks flew so
badly that Allyn and I had to abandon the fire in a hurry. Deer Creek
Rapids was rather unimpressive. We saw much better rapids between miles
138 and 139 as well as at Fishtail and Kanab Canyons. For about a half
mile we had to climb up away from the beach. Fishtail had a particularly
impressive wave at the very beginning that had a way of crashing
upstream with a big splash. We ate lunch at the only sunny place we had
seen all morning directly opposite 140 mile Canyon. From about here on,
we saw bighorn sheep tracks almost everywhere there was any sand. We
also noticed some Indian ruins on the south side near where we had
camped. At about mile 143 we came on a recent campsite. Someone had
outlined his bed with a row of rocks and had put down a lot of weeds for
a mattress. There was a rock fireplace, and what surprised me more were
tracks from a burro in places where the rain would wash them away in a
short time. We had made such slow progress in the forenoon that we could
hardly believe it when we arrived at the mouth of Kanab Creek. It was
good that we had the picture from Dock Marston taken 85 years before. It
matched perfectly when we walked past the sand dune and looked out
towards the river. Progress up Kanab Canyon was fairly easy and we saw
rather soon one place where seep springs had produced a lot of greenery.
There were fairly frequent terraces covered with mesquite which also had
trapped driftwood. When it was only 5:00 p.m., we came to one of these.
I had a premonition that these spots wouldn't occur very often, so I
called a halt for the night. I slept very warm here under an overhang
with a good fire burning all night. The thing that made me wakeful was
the worry that the creek would have so many meanders in it that the
mileage would be too much to allow us to finish the trip on schedule and
get to the college by Sunday night. We talked about how I might have to
walk on by myself and ask someone else to meet the fellows on Monday. We
decided to eat in the dark on Saturday morning and be ready to spend all
day walking.

I got off by myself as soon as I could see enough to stumble along and
passed under one dripping spring almost at once. I soon decided that I
could make better time with my sneakers on so as to wade where ever it
was handy. The day was cold and I was rather surprised to see ice frozen
in places where the water was perfectly quiet. Don and Allyn soon caught
up with me. The walls in this part of the canyon are 800 feet
practically straight up and the bottom of the canyon sometimes is only
20 feet wide. There were quite a few caves high up in the Redwall and at
a number of places we saw more seeps and deposits of travertine with
maidenhair fern and other vegetation making the area on the wall green.
I missed all pictures along here because there wasn't enough light.
Little by little, the top of the Redwall seemed closer until about 2:00
p.m. we were at last above it.

Now we were faced with the problem of knowing which was Hack's Canyon.
We thought we had recognized the main canyon from the east, Jumpup. In
fact, we thought we had passed it twice! I was pretty sure of the second
candidate for this honor, because the canyon bed was covered with gravel
instead of having a lot of rather large rocks rolled down as in a steep
short canyon. About an hour before I had figured that we were due to
find Hack's, we came to a canyon with quite a wide mouth. There was
quite a bit of pasture for the cows we had been following for some time.
We decided that the place needed investigating because we would be sunk
if we went right by Hack's. It proved to be a very interesting place
with springs and grotesque rock formations. About the time we came to an
awkward fall barring the way, Don found a horse trail leading around it,
and we thought that was proof that this was indeed Hack's Canyon. When
we got above the Supai out into a big bay below the rim cliffs, the
trail petered out. I reconnoitered and decided that we could not even
climb out in the vicinity, so we went back to the creek for the night.
It was another thing we learned that day besides seeing another
interesting place. We now were sure that we were past Jumpup Canyon. I
knew from the lay of the land that we must be within something like an
hours walk from the mouth of Hack's Canyon. We had supper and started to
walk by moonlight.

Very soon we came to a big supply of dead cottonwoods and it looked like
too good a chance to miss because we knew that it was going to be a cold
night. Allyn and I used the fire all night, but still it was so cold
that water froze solid in a cup. To make matters a bit worse, my
mattress went flat, punctured by something I couldn't see on the ground
in the dark. Again on Sunday morning we were ready to break camp by the
first light. It took about an hour and ten minutes to reach the mouth of
Hack's Canyon, making the walking time from the river about nine hours
all told. It took four and a half hours of good fast walking to get from
the mouth of Hack's to the car parked at the mine. A distinctive feature
of Hack's Canyon is that the stream bed is nothing but gravel spread so
as to have a gentle gradient. There is a campsite under an overhang on
the north side near the mouth which has some names written on the rocks
as well as some tools and old horse shoes. We took two hours to reach
the corral and spring and about two and a half more to reach the mine.
Most of the walking in Hack's was very easy, quite a contrast with some
of the going early on Saturday when we had to work our way around big
rocks which had tumbled off the Redwall cliffs. It is a bit hard to
understand how they get stock to the mouth of Kanab.

When we got to the car, we had eaten our lunch about an hour before, but
that didn't stop us from enjoying some huge pieces of turkey that Don's
mother had left for us. We could testify that the two good falls near
Thunder Springs and Deer Creek Falls, The Colorado River, and Lower
Kanab Canyon make this route about the most interesting five days we
could think of.

*Comanche Point and the Little Colorado River Gorge
[December 29, 1957 to December 30, 1957]*

I parked the car at Desert View thinking that I would be coming out by
the Tanner or possibly the Red Canyon Trail. I hadn't noticed the access
road E14, which leaves the highway just southeast of the checking
station. I thought that I was supposed to connect with the one marked
E15, which leaves the highway two and a half miles from Desert View, and
I was surprised how quickly I came to a road. Actually I had walked a
mile through the junipers when I could have been on the road all the
time. This is a fairly good road and would be all right for an ordinary
car in good weather. It makes about eight turns to lose altitude to go
down to the base of Cedar Mountain.

With no fresh memory of the map, I turned north on E15 when I was still
quite a bit west of Cedar Mountain. This is the same as the old road
shown on the east half map of the National Park. I didn't have the map
with me or I would have kept my bearings better and I might have looked
for the cabin marked on the map. I did note the way the road follows the
wash which leads into Straight Canyon. Incidentally, this road would not
be a good one to try in a car. The road was easy to follow up from
Straight Canyon, but then it seemed to go west towards the rim of the
Grand Canyon where the map shows it turning northeast. I left the road
here anyway to look into a deserted hogan which was a little north of
this west bend in the track. I believe I caught what was left of the
track near Comanche Point.

This point was not part of the plan, but it looked so close that I
couldn't resist the impulse to drop the pack and go over to it. There is
a fresh surveyor's marker on it, possibly a year old replacing one that
was a lot older. Of all the viewpoints along the rim of the Grand
Canyon, perhaps this is the only one which gives 360 degrees of view.
The closest horizon is the one back of Desert View, say six miles away
and the farthest is Navaho Mountain and the Hopi Mesas, exactly opposite
the Grand Canyon. Comanche Point is also unusual in that it rises up to
a point as well as sticking out into the canyon. It's surprising to note
that it's still above 7000 feet elevation here when the rest of the
region is dropping fast to the east. I picked what appeared to be the
biggest bay in the rim of the Little Colorado River Gorge south of the
bend marked by Big Canyon and Salt Trail Canyon on the far side. The
little brother of Cedar Mountain, which was somewhat south of the line
to this bay, served as a further guidepost in reaching the chosen place.
I had to cross a couple of draws to keep from going too far to the north
and I came to another wagon trail which seemed to come down from the
southwest about where the road was shown on the east half map. One
branch crossed the wash and went to the north towards Cape Solitude
while one track went down the wash to the east for quite some distance.

About a half mile west of where the road leaves the wash to go east of
Little Cedar Hill, there's a peculiar rock wall which doesn't seem to
have any purpose. It is about straight, paralleling the streambed about
60 feet long by four feet high and two feet thick. While I was preparing
to take a picture, I put my canteen down and then moved to a better spot
for the picture. When I was through with the camera, I didn't know where
the canteen was, and it took me a number of minutes and considerable
worry to locate it.

The road led me up on a flat northeast of Little Cedar Hill and then I
figured to reach the north side of the bay, I would have to leave the
road and head northeast again. I got back to the same canyon I had been
in just as it came to the rim. I could see that the ravine farthest east
on the north side of the big bay seemed to be the most probable place to
descend, but it was too late to think about getting to the river that
evening. Right below where I made these observations, there were several
waterpockets mostly frozen solid, but one had only an inch of ice over a
foot of water. So I filled the canteen and used the Halazone tablets for
the first time. When I reached the next canyon north of this, I decided
to camp, especially since there was such a neat overhang to keep dew off
my sleeping bag. It seemed cold and lonesome as night came on, but the
air mattress and the two sleeping bags did their duty and I was not cold
during the night.

After a breakfast of crackers and raisins (eaten in bed), I got started
for the day's hiking about 7:45 a.m. I intended to be back in about
three hours at the most, after looking into the main gorge from the rim
and scouting the top of the ravine I had thought possible the evening
before. After my reconnaissance from the rim I started down the ravine
at 8:30 a.m. There were at least three places which were real climbing
puzzles, but each time I found a fairly safe way to get down without a
rope. Perhaps a knapsack would have to be lowered by a rope at a couple
of these places. At the place near the top of the Coconino, I kept to
the left wall. Near the bottom of the same formation, I left the gully
and went around on a talus which led back to the bottom of the same
ravine. At the top of the Supai, I was quite baffled for a few minutes,
but I found a good way right near the main channel along the left wall.
It was easy from here to the top of the Redwall, and again I was mighty
glad to encounter water pockets which I used on the way down and
particularly on the way back.

A quick look showed that the Redwall here was impossible. Another
observation was that the stream fills the bottom from wall to wall in
places, and it constantly swings across cutting off all chance for a
person to walk through here along the bank. You would need to ferry an
inflated mattress to negotiate the deep spots, and I wouldn't want to
try that in the winter. I had a feeling that the real Blue Spring Trail
might be to the south, so I followed the bench above the Redwall for a
half hour without finding the way down. I did see one good spring coming
into the muddy main stream from the left wall. I also noted a saddle in
the Supai where the bed has made a gooseneck. I was able to identify
this on a map at the museum and I was able to conclude that the regular
trail to the river was only about 40 more minutes walk upstream from
where I had turned back. Since I had no lunch along and wanted to go
home the same day, I quite exploring at 11:00 a.m. and reached the rim
in two and a half hours, which makes me think that this route compares
favorably with the regular Blue Spring Trail which kept Wing and Womack
busy for a whole day when they were carrying heavy packs and using a
long rope. There were no trail markers along this route, but I saw the
hoof prints of a deer along the bench above the Redwall.

When I was at the top of the Supai, where the various ravines draining
into this bay all come together before they go out to the river, I
noticed a very promising route from the south side of the bay. It would
have led me considerably farther from my campsite so I didn't try it. I
would estimate that it is quite close to the top of the Blue Spring
Trail as marked on the map. At 3:00 p.m. I was through a big lunch,
packed and ready to go. I filled my canteen at the same water hole in
the ravine to the south and then headed across the flats to the road
which leads south on the east side of Little Cedar Hill. I soon came to
a branch which led to a tank near the rim of the Little Colorado River
Gorge. After a good many ups and downs and bends in the road, I decided
to leave it and head more directly for Cedar Mountain. After two or
three minor valleys, I saw why the road was not direct. There was a
whopping big canyon between me and the butte. t was just about dark but
the moon would be bright, so I dropped down to the bottom with the
intention of climbing out on the other side. The bottom of this canyon,
latter identified as Straight Canyon, was so easy to follow by moonlight
that I settled for following it. In about two hours I was back on the
old track, E15, at 7:30 p.m. and by 9:15 p.m. I was at the car. The view
of the Painted Desert at sundown from the slopes just before reaching
Straight Canyon was something to remember for a long time.

*Down the Bright Angel Trail and then towards Horn Creek Rapids
[January 25, February 15, and March 15, 1958]*

Dock Marston had said in a letter dated April 25, 1957 that two boatmen
named Russell and Tadje had walked along the river bank from Horn Creek
Rapids to Pipe Canyon with the qualifying phrase that he should check
this information. I forgot the latter and got Allyn Cureton and Jim
Lisonbee to repeat the project.

The Bright Angel Trail was a little icy at the top but we made good time
trotting most of the way. We stopped for a moment to investigate a mine
shaft in the side of the wash a little above Indian Gardens and also
looked at the layout of the pumping station below it, but we still got
to the river in one hour and 40 minutes. We ate an early lunch and left
out packs and canteen at the river house. The going was very easy for
nearly a mile. There is even an old trail beside the river for a few
hundred yards. When you are about a half mile above Horn Creek Rapids,
you have to begin some time consuming detouring up a ravine, over a
ridge and down the other side. After about two or three of these places,
we decided that the only way to get clear to Horn would be to climb
above the Archean rocks and go down into Horn back from the river. About
100 yards before we arrived at this decision, I noticed the head of a
pickax lying near a rectangular recouple built against the vertical side
of a large rock which had rolled down from above. Allyn decided that
this structure was the base for a forge. This was about 300 feet above
the river and we noted a light colored dike across the river, the first
of a series of vertical streaks that make prominent landmarks from here
to the west. As we had already exceeded our time limit, we had to turn
back the way we had come to pick up our packs. We found some sun tinted
glass on the return. I got out at the Kolb studio about 5:15 p.m., four
minutes slower than my best time up the Bright Angel Trail under the
best of conditions. The descent was made 22 minutes faster than my
previous fastest, but I had knots in my calves for the rest of the day.

A sequel to this was that Dock looked up his information about Russell
and Tadje. They had beached their boats just downstream from Pipe Creek
Rapids, but they had not walked back from Horn or anywhere near Horn.
Reilly in 1953 had lost a boat at Horn and had looked the place over to
see whether three of the party could climb out. He decided that it was
impossible for a women to do it. At the time that Sturdevant and Johnson
drowned, Brooks landed on the north bank and climbed up to the Tonto
Plateau and was able to get to Phantom Ranch. He led some men back to
that side of Horn, but as far as Dock knew, no one had succeeded in
getting down to the mouth of Horn Creek itself. Dan Davis had tried and
failed in 1955. Emery Kolb said that it was impossible.

Three weeks later, on February 15, 1958; Jim Lisonbee, Allyn, and I were
back again. I had agreed to take a picture for Dock of the beach at the
mouth of Pipe Creek where the Kolbs moored their boats in 1911 to try to
get a good check on the stage of the river at that time. Consequently,
Jim and Allyn went on without me along the base of the Tapeats cliff at
the top of the Archean without going to the bottom of the Bright Angel
Trail. I wasn't trying to break my previous record for the descent since
I didn't want to ruin my legs again, but I did cut it down by seven
minutes to one hour and 33 minutes. When I got back from the river, I
didn't try to catch the boys. I followed Garden Creek back far enough to
climb up to the base of the Tapeats and head west. Just to the west of
bench mark 3702, at a place which doesn't show on the map, there is a
ravine which pierces the Tapeats. I even found some initials and numbers
scratched in the stone a little below where a tributary comes in from
the east. I might not have seen this if I had been walking by it, but I
noticed it from above on the west side. I believe it might be HHB Mor 4
06. I found out later that it said HB March 4, 06. Those are my
initials, but I wasn't there in 1906! It appears to have been pecked by
a nail and it is rather indistinct. After I had gone over to the angle
in the plateau and had looked down into Horn, I came back and followed
this ravine out to the deer trail which Allyn and Jim had used. Their
tracks showed plainly. We found that white men had been here, leaving
some rock-pile markers and a bit of a wall which may have been a
windbreak to make sleeping more comfortable. I went ahead far enough
into Horn to see where a descent might be possible. This was just south
of a spur that projects into Horn not far from the angle.

Allyn and Jim found the going very simple at the top of the Archean
rocks and they arrived at the bottom of Horn by 11:30 a.m. having gone
down the same ravine I had regarded with favor. They proceeded
downstream about halfway to the river before they came to a major
obstruction, a waterfall about 100 feet high. They spotted a bottle with
Dan Davis' and Bill Diller's signatures dated sometime in 1955. Jim
stopped here, but Allyn tried a most improbable route down which he
showed me four weeks later.

On the March 15 trip, Jim could not go, but Elena Favale and Roxyn
Cureton made up the other members of the party. Elena was a good hiker
and a good sport, but she was slow on the rock climbing of which there
was only a taste before we got to the bottom of Horn. She elected to
wait there for us. I changed into sneakers here and was quite glad later
that I had. Roxyn accidentally dropped the Davis bottle over the cliff,
but we signed our names on the paper and left it in a can under a few
rocks about four feet above the creek bottom on the left. Allyn's route
past the fall does not involve climbing above the level of the top of
the fall. In fact this would be impossible unless one went back and
climbed up to the west. In the smooth granite to the right, there is a
place where there is a break in the perpendicular wall above and the one
below. The average slope is still around 45 degrees, but there are also
some footholds. On the return, I even found some deer droppings lodged
in a crack. After crossing this place that I might have taken one look
at and considered impossible, you go around a corner and are on a small
sloping platform. From a few feet back from the edge, you would think
that the drop is straight down, but when you actually look over, you see
that there are ledges every few feet and quite a variety of holds. If
you watch for loose rocks, there is no danger. When you are finally in
sight of the river, there is another, somewhat lower fall of perhaps 60
feet, but here you have a to backtrack a few feet and climb up about 200
feet on the west slope. You descend to the river right at the mouth of
the creek. The slope is one of the consistently steepest we have ever
followed, but again there are plenty of holds. One has to use some
thought in finding the way but it is never impossible even if it might
look that way at first. When we pushed loose rocks they crashed down to
the bottom with only two or three bumps in 150 feet to the streambed.
The rocks were pretty wet from the rain which began about 12:30 p.m.,
but my sneakers held all right. It took about 45 minutes from the river
to our packs, but it seems as if this time could be reduced with a
little practice on the route. From our packs to Indian Gardens it took
about 90 minutes.

*Search for the foot of the Grandview Trail
[November, 1954 to May, 1958]*

During Thanksgiving vacation in 1954, Marvin Hole, Boyd Moore, and I
took four days for a good trip, one of whose objectives was to reach the
river at the mouth of Hance Creek which we had reason to believe had
been the end of an early trail.

After spending around an hour at the big cave on Horseshoe Mesa (Cave of
the Domes), we came back to the neck and went down to the east. When we
reached Hance Creek, there was still some of the afternoon left to try
to go down the creekbed. We left the packs up among the cottonwoods at
the top of the granite. When we had succeeded in making one detour to
the right to get around a fall, we came to a worse place. We made the
mistake of trying to go almost straight up to the left without retracing
our steps far enough to find a much easier way to climb up and around
the obstacle. After I had dislodged some rocks and almost hurt Marvin,
we decided that we had run out of time and had better get back to the
packs. We were more eager to negotiate the Tonto Trail over to the
Kaibab than we were to see the river at the head of Sockdolager Rapids,
so the next morning we did not renew the attempt to reach the river. At
that time, I hadn't heard of the burro trail up to the Tonto out of
Hance Canyon so we had to go rather far back before we got up to the
plateau about where we had entered the creek. It is quite a long drag
around Horseshoe Mesa, but we took a bit of time out to inspect the
little spur trail which goes below the Tapeats and then ends in
agreement with the map. We went clear back into Cottonwood Canyon and
came around to the point to the west. Here we again took time to follow
the spur trail which the map shows going down through the Tapeats then
down to the river. We thought the map showed the trail angling off to
the west immediately below the Tapeats and we followed the top of the
granite in this direction. We soon came to terrific cliffs which we were
sure had not been the location of any trail and gave this up. Just in
passing, we looked over into Cottonwood and thought that the trail might
have been constructed down to the mouth before it fell away. We
scrambled down to the end of Cottonwood Canyon without seeing any more
of the trail and felt rather frustrated to find ourselves looking down
60 vertical feet to the river with no way to reach it. With just a
little more resourcefulness, we would have done what Allyn and I did in
September, 1957. We could have reached the edge of the river by going
south a few steps and climbing up and over an easy spur to a rockslide
clear into the water a 100 yards to the east of the mouth of the creek.

For the rest of that day, we followed the Tonto and slept where it
crossed Boulder Canyon. On the third day we reached the Kaibab Trail and
then spent the night next to the Bright Angel Trail on a sand bar half
way to Pipe Creek where there was lots of driftwood for some big fires
which kept us quite warm. The next day when we got to the top of the
Bright Angel Trail we were met by Roma and Anne who took us back to the
car at Grandview Point.

*Reaching the mouth of Hance Creek
[1954 to 1957]*

We went to Mexico after Christmas in 1954, but for three days before, I
took a solo trip to do a little more looking for Sockdolager Rapids at
the mouth of Hance Creek. I spent the first night at Hance Rapids by a
good fire. The second day I started over to camp in Hance Canyon. I
found a rock marker on the rim above about where I thought there was a
chance to get down into mineral canyon, but gave up the attempt as being
too risky. I learned from Dock Marston that the Cal Tech Party had
succeeded in getting down here, so I suppose this was their marker. When
I came near Hance Canyon, I looked around a bit and found the place Art
and Ray had told me you could descend without going far to the south. It
was all right even with a pack. Again I put down the pack by the
cottonwoods and tried to go to the river. This time I got up over the
first detour and also located the right place for the second, one that
took a fair amount of effort but involved no danger. By the time I came
to the place for the third detour, this time to the right again, it was
getting so late that I saw the necessity of getting back to the pack
because I didn't want to be doing that careful type of climbing after
dark. The next day, I wasn't in the mood to head back toward the river,
although now I don't see why I didn't. I was more interested in seeing
whether I could find my way up the route of the practically forgotten
Old Hance Trail, and I wanted to allow time to come back and go out the
Grandview Trail if necessary.

The attempt to find the old trail was entirely successful. I recognized
the pinnacle at the box in the Redwall from a sketch which had been
published in an ad for the railway. The trail actually showed some signs
of existence from here up to the base of the pinnacle and then to the
right into a wash. The bottom of the wash was just too steep for my
shoes to grip and allow me to walk up, so I took a rather precarious
route to the right above the water-worn bottom. When coming down on a
later trip, we just ran down the bottom. In fact, Don and Bert found
that by getting a running start, they could go up here. I then climbed
out of this wash to the right and found some more trail construction. I
would say that the best way up the juniper covered talus to the bottom
of the Coconino is to stay over pretty much to the east, but when you
are near the Coconino, cut across a gully or two and head up into the
notch to the west of the wash. This notch, by the way, is the one
farthest to the east which appears at all possible.

The next attempt to reach the mouth of Hance Creek was with Jack Morrow
at the end of the school year in May, 1956. We went down the Old Hance
Trail in the afternoon and camped where there is permanent water. For
some reason, I had trouble remembering how to get through the Redwall.
Jack and I climbed down a rather precarious place at the end and then
went back up the right way to see where we had goofed. I put a rock
marker where one should leave the wash with the slick bottom to go out
to the right to the base of the pinnacle.

With two out of three necessary detours already worked out, we made good
progress through the granite near the river. The third detour entailed
about the steepest climbing of all, but it was not what you would need
to label work for an expert. The view upriver from the mouth of Hance
Creek was particularly impressive and coincided with an old picture. The
river was really high, it filled the entire width of the river channel
and continued downstream as far as one could see. The power of the high
water appeared to be resist less. The backwater in the mouth of Hance
Creek was tame and harmless and we enjoyed a good swim.

Since the mouth of Hance Creek was obviously not the place called the
foot of the Grandview Trail under two other pictures, we tried again in
the spring of 1957. This time Don Finicum, Allyn Cureton, Ellery Gibson,
and I went down off Horseshoe Mesa by the trail off the west prong and
followed the spur of the Tonto which the map shows going down below the
Tapeats and ending over towards Hance Canyon. We saw a chance of getting
down to the river at the foot of Sockdolager Rapids, and we were able to
do this without much real difficulty although we had to select our
ravines with a bit of care. At one place Allyn made his own choice and
ended by coming down a bad spot holding his canteen between his teeth. I
went upstream to a big rock which projects a third of the way across the
river and took a picture looking up towards Sockdolager Rapids.This spot
is just across from the rockslide which comes down on the north bank
from the bay where the old asbestos mines are perched.

Later in the same spring, Allyn and I came down the Old Hance Trail
again and met Dan Davis trying to reach the river at the mouth of Hance
Creek. We showed him the right detours, but he was making slow going of
them and didn't quite reach the rapid. This time Allyn and I went back
by way of the spur trail at the top of the granite where we had been
with Ellery. The climb up here was not complicated, and this method of
getting to the mouth of Hance is now much the easier.

Another trip to match the elusive pictures was taken with Sharon Huff
and Elaine Crowder. The map shows another spur off the Tonto in the
direction of Cottonwood Canyon. Actually the map doesn't indicate even a
descent of the Tapeats, and in this it is correct. We were able to get
below the Tapeats by going down the draw to the east of Cottonwood, but
we soon found progress in this direction impossible. When the girls saw
what I proposed to try, they wisely backed out and watched my start to
the river. A boy was killed doing this climb. This was about the most
awkward way to the water that I have tried, but with patience, I found
that it was possible. The views up and down from here were rather
limited, and I knew long before I reached the bank that I could not be
following the main trail to the river even though the reading matter
said that you did not ride the horses down into the Inner Gorge. When I
got back to the Tonto, I traced the edge of the plateau around towards
Cottonwood Canyon and found the ravine just back from the river where
you can walk down to the bottom of Cottonwood Canyon.

The next try was with Don and Allyn in September, 1957. We came off the
west end of Horseshoe Mesa again and went out to the edge of the plateau
above Cottonwood Canyon and then down to the bottom of the wash by the
ravine I had noticed before. We soon found further progress barred by
falls. Since I have already described this trip at length, I'll just say
that although we found the way to get to the edge of the river, we
didn't find the location of the foot of the Grandview Trail.

All three negative results put me back on the track I had been following
at the very first of these efforts. I decided to check more carefully
the existence of the spur trail just a bit west of Cottonwood Canyon.
When I got below the Tapeats as before, I consulted the map more
carefully than before and I noticed that the map shows the trail just
below the Tapeats going towards Cottonwood Canyon as the trail
construction indicated. Where the trail has fallen away completely in
the scree above Cottonwood, it used to switch back to the north under
the cliff which points toward the river. Then it climbs a bit and
crosses a shoulder of this point and drops down by way of an easy
ravine. After descending here a couple hundred feet, it rises slightly
over another shoulder, and now you find yourself in a broad ravine of
rather gentle gradient clear down to the river. The trail construction
is quite obvious as soon as you leave Cottonwood. One has the freedom at
the river to go along the bank for 50 yards without difficulty, and the
views are not nearly as constricted as they usually are. The mouth of
Vishnu Creek is only a short distance downstream and it would be easy to
paddle across the river on an air mattress and climb out by way of
Vishnu Canyon. On the way to the river, you get some excellent views of
Grapevine Rapids. This was a most satisfying way to end the search for
the foot of the Grandview Trail, and the relative ease with which the
river can be reached by this route shows that the old trail finders knew
the area most thoroughly. There is a mining claim location a bit to the
west and about 100 feet up from the water, probably to direct attention
to the mica which is thick on the surface here.

On the way back, I climbed up the ravine through the Redwall which is
northeast of the box at the head of Cottonwood Canyon. Allyn had already
climbed the box itself using a dead tree at one place to get up a cliff.
My way required an awkward bit of swinging ones weight across while
holding on to some fairly good grips.

*Asbestos Canyon via Clear Creek
[April 3, 1958 to April 6, 1958]*

The weather prediction was for a new storm to come in Thursday evening.
For once the weather man was exactly right. A light rain started when I
was less than half way from Bright Angel Campground to Clear Creek. It
was running harder by the time I reached the foot of the trail at Clear
Creek itself so I decided to head for the best shelter available. It was
the big overhang at the junction of the long arm and the shorter one
with most of the water. This was about 25 minutes walk from the trails
end, but I called that a cheap price for a comfortable night out of the
rain. My bed was in a nook which cut out most of the wind as well as all
of the driving rain.

Friday saw me off to an early start about 6:15 a.m. About 15 minutes
walk downstream past the trail's end, you come to a side canyon which
leads towards Cape Royal. If you turn south into the branch that points
towards the pass between Angel's Gate and The Howland's Butte, I had
learned last November that you could get up to the plateau over a clear
deer trail. However, I decided to try what Allyn Cureton had done during
Christmas vacation. There is a tower separated slightly from the main
Tapeats cliff about where you would say that the wall turns from facing
Clear Creek into this side canyon. At one place I had to remove my pack
and put it up on a ledge above me, but otherwise the climbing was
reasonably safe. At two places on this climb, I noted steps formed by
what looked like artificial rock piles. It would be anybody's guess who
put them there.

Last November Don Finicum and I had followed the edge of the plateau
around to the river. I remembered that the route was winding and not
smooth walking either, so this time I climbed up onto the yellow shale
below the Redwall. The footing was a little precarious, but the going is
more direct, and when you come down you are well back towards heading
the canyon which leads southwest away from Angel's Gate. I climbed down
into this canyon and up the other side, but I cut off so small a portion
that I decided later that I would have been smarter to have continued
around the head at the Tapeats level.

The chance for a close view of Grapevine Rapids led me out on a point
which is so near the rapids that my camera couldn't get the entire
rapids in one picture. The long canyon whose head is below Wotan's
Throne seemed discouraging to walk around, so when I saw a chance to
cross it, I took the gamble. The way out around the end of Hall Butte
was obvious, and I could get down below the first ledge with no trouble.
After some study, I decided that the only way to continue was to use a
crack just wide enough for one foot to go in. The handholds were mostly
a matter of bracing with the elbows to get friction. I knew I would feel
insecure with my pack on so I tossed it down ahead of me. It bounced and
rolled about 100 feet farther but stopped just above another similar
drop. Incidentally, nothing worse than some cracker crumbs resulted from
this unscheduled roll. On the way back, I found another way farther up
the canyon. One has to climb half again as high, but if I repeated the
trip, I would prefer the short bit of rock work at the crack. On the
return, I found that I was closer to the head where there would be
relatively easy walking. I'm inclined to favor walking clear around this
one too.

Vishnu Canyon is another situation. You need to go through the pass
between Newberry Butte and the ridge to the north, so I believe I was
wise to have gone down when I saw the chance at a place which came out
just downstream from a fall. The catch came at the very bottom where
some travertine spoiled my hope that I could walk a tilted ledge right
to the streambed. For about five feet, there were a couple minute
footholds, but there was practically no way to get any safety from one's
hands. After investigating and deciding that it had to be crossed unless
I were willing to go clear back up to the plateau. I practiced without
my pack and then crossed with it. There was water in Vishnu Canyon which
would go underground more than on the surface, but I would regard it as
reliable throughout the year. I went up to the pass from a point a
little farther downstream. When I had gone high enough to get a good
view on the west side of Vishnu, I noted benches that sloped up to the
south. I used the lower one of these on the return with relief at not
having to cross the precarious bit of travertine. This ramp is above the
fall and out at a different point of the west rim from where I had
descended before. The map indicates that the cliff at the rim of the
plateau is continuous along the river, around the bay where the mines
are shown, and well into Asbestos Canyon. I could see that it was
possible to get down into the canyon paralleling Newberry Butte. This
was a roundabout way, but I was able to get a full canteen at a good
waterpocket. When I tried to go below the quartzite cliff along the
river and into the bay with the mines, I rounded a corner and faced a
500 foot vertical wall. Up on top again, I walked over and got a good
view of the mines, but I still hadn't decided on the route to them when
it was time to make camp. Here again I was in luck because within a few
minutes I came to one of the best shelters in the Tapeats that I have
ever seen. Within a short time it began to snow, but I fixed supper with
the smug feeling that again I had won.

The first thing I did Saturday morning was to go up on the point to take
a picture of Sockdolager Rapids. On the return, I discovered where I
could scramble down to the Hakatai Shale. On a hunch, I passed up the
first break and inspected a route that might be a bit more direct. Here
I got the thrill of finding unmistakable signs of an old trail with
switchbacks and crude retaining walls still showing. I soon lost the
trail and went around to the mines on the steep bench which leads
directly to them. This was slow and nerve stretching, because you
realize that if you started to slide on these small pebbles covering the
bedrock, you wouldn't stop and the vertical cliff was only a few yards
away. When I investigated the mines, I still missed the burro trail up
and out at the point nearest the river. I had to leave the way I came.

I went back over my route to the rim on the west of the bay and from
there I could make out a definite trail in the shale on the relatively
level bench above the mines. I decided to try a loop trip, over to
Asbestos Canyon along the plateau and then drop down into the canyon
wherever I could and return by way of the Hakatai ramp. This worked all
right. There was a feasible way down into Asbestos Canyon where the map
showed none at all. I saw the miners ruined shacks and, a bit farther
downstream, a rather fresh looking sleeping bag fully extended and ready
for the owner to retire. Camping gear, including a fairly new model can
opener was cached back in a recess. Some of the stuff, a huge coffee pot
for instance, had been picked up at the living quarters of the miners.
What became of the lone camper is another mystery. I followed the stream
towards the river, but before I had gone very far, there was a small
fall which I was able to climb around. On attempting this, I came on a
trail which stayed above the black cliff and obviously went to the river
or a mine in that direction. This turned out to be the main trail
leading to the old ferry across the Colorado River. I found a piece of
ore among the rocks at the river's edge where the Archean first shows.
The crossing copes with rather swift water at the present stage, about
13,000 cfs. There seems to be significant backwaters along the banks. I
suppose the ferrymen were able to come back upstream after they had made
the crossing.

The return to the camp under the ledge was according to plan, along the
base of the Hakatai Shale close to the river's edge. The trail became
quite evident as the cliff side mines above Sockdolager Rapids were
approached. At the point, I could see the trail down to the mines. It is
certainly a picturesque remnant of the old west. A monument to the men
who had more courage than business sense.

There was still time to move camp to Vishnu Creek for Saturday night,
and on Sunday I trekked from Vishnu all the way to Bright Angel
Campground. Getting up the South Kaibab Trail was an easy chore for
Monday morning.

*Down the Hermit Trail, along the Inner Gorge to Boucher Creek, and up
the Boucher Trail - Version 1
[April 19, 1958]*

Don Finicum, Ivan Dryer, Marshall Maynes, and I left promptly at 5:30
a.m. and were starting down the Hermit Trail at 7:30 a.m. The projected
time schedule was to take three hours to reach the river, so we did some
trotting.

At this time of year Santa Maria Spring was running very well, and there
was water along the trail in the Supai at several other places. Four
Mile Spring was wet, but we didn't note any water in the concrete basin.
Don's opinion of the rockslides was that a Fredonia horse could cross
them without too much trouble. He said that he would even stay in the
saddle while the horse was doing it.

A short distance south of Cathedral Stairs where the trail goes down the
Redwall, there's a rock choked ravine which leads almost directly down
to Hermit Camp. I had noticed this before as being a possible means for
a descent, so this time we tried it. The most awkward part is below the
Redwall. It is quite slow and from the time it took us, we decided that
we would have been better off on the real trail. Marshall got behind and
then instead of leaving the streambed and coming up to the old camp, he
tried to get down the side stream into Hermit Creek directly. He was
stopped by the last steep 30 feet. While he was doing this, the other
three had time to look over the campground. I took a picture of the
anchorage for the old tram going to the rim, something I hadn't noticed
before. The amount of construction and plumbing for irrigation was
impressive. When we finally got together, we made it to the river in
half an hour and were only seven minutes over the projected time. I
believe that one could hurry down from the rim to the river in two and a
half hours.

The warm-up in the weather during the last two weeks was very
noticeable, and the near 90 degree heat was a bit hard on us as we
climbed around on the schist of the Inner Gorge. We started down by the
river at 11:00 a.m. and had gone along the river's edge for a short time
when Ivan discovered that he had left his glasses back at Hermit creek.
He hurried so fast when he retrieved them that he couldn't seem to
recover his wind for a long time. We soon decided that our best bet for
consistent progress was to go up to the base of the Tapeats cliff and
follow it along. In getting to that level, Marshall discovered a charley
horse, and Don saw that he wasn't in tip-top shape either. We decided
later that we should have been taking salt in that kind of heat.
Marshall saw that he had better start back without going any farther,
and then Don and Ivan agreed to go back with him. I told them that I
probably wouldn't get to the car before 8:30 or 9:00 p.m., so that they
didn't need to hurry. They had a good swim in a pool in Hermit Creek
before they started up the main grind. The cooling was only temporary.
They felt the heat more going up the long switchbacks to the top of the
Redwall than anywhere else. I parted from the boys a little to the east
of Travertine Canyon a bit after noon. Right off I had to go clear down
to the river level. In fact I filled my canteen with Colorado River
water. It was a simple but slow drag to get back to the top of the
granite on the other side, and there are many small ups and downs at the
base of the Tapeats. It is much slower going than the similar route from
Pipe Creek to Horn Creek. There were two places where one could climb up
the Tapeats to the Tonto Plateau, the first just a little west of
Travertine, and the other about half a mile before you reach Boucher
Creek. Just west of this easy escape route, there was the most serious
obstacle of all along the top of the granite. A ravine in the granite
had removed all talus material. I had to climb down into this ravine.
Getting out the other side was about as dangerous climbing as I would
attempt. I had to empty the canteen and put it in the pack so as to use
both hands. The hard part only lasted for a few yards, and right after
that I began seeing burro droppings and tracks. I got down to the water
level at the bottom of Boucher Creek three and a half hours after I had
left Hermit Creek. I think I could cut this down to three hours with my
present knowledge, but it is slower than the projected hour and a half
to two hours I had originally thought.

After a short pause to tape my feet some more and to eat an apple, I
walked up Boucher Creek eating a sandwich as I went. I wanted to make
every minute count. At Boucher Camp I got two pictures which will
verify, by the skyline, that James had his picture properly labeled. In
going up the trail, I noticed that the junction of the Boucher and Tonto
Trails is marked by a piece of wood propped up by stones. This time I
was able to keep on the trail almost all the way. At one place a slide
had removed the trail and I followed a burro trail which started almost
directly up. I soon saw the mistake and worked down to the real trail
which still gives much the better footing as well as a sensible grade
for climbing. You go south and up until you are in the neighborhood of
the peculiar travertine deposit and then start the switchbacks upwards
towards a conspicuous short exposure at the base of the Redwall. I
remembered this spot from my previous trip, but at that time in coming
down, I had followed a burro trail to the north at this level.

Another place where I did a lot better job of trail finding than I did
last spring was in the Supai. The trail is just east of the streambed in
the most southerly part of the bay of Travertine Canyon and continues
until you have only one more cliff in the Supai above you. As soon as it
gets to the shale slope below this top cliff, it turns east and angles
up consistently until it meets this cliff right where Boucher fastened
the iron rods in the rock. I missed this before by continuing the
descent instead of turning as soon as I had come down the steep break in
the cliff. One might remark that this break is very hard to see from
below and you don't know where the trail goes through until you are
right there. Following the Hermit Shale around to the Dripping Springs
Trail was not at all difficult. You mostly have a good deer trail to
follow but occasionally you proceed without that encouragement until you
catch it again. My time for the different legs of this trip went as
follows: Boucher Camp to the top of the Redwall - one hour and 25
minutes, the top of the Redwall to the top of the Supai - one hour and
five minutes, the top of the Supai to the Dripping Springs Trail - one
hour and 20 minutes, and from the Dripping Springs Trail to Hermit Rest
- one hour and fifteen minutes. Since this is five minutes less total
elapsed time to come up the Boucher Trail than when I went down the
trail last spring, I must have benefited by finding more of the trail.
After these two experiences over this trail, I would say that it is one
of the most interesting and satisfying of all the Grand Canyon trails
and that it can't be any longer and harder than the Tanner trail.
However, my time on the Tanner Trail of a little over five hours up was
made carrying a pack, so I suppose it's really farther from Boucher Camp
to the head of the Hermit Trail than it is from the Colorado River to
the top of the Tanner Trail.

On the way up, I put some rocks on a dead juniper stump to mark the
break in the top of the Supai cliff where you should begin the descent.

*Down the Hermit Trail, along the Colorado River, and up the Boucher
Trail - Version 2
[April 19, 1958]*

Marshall Maynes, Ivan Dryer, Don Finicum, and I set a fast pace down the
Hermit Trail since we knew it would take all day to carry out my
proposal. We would have reached the river ahead of schedule if we hadn't
tried an idea of mine to leave the Hermit Trail before you come to the
Cathedral Stairs in the Redwall and go down a gully directly to the old
camp. It went pretty well for a while, but at the bottom, when you are
really through the Redwall, there were some awkward slopes and steep
sided ravines with big rocks in the bottom. Marshall got way behind, and
we left him to follow as best he could while we explored the camp. He
made the mistake of staying in the creekbed clear down to Hermit Creek
and got hung in at the last 30 feet. We had to go back to advise him and
were delayed considerably.

When we were looking over the old camp area, we saw something I hadn't
noticed before, the anchorage of the tram which was used to lower
supplies to the camp. We also noticed wagon roads over the area, and of
course the concrete bases for the tent cabins.

As usual, it was part trail and part streambed to get to the river. We
got there about 11:30 a.m. and ate some lunch before we went on. All of
us felt the heat, quite a contrast to the snowy weather we had only two
weeks before. We followed the river bank for only a short distance
before we had to begin climbing up and down to get past sheer places.
Ivan discovered that he had left his glasses where we ate at the mouth
of Hermit Creek and hurried so fast to get them that he was pooped for
the rest of the day. We soon saw that if we were going to get anywhere,
we would have to go clear up to the base of the Tapeats and try to go
along there. In doing this, Marshall finally agreed that he was too
tired to try the rest of the trip, and Ivan and Don agreed to go back
with him. They took a good soak in Hermit Creek and then went back at a
leisurely rate since I wasn't slated to get back to the car until
perhaps as late as 9:30 p.m.

I had to go clear down to the river level almost at once when I reached
Travertine Canyon. Soon after I got back to the base of the Tapeats, I
could have gone up onto the Tonto Plateau. There was at least one more
place where this would have been possible, just before I reached a very
difficult spot where a chute in the granite came right up to the
Tapeats. After I had passed this bad spot, there were burro signs, and I
knew I had it made. It took me three hours and a bit more to get from
the mouth of Hermit Creek to the running water in Boucher Creek. I
pushed on as soon as I could, even eating some more lunch as I walked up
the streambed.

At Boucher Camp, I stopped long enough to take a couple pictures which
would match James' view. The Boucher Trail was easier for me to find
when I was going uphill, and I kept to it just about everywhere that it
is still existent. It is quite a bit easier to follow through the Supai
when you are going up, and I went from Boucher Camp to Hermit Rest in
just a little longer than five hours and 10 minutes. Of course this
time, I didn't stop for anything to eat during the entire trip, but I
now have the impression that this trail is only a bit longer than the
Tanner Trail and that it is much the better route from Boucher Camp to
the rim.

*Blue Springs Trail to the Tanner Trail
[May 26, 1958 to May 29, 1958]*

After parking the car at Desert View, I shouldered my pack and started
off gaily in the coolness of the morning air. It was 7:25 a.m. After I
had walked about eight minutes, I thought to myself that walking with
just a 20 pound pack was wonderful, and then I remembered that I had
left my gallon canteen of water in the car. I lost more than 15 minutes
by the time I went back for it.

As road E14 levels out towards the base of Cedar Butte, it goes rather
near the rim. It's easy to see how the old version of the Tanner Trail
went down here. I thought I might come up that way at the end of the
trip. I was not sure about the best way to reach the head of the Blue
Spring Trail, but when I came to Straight Canyon on the old vestige of a
road labeled E15, I decided to stay with the road rather than turn down
the wash. This time I followed the road more consistently than I had in
reaching Comanche Point during Christmas vacation. When it seemed to be
jogging too far south, I left it and came to a streambed with an old
hogan on one side and a rectangular stone house on the other. The house
was roofless, but it still had a fireplace. wonder whether that meant it
had been built by a white man.

From here I headed towards Gold Hill and soon crossed the same old road.
It seemed to be going farther to the north than was necessary, but I
followed it anyway. By the time I was down in the wash which goes to the
bay I had explored last December, it was still only 11:00 a.m. so I
decided to take in Cape Solitude. I shot away my film at the river, the
plane wreck, and the Little Colorado River. This was quite a long detour
and I didn't reach the top of the Blue Spring Trail until 6:00 p.m.
There was at least one frog in the cattle tank, but I decided against
stopping there for the night. Since my canteen was almost empty, I
swallowed the rest of my water and stowed the canteen in the pack.

I don't know what I expected after hearing about McKee's Party using a
ladder and Wing and Womack having to rappel for 80 feet near the top. I
had a strong hunch that this was foolishness, but I was a bit surprised
when this mapped trail with car tracks leading to it turned out to be a
good bit more abrupt and intricate than the way I had pioneered last
December. Some of the rock-pile markers were most welcome and took me
around points that I never would have considered as having any future.
Some places you have to stand on tiptoe along a narrow ledge holding to
something all the while, and other times you get down on all fours and
go under a ledge. However, there was never any place where I had to take
my pack off and let it down on the end of a rope. Just once I thought
that I had missed the best way, but only for a short distance and I
didn't have to retrace my steps. It took an hour and a quarter to
negotiate the difficult part through the Kaibab and Coconino Formations,
and it took the same time to finish the trip to the bottom. The last
steep bit through the Redwall was done in the dark.

A depression in the main wash of the Redwall still held quite a bit of
rain water. I filled the gallon canteen here which also made the last
part of the trip a bit slow. There were mosquitoes near this pool, but
at the bottom there were none and I had a fine night, the last time my
mattress held perfectly.

In the morning, the first two hours were spent in going upstream to try
to see where the water was coming from. I got to where the Redwall was
no longer showing but there was still a bit of spring water flowing.
Quicksand was an obstacle here, but a stick reassured me that hard
bottom was only 15 inches down.

After this detour, I got my pack together and started downriver at 8:00
a.m. The biggest springs of all were at the place where the trail wash
ends, a little below where I camped. Very soon I was through with
quicksand but I had to cross deep pools which came right up to the
Redwall cliff. Here I inflated the mattress again and used it the rest
of the day. I would be in the water a few minutes and then be walking
for 15. It was perfect for keeping cool on a hot day. In fact, my teeth
would chatter when the wind blew. I was as impressed as Wing and Womack
were with the Travertine dams. The big grotesque blocks of travertine
which had rolled down into the river were most picturesque, and the blue
water tearing down between them demanded more pictures. I knew that I
would regret it, but I shot my last film here. As I struggled over the
big blocks and fought catclaw along the banks, I could see why Wing and
Womack were rather slow in getting by these places with their 200 pounds
of duffel. They were just too careful when you think that they carried
all their drinking water. It took me four and a half hours to get down
to Salt Trail Canyon where I had lunch, and then it took three and a
half hours more to reach the mouth of the Little Colorado River.

On my other trips to the Little Colorado River, I had stayed near the
water just south of the mouth, but this time the main river was so high
(the boulder island delta was completely submerged) that I went higher
and found the old trail at this level. After almost two hours of in and
out walking, I came to the large cairn on a point just north of a good
sized bay near mile 63.4. I had suspected that this point was the
location of the driftwood ladder that I had seen against the bottom of
the cliff by the river on a previous trip. The way down appeared to be
on the south side out near the river. Just as I was about ready to
concede defeat, I saw a very clear cairn 20 feet lower on a ledge. There
was also a rock-pile built up for a step below an overhang very close to
where I was standing. I needed the rope to help me down to the step
since there were no good holds. The rest of the way to the bottom of the
wash was easy, but that still left a 35 foot drop down to the talus
beside the river.

First I crawled south along a narrow ledge with no head room to where I
was directly over the driftwood ladder. It falls about 10 feet short of
reaching the ledge, so the man who put it here must have had a rope too,
or else he did some daring rock work to get down to the top of his
ladder. Incidentally, the ladder has long since come apart, but you can
still see about two rungs which are fastened to an upright at one end.
Crawling back was a good deal worse for my nerves than getting over
there, because now I had to go head down and I could also see how thick
the fragile rock ledge appeared. For a foot or so it was only about 10
inches wide. After I climbed up the fixed rope, I suddenly remembered
the Hopi story of the peculiar rock they used for their rope in getting
to the bottom, so I went back down to look for it. Above the place where
the ladder is placed, I couldn't see anything special, but when I
considered the possibility that they went down the middle of the wash I
saw it at once. If it was ever in the shape of a man's chest, erosion
has changed it. Now it looks like half a saddle sticking right out of
the bedrock just over the edge of the fall to the river talus. It's
still ideal for a climbing rope and it seems most odd to see such a knob
right in the middle of the water worn rock. Some ledges below break the
straight descent so that a person would have to climb hand over hand for
only about 20 feet at a time. I didn't know how well I would make out
getting back up a rope for even that distance, so I decided to come back
in the fall when I could walk downstream along the bank after sliding
down a rope to the bottom. I surely regretted not having any film left
for a picture.

It took me about an hour and 40 minutes to go from here on to the first
wash into the Colorado River at the end of the bench trail. The day was
hot and I spent a long time reading my Readers Digest while sitting in a
few inches of water. After a two and a half hour walk from here I was at
the mouth of Tanner Creek doing the same thing. The shade here is fine,
and the mouth of the wash was blocked off by a sand bar with just enough
depth to float in. It was a fine way to fight the heat and I finished
the magazine here and had part of my supper before I started up the
trail a little before 6:00 p.m. I must try to remember this trail
better, because I missed it again by going too high too soon. The
walking through the Hakatai Shale is a lot better when you find the
vestige of the trail. I spent the night on the little saddle just below
the Muav cliffs. The sunset was fine and the silhouette of the points
east of Cape Final was most impressive. The moon was bright and at this
elevation, my bag was just right for warmth. I had carried a full gallon
of water up here with me, and it was plenty. In fact I poured some of it
out before I finished the climb around 10:30 a.m. on Thursday. It had
been a very successful trip except for two things. First, I snagged my
air mattress on a catclaw and it wouldn't hold air after the first
night, and second, my right foot was blistered near the top of the
oxford by something. Sam Madariaga suggested that it was poisoning from
the dye in the sock. Three blisters the size of half dollars kept me
from thinking about another big trip before summer school, but Roma and
I got our tour of Chaco Canyon and El Morro in anyways.

*Grand Scenic Divide, Mount Huethawali, and Royal Arches Creek
[July 4, 1958 to July 6, 1958]*

I left the rim drive at the Abyss trying to go to Pasture Wash via the
telephone line road, but I missed the way and wound up going on the
regular Topocoba Hilltop road. It was about as bad as ever, and I
decided to return by the telephone line. When I did, I resolved to never
try that again. The rocks were worse and more numerous than on the old
road. The drive from the ranger station to Bass Camp is now in pretty
good shape since they have made bypass tracks around two washed out places.

This time down the South Bass Trail I saw the dams where Bass had
constructed two cisterns near the top of the Coconino Sandstone. I also
noticed the small Indian ruins near the place where the trail turns to
go down through the Coconino. They are about 20 feet above the trail.
The better preserved one has enough room to shelter a sleeping man.

It is easy to walk out along the Grand Scenic Divide. I was mildly
surprised to find a well developed burro trail leading most of the way
out. At the end of the first level, there is a nearly continuous 20 foot
cliff. I saw a big cairn below, but the way down to it didn't seem a bit
inviting. South, about a 100 yards on the west side, I found a much
easier place to get down. The end of this second level really seemed to
be the jumping off place unless one came up from below, from the top of
the Redwall. James' picture of Dick Pillar corresponds to the Fin of
Supai. I took a picture of it. His picture shows the pillar with its top
above the skyline. I'm not sure if I was that low. The whole trip to the
end and back to my pack took about two hours, waterless since I had left
the canteen at the pack. On the way back, I overshot the pack and wasted
about five minutes looking for it.

I carried the pack a short way towards Huethawali Point and then put it
down again. It took me an even hour to go from the pack to the top. I
didn't make any false moves in getting up, through the Coconino near the
southwest end and to the top of the limestone cap at the nearest place.
There was an old can full of pebbles in a small rock-pile at the very
highest point. I wasted more than 15 minutes finding the pack again by
thinking that the first white ledge was the right one instead of the
farther one.

There was no trouble in following the burro trail around past Chemehuevi
Point, and I was able to spot the exact place where the upper trail to
the seep spring left the level route to the west and south. It was 7:00
p.m. when I reached the spring and was really gratified to see that I
wouldn't have to make out on less than a quart of water that I had left
in my canteen until I could reach the car. There were two good drips.
The farther one from the wall would fill a gallon jug in something like
three hours. It's a really inspiring campsite with some shade from a
thicket on the edge of the small platform. The view is really something
and the weather was just right for scanty attire in the evening, and the
morning temperature was just invigorating. Since I didn't know of any
further water supply to the west, I gave up the idea of going on over
and out by Apache Point. I left the sleeping gear at the seep spring and
resolved to go until noon away from base. The trail was both hard to
find and hard to follow in the bay between Toltec and Montezuma Points
and progress was rather slow. By the time I reached the arm of Royal
Arches Creek, which starts south of Montezuma Point, I was ready to see
what was down the creekbed. It was relatively straight and easy going
compared to the everlasting winding of the contour trail around the head
of every gulch. There were a couple of drops in the center of the bed,
but they were easily bypassed to the north, I believe. After I passed
the junction with the arm which comes from west of Point Huitzil, I
found two or three potholes with water in them from nearby seeps. They
should be permanent sources of water. They were full of tadpoles which
may explain why they didn't have any bugs to speak of in them.

A little farther there was a formidable drop of about 100 feet with no
obvious way to get down. I thought I saw a break quite a bit to the west
on the north side of the canyon, but as there seemed to be a nearer
place on the south, I tried that first. There were deer tracks in this
direction, but at the hardest place I had to face inwards and step
sideways holding with both hands to the top of a block for additional
security. Maybe the deer get by here with a broadjump, something I would
like to see. Progress was smooth until I reached a little way down into
the Redwall just after this arm joined the main creekbed. There was a
place where I had to brace my back against one rock while my feet were
on another, so I left my canteen and pack behind again. Ten feet of rope
to let the pack down would have been useful here. It was the toughest
climb of all. There were a number of spots where I had to stop and study
the problem, but they were all pretty easy. In a half hour near the
bottom of the Redwall, there were some deep potholes with water in them,
containing tadpoles. The lower one had a snake, not a rattler, basking
nearby. At the end of an hour, I was getting thirsty enough to consider
turning back to the potholes. However, a mighty cool bath was in order
before I started back. I took another drink at the pothole, but I was
still uncomfortably dry when I got back to the canteen. I drank as much
as I wanted to at my late lunch, and I picked up a half gallon at the
cleaner waterhole on the return.

The flies were a nuisance on the trail, but I didn't notice any flies
nor ants either at the campsite by the spring at the top of the Hermit
Shale. I saw a lot more birds in this area than I usually do at this
time of year. One evening, a hummingbird and a hummingbird moth were
working at the same thistle at the same time. Twice I heard deer snort
as they took alarm, the first time I had noticed one doing that.

*Basalt Canyon, Lava Canyon, and the Butte Fault Trail
[August 22, 1958 to August 28, 1958]*

The Tanner Trail was covered between 8:30 a.m. and noon on Friday. As
quite a coincidence, there were two hikers at the river when I got
there. One of them was Marshall Scholing of 1081 N. Riverside Ave.
Rialto, California. He has the same ambition I have of covering all the
canyon that he can. We promised to exchange letters telling how our
trips come out. We talked so long that I got a rather late start on the
next leg of my trip. I changed my plan rather abruptly to cover new
territory and go up Basalt Creek instead of following the east bank of
the Colorado River to Lava Creek.

There was a quiet stretch of water above the mouth of Basalt Creek, but
I had no trouble crossing it on the mattress. Judging by the narrowness
of the west branch of Basalt Canyon as shown on the map, I thought it
would be more feasible to go up the east arm and then cross the ridge
into the west arm. Also, I wanted to check the springs in the east
branch. In the east branch, I noted three rock markers which might have
been an indication of a mining claim or possibly trail markers. If it
had been a trail, it may have gone up over the ridge into Lava Canyon
rather than going back into the west arm of Basalt as I did. I have
noticed a place where one could go up over this dividing ridge from near
where the fault reaches Lava. The springs were there all right, but they
were decidedly strong with minerals. One pool of warm water tasted
distinctly bitter like Epsom salts. In this canyon I disturbed a big
owl. About the time I got back into the long arm of Basalt Canyon, it
began to rain which helped save my supply of Colorado River water. When
I got out to the top of the ridge below Juno Temple, I saw that the
descent would be much safer farther to the northwest where I could see a
promontory with a reasonably gentle profile. Walking the shale slope
over to it was rather slow and took considerably longer than I had
allowed. By the time I was starting down towards Lava Creek, it was
already getting dark. It was about 8:25 p.m. and quite dark when I
reached the creek which had a nice flow of water where I landed, within
about 50 minutes walk from the Indian ruin.

The next morning I got off to a good start and scouted the ruin under
the overhang near the bend where the long arm of Lava turns north. Only
one room is still standing, and it has a good sized hole in the west
wall. The rock forms the roof, and it has a feature which I have never
seen in these structures before, a zig-zag line of loopholes about 18
inches from the floor on the south side. There wasn't any obvious loot
around, but east of the Colorado River, I picked up a piece of
black-on-white decorated pottery which Bob Euler says was made between
1070 and 1150 AD.

After a short walk, I came to the branch which heads just west of
Hubbell Butte and followed it right on up the Redwall. Between the ruin
and this turnoff was a pretty travertine spring covered with maidenhair
fern. At a place where the Muav Limestone forms a cliff, I had to back
up and go up on the east side, which held me up. Right here I began to
note deer signs. I had seen none at all in Basalt and they were rare if
any in Lava. There was quite a bit of choice in going up the Redwall,
but sometimes I did need two hands on the rocks. I couldn't say that I
had discovered an old burro trail.

I followed the top of the Redwall to the southwest and then decided to
climb up a little of the Supai. When I returned, I saw that it would
have been shorter and easier to climb as much of the Supai as I could as
soon as I could have. This would mean at least a third of the formation.
As it was, I got around into the main arm of Lava and went at least
halfway to the head before I got a good chance to go up through the
Supai. I did the first main cliff and went on north to the next recess
before I came to a good place to go up the rest of the way. It was
relatively easy walking along the lower edge of the Hermit Shale. I went
to the south side of the larger isolated cap of Coconino at the head of
Lava, quite a struggle part of the way because of manzanita. It was now
around 1:00 p.m. and I knew I couldn't reach the point below the
Coconino west of Point Atoka where I had been last summer, so I went on
around this butte of Coconino to the north where there was a deer trail
most of the way. A double fault dropping a slice of the rock down over
100 feet was quite noticeable just west of where I turned back. A little
cap of Coconino shows this very well. The next thing I want to
investigate is the possibility of getting down into Kwagunt Canyon at
this fault. Coming off the rim by this route and down into Kwagunt
Canyon, over to Nankoweap Creek along the butte fault, and then up the
Nankoweap Trail would make a fine two day walk.

I was returning by the same route along the Supai when I happened to
stop for a bit and look around. Something that I had missed on the way
in was plain as day; a rather large natural bridge about halfway up the
Redwall on the west side quite near the end of Lava Canyon. I took a
couple of pictures then, and also on Sunday morning after spending the
night at the same place as before. I went back along the bottom of the
canyon and got some more pictures by climbing up a slide on the east of
the bridge, but that made the top blend with the background. The more
distant picture really shows it better when there was no sun on it, at
least in the black and white. At the end of the trip, I reported to
headquarters and found that it had already been discovered from the air
about two years ago by a flier named Hartman. They have been calling it
Hartman Bridge. They told me that a man had recently decided to try to
reach it and take pictures, but he hadn't carried through and my
pictures were the first ones. Sunday afternoon I went down the creek and
saw the old still site and the grinder locked in the tree where the
shoots came up from the stump and surrounded it. (South side of Lava
Canyon where there is a little spring. Mouth of the two-armed creek
below Juno Temple.) It would be interesting cutting down one of those
four sprouts which are now about six inches thick and see when the still
was abandoned. There has been quite a flood since the last time Dock
Marston was here. Now there is mud and small stones mixed in with the
grinder and a piece of the flywheel has been broken off.

I put the pack down where the fault meets the creek and went on to the
river with my camera. There was still a central channel at this stage of
low water, but a good sized rock was showing near the right bank and
only a sheet of water was going over another near the left bank. Between
Sunday evening and Wednesday evening, the water fell several more inches
because the latter rock was completely out by then.

I had been walking in the rain and under clouds quite a bit of the time
each afternoon, so I misjudged my need for canteen water as I started
out Monday morning. However, I should say something about Sunday night.
Some animal kept rattling my discarded sardine can for a good part of
the night. Also, I could hear rustling going on in my knapsack where the
food was stored. First I tried hanging this near my head from a stick
jammed into a crack of a little cliff. The noises continued, so I
carried it far enough away and hung it from a mesquite tree so I
couldn't hear the noises even if they continued. Between those
interruptions and my mattress, which needed more air every two or three
hours, I didn't sleep very well. The one wool blanket was warm enough
all but about one night when I was glad to pull the plastic sheet over
me too. I slept with my shirt on, and sometimes I put on my trousers too.

The trip up and down over the ridges separating Lava Canyon from Carbon
Canyon (hardly any rise here), Carbon Canyon from mile 60, then on to
Awatubi, Malgosa, and finally Kwagunt was pretty fatiguing. You must
have to climb a total of about the same altitude as from the bottom of
the Canyon to the rim, but you do get there. Near the top of the long
arm of Carbon along the fault, I noted some barbwire and fence posts. A
corral here seemed odd when there was no water around. Maybe in the
winter or spring there is some. This may have been put here by the
horsethieves, or it may have something to do with the attempted deer
drive. The three little springs in Carbon Canyon along the fault leave a
white deposit on the soil, so they might not be very good for the
health. I thought I noticed a bad taste on my way north, but when I was
coming back the water in the upper one didn't seem half bad. Perhaps I
was a lot thirstier. In 60 Mile Canyon you should keep to the west of
the fault even though it involves a bit of climbing to reach the other
branch. On the return, I went down the bottom and up the other side and
decided it was a bit longer but more interesting. While I was doing
this, I saw a horned owl which seemed to be living in a small cave in
the cliff. All these canyons have impressive gates through the ridges
formed by the fault, especially Carbon. I followed down into the Tapeats
at Carbon and soon came to a falls which barred the way.

From Malgosa into Kwagunt, you probably shouldn't go right on up the
fault as the descent on the Kwagunt side is quite steep and something
that a horse couldn't do. You branch off to the west and go a bit higher
but have an easier descent. I did this on the return and found several
not so rusty cans near the top. Dock tells me that E. A. Hinds took some
students into this area in 1934 and thinks that these cans may date from
them. It took between 9 and 10 hours for my trip from Lava Canyon to
Kwagunt Canyon and I was going along with a dry canteen for the last
hour. When I got to Kwagunt, there was a good flow of water which I sat
in for a while and read my Digest. The flow in Lava dried up completely
during the afternoon. I woke up about three in the morning and heard the
stream gurgling merrily. After a rest, I went down to see Kwagunt
Rapids. They looked much harder to navigate than the ones at Lava Creek
(not to be confused with Lava Rapids) and were making a real roar. One
could walk three-fourth of the way across the river with the rapid
concentrated on the left side. Upstream the river looked calm and
encouraged me to think that it would be no trick to float down from
Nankoweap to Kwagunt Rapids. It took nearly an hour to walk from the
fault to the river. I noticed that the clear water above the fault
picked up enough dark shale to become muddy looking for the last third
of the way to the Colorado River.

On Tuesday I thought from the map that I didn't have a very ambitious
assignment, so I didn't start as soon as I usually do, about 7:00 a.m.
It took me three hours just to get over to Nankoweap Creek. I went over
the loose shale saddle west of the fault and somewhat lower. When I
started up to reach the lower end of the Nankoweap Trail, I missed the
mouth of the ravine which comes directly down from the trail end and I
climbed the ridge directly west of this ravine. At the end, I found a
bit of a deer trail but couldn't bring myself to follow it when it went
down into the ravine. I had myself a tricky time climbing along the
ridge of rotten rock which connects with the point just above the right
ravine. I was able to follow the trail up through the talus covering the
lower part of the Redwall pretty well although at one place I decided it
was completely gone and decided to go straight up. However, I soon hit
the trail above and followed it on to the top of the Redwall. At one
place some retaining wall is still intact as the trail goes around a
point. Where it tops out, there is a handle-less sledge hammer and two
worn-out steel drills. I built a cairn here to help one see where to
leave the top of the Redwall.

By this time I had run low on water again. I spent almost an hour
following the trail up and along the Supai (hour for the round trip).
There was no trail improvements to be seen, so I don't think the man has
it in shape to take horse parties down to see Goldwater's bridge. The
bottom of the Little Nankoweap seemed quite a bit higher than the creek
in Nankoweap and since I was so short of water I decided against trying
to get to the Colorado River down Little Nankoweap Canyon. I wish now
that I had trusted the map, because I believe I could have gotten to the
river about as soon as I got down to water in Nankoweap. (I found out
later that this isn't true.) I went down the ravine directly below the
end of the trail and found this route quite a bit better than going
along the ridge. By the time I got to the river, it was too late to
think about climbing up to the cliff ruins or going back to explore
Little Nankoweap Canyon from the mouth. I walked to the bottom of the
rapids and blew up the mattress. Before I had gone very far by water, I
could hear rapids ahead. Rocks formed a bar out from the left bank and
more and more water went through this bar to form a narrow sharp rapid
next to the right bank. With my shoes off and in the pack, I couldn't do
much barefooted, so it was very slow walking the rocks past this rapid.
I wore my shoes for a while and then paddled over to the right bank
again. By this time it was completely dark, and instead of guessing
about rapids in the moonlight, I decided to walk the right bank. This
was not too hard along the sand beaches, but I came to a lot of willow
and mesquite thickets. Sometimes there were places where rain streams
had cut vertical slits in the deep sand and crossing them was tricky. It
was a slow job and I took to the water once more to bypass one of these
thickets. Here I had to paddle against a backwater, so that wasn't good
either. It must have been 9:00 p.m. by the time I reached the mouth of
Kwagunt because it was 10:10 p.m. when I got back to my campsite at the
fult. I was bushed. This struggle caused me to give up the idea of going
back by water and I returned by the fault on Wednesday. There was a
little shade and a few raindrops in the late afternoon, and I had no
real trouble getting to Lava Canyon in nine hours or in floating for a
half mile below Lava Creek Rapids. I reached the end of Tanner Wash by
6:15 p.m. in quite good shape. The river was so low that I could walk
below the last cliff above Tanner almost the whole way and it wasn't
hard to climb up and over the final bit.

My feet had taken a beating, mostly bruised with a couple of minor
blisters, and I seemed not to be very peppy otherwise because it took me
about six and a half hours to get up the Tanner Trail with a very light
pack on Thursday.

Besides the owls and lots of gophers and squirrels, I had a good close
look at a coyote in Malgosa Canyon. There were also a couple deer in
lower Nankoweap narrows. On Wednesday, a little rattlesnake buzzed at me
from under a rock, and a big one coiled and buzzed about 10 feet in
front of me.

*Kwagunt and Nankoweap Canyons
[September 20, 1958 to September 21, 1958]*

Roma let me out 1.3 miles south of Two Rivers Junction scenic view about
ten Saturday morning. I wasted a little time finding the break in the
Coconino by going out on a point near the base of the Kaibab instead of
following the deer trail farther east before starting down. The way down
was just as easy as I remembered it. A burro would have no difficulty.
Just a few feet west, at the bottom of the Coconino, there is a little
spring which accounts for the popularity of this place with deer. When I
had proceeded a bit farther east at this level, I saw that I could have
gotten through the Coconino where I had first tried, directly down from
the road. Just to the north near the bottom, there is a chute where I
could have gone over a small ridge and entered. However, going through
the woods higher up is easier than along the Hermit Shale so my actual
route was superior. I thought that there were no other breaks in the
Coconino farther east but Davis and Ellis found one later.

Travel along the shale slope was not as bad as it might have been
because I could follow a fair deer trail most of the way. I did lose it
at times and it took me three and a half hours to get from the car to
the dividing ridge between Lava and Kwagunt Canyons which I had reached
in August. If I hadn't been timing myself to this ridge, I could have
cut down into the Kwagunt drainage a little sooner. All this slope over
the Supai is forested and easy. You don't see any rock at all.

The beginning of the Redwall is quite easy also with the Supai showing
distinctly lower on the east than on the west. Either here or a little
lower I made the mistake of not leaving the stream bed and going into
the forested slope to the east. When I came to impassable falls, I
decided to rockclimb out to the east without backtracking much. This was
probably a mistake because I had to move very slowly past some difficult
spots, especially with my pack containing nearly a gallon of water. When
I did get past a couple of small ravines into the woods at this level,
there was a definite deer trail so that there should to be a much easier
way of coming down. A burro route here would be a good bet. Before you
reach the very bottom of the Redwall, you come down into the creekbed
again. In fact, the last of this wooded slope seems to be separated from
the bottom by a final cliff. In the shale below the Redwall there are
numerous small springs which keep a small flow moving for about a half a
mile. I felt so sure that the water would continue that I emptied my
canteen, and when I came to where it disappears, I didn't fill it
thinking that more water would appear shortly. The Tapeats is a real
barrier here with no chance of following the creekbed through it. I
elected to go to the west along the rim thinking that I would find a
break shortly and that I might find the Indian ruins which are supposed
to be in Kwagunt. The cliff continued as far as I inspected it in this
direction, but I could see a convenient break just south of the angle in
the cliff on the east side of this tributary. I lost a half hour on this
detour, so when I think that I got down to the main bed of Kwagunt in
six and a half hours from the car, I should remember that I took a half
hour to eat lunch as well as this bit of lost time. I also should be
able to come through the Redwall quite a bit faster another time.

I might have decided to go upstream looking for the Indian ruins if I
had kept all the water in my canteen, but now I was in a hurry to find
the main springs which keep the good flow in lower Kwagunt. I did take
time out to build a good fire which I hoped Roma could see and know that
I had reached the bottom of Kwagunt safely. Actually, she didn't notice
this fire. Progress was steady and relatively easy down the streambed.
There was one place where two small holes in the shale held water, but
they may have been a bit unhealthful since there was white stuff around
the edge. Coyote tracks indicated that animals use this water, however.
The good springs start rather far down, only a half hour's walk from the
butte fault.

My camp Saturday night was a few yards upstream from where I had slept
before. It was just where you start up the streambed to go towards
Nankoweap. If I had known what sort of day Sunday would be, I would have
eaten supper at Kwagunt and then walked over into Nankoweap after dark.

The beginning of the wash leading to Nankoweap confused me a bit as I
had not remembered it as being choked with reeds. After a few yards I
recognized it as the same one I had been in before. The start was early,
5:45 a.m. in fact. I felt fine and peppy, and this time I continued on
to the top of the divide along the fault instead of going west to a
lower pass. When you get to the top of this pass, you have to swing
slightly to the west as you go down to stay west of the canyon which
makes a perpendicular drop into the Redwall. This route is much
straighter than the one I used before and there are no serious
obstacles. There were two good sized claim markers about three feet high
and about one-third the way to the bottom and two-thirds of the way down.

The day still seemed reasonably cool when I got to the river and I
undertook the Indian ruins, which are really only granaries. I had to
expect some climbing skill to get into the one facing north. This one
and the others facing the river all surprised me by their small size.
One is likely to judge them as being full sized rooms from a distance,
but there is only one which is long enough for a man to stretch out in.
There is a well worn trail leading to the main set, undoubtedly formed
by people coming down river on boat trips.

It was 10:30 a.m. when I was through with the ruins, but I was still in
the mood to go out by way of Little Nankoweap Canyon which the map
indicated as possible. It was narrow and scenic, and there were several
pools of rainwater which had stood for a week since the last rain. I
also noted a pool of clear water from a seep. There were two or three
rockfalls which made some detouring out of the creekbed necessary. After
I had passed a side canyon from the north, the main canyon entered a
narrows, very gloomy and forbidding. Around a bend I came to a 30 foot
fall which did have a rather precarious route up around it to the south.
It was about all I could do to negotiate this with my pack on, but just
above this place around another bend, the end appeared. A narrow notch
about 70 feet up formed the lip of another fall, and there wasn't a
chance of going up anywhere. Before I began the descent, I noticed a
three-fourths inch diameter climbing rope partially buried in the gravel
and boulders. It was still quite strong and I could neither break it nor
jerk it entirely loose from the gravel. In order to make the descent a
little safer, I let the pack down using the 50 foot line I had in my
pack. I hurried back to the river from this point in a half hour. I was
now two and a half hours behind the schedule that I had set for myself
in getting back to the rim.

The heat at 12:30 p.m. was now getting me down. I sat in the creek for a
minute at one place, and ate a rather leisurely lunch trying to get
rested for the rigorous climb ahead of me. It was after 2:00 p.m. when I
really left the creek, and I went up the ravine that leads directly to
the end of the trail. This part went off all right and so did the part
going up the Redwall which I knew quite well by now. However, I was slow
as I felt rather upset to the stomach. It was after 5:00 p.m. when I
started on the Supai lap, and almost immediately beyond where I had seen
it in August. The trail was completely obliterated by slides of small
and large rocks. For as far ahead as I could see in a big horseshoe bay,
the trail was non-existent and the footing would be dangerous with every
step since a slide of only a few feet would mean a drop over a small
cliff. As it would be dark before long, I gave up any idea of proceeding
at this level. At this point there is a very unusual break in the top
cliff of the Supai, in fact the only one I had seen or could see, so I
started up. I put the gallon canteen in the pack and used both hands for
climbing, but when I was four-fifths to the top, I encountered a mean
step. The next toehold was about as far away as I could step without
jumping across the face of a 20 foot straight drop, and the space where
I wanted to be was occupied by a clump of brush. I almost gave up and
went back, but that prospect seemed worse than taking the chance. I
hooked one arm around the brush and got a friction handhold on the rock
nearby and made the step. Somehow I wiggled until my pack came clear of
the brush and I knew that nothing but a long grind would prevent me from
reaching Point Imperial.

By this time I was quite tuckered out. I stopped and built a fire,
partly to heat a cup of bouillon but mostly as a signal to Roma on Point
Imperial that I was on my way back safely. She was unable to notice this
light so far away, and likewise she didn't see the one I built farther
along about 11:00 p.m. If one moves slowly along the Hermit Shale, he
can be fairly safe even at night. The walking through manzanita and
other brush was miserable and there were plenty of loose stones to watch
for. I wore just my shorts to keep as cool as I could and make my water
last longer. After drinking less than I needed for hours, I finally
finished my water supply a little after eleven o'clock. At midnight I
was on the saddle west of Saddle Mountain, but the walking after that
was still bad in the dark. My way was often barred by briars and the
pine needles on the steep slopes were difficult. Once in a while I would
find a short stretch of trail, but I would promptly loose it. The moon
had gone down about midnight. I was so weak by this time that I had to
sit or lie down for about as long as I spent walking up the grades. Up
on the rim, the wind began to blow and my trousers and shirt were not
too warm. I used my blankets when I needed to rest. When I finally got
to the top and was beyond the ravines, I could walk for longer intervals
and finally reached the parking lot at Point Imperial about 20 minutes
after sunrise. I surely was glad when Roma came back from one of her
regular inspections down the rim road to see whether I could be coming
out where I had gone down near Two Rivers Junction. I had lost nine
pounds in two days, but with plenty of water and food at home, I gained
it back in two days.

*Unkar Creek
[October 18, 1958 to October 19, 1958]*

I started down the Tanner Trail at 7:52 a.m., and reached the river in
just under three hours. Since I did no running (only a quick step now
and then), it must not be much over the estimate of 10 miles. Since I
wanted to cross the river below Tanner Rapids, I angled to the west from
the shale ridge near the bottom and didn't get to the bottom of Tanner
Creek at all. The river was real low, about the same as when I crossed
in late August, but now there was very little silt in it. When you drank
it, there was no grit in your teeth, and the last of the canteen was
just as good as the first.

Dock had asked me to check the possibility of the existence of an old
trail just below Point Ochoa heading over in the direction of Cardenas
Creek. I climbed the shale slope to the west of the mouth of Basalt
Creek where along one rather level stretch there seemed to be a poorly
defined trail for about 50 yards. Farther on there seemed to be rocks
cleared away for a trail for about 20 feet, but I saw nothing that was a
sure sign of an old trail on the way over into Unkar Canyon as I kept
rather high and crossed the arroyos near their upper ends beneath the
basalt cliffs. It took about three hours to get from the mouth of Basalt
to the bottom of Unkar, including a half hour stop for food.

There is a large tributary of Unkar which comes down from the bay
beneath Jupiter Temple. I reached Unkar downstream from this streambed
and was pleased to find a fair flow of water where I was. The water runs
on the surface for about a mile and the spring was only a few yards
above. There was more surface water further up indicating another spring
existed. I left the pack here and started up Unkar at 2:45 p.m. with the
camera and light meter. It was warm enough to hike in just a pair of
trunks, but the heat wasn't oppressive as it had been four weeks
earlier. I had gotten soft, however, and I was a little dismayed to have
to rest when I was just walking up a slight grade in the streambed.

Unkar surprised me by being more closed in than the beds of Lava,
Kwagunt, or Nankoweap. There were very few good views of the Redwall,
but I don't think that there are any good breaks which would help you
climb out in this area. Some kind of green herb which grows about three
or four feet high was in bloom with small green flowers all over it. The
air was perfumed for miles along here. Sometimes mesquite blooms are
almost too sweet to be attractive, but these were just right. Another
experience which was new to me was being startled by a certain kind of
bird. It was about the size of a robin but had the build of a hawk. It
would wait until I was only a few feet away and then it would start off
with a sort of quick hiss. I had never noticed this kind of bird before,
but on this day I saw at least six of them.

If I had the time, I wanted to see whether one could climb out of Unkar
where it reaches north nearest to Lava. I followed the arm which goes in
this direction below Cape Final. Where the bed comes up to the base of
the Tapeats, there is considerable basalt showing which makes an abrupt
cliff on the west side of the bed. The stream comes over part of the
Tapeats and about 40 feet of this basalt is a vertical fall, but over to
the east there is a simple climb up a talus. A 50 foot fault is quite
noticeable here. The bottom of the Tapeats is higher to the west. The
valley to the north was fairly open but bounded by the Redwall. I
estimated that it would have taken another hour to reach the end and
check the possibility of climbing out. There is a good chance of doing
this since I know that there is the same fault here which makes it
possible to go down into Kwagunt and probably makes a descent possible
into Lava from the north. I would like to check both of these ideas out
sometime. Going from the mouth of Unkar clear to Nankoweap would be much
quicker if one could go from Unkar at its head into the south branch of
Lava and go on to the north fork of Lava and then into Kwagunt. The
traverse from Kwagunt to Nankoweap would have to be by the well known
Butte Fault Trail or over a lower ridge west of Nankoweap Butte. Another
possibility is between Colter and Hutton Buttes.

When I returned from this tour my wind seemed much better, and I came
down in only a little more than an hour. I carried my pack downstream
until 5:40 p.m. and decided to stop for the night. It was cool enough by
then that I wanted my shirt on, but I would have been a little more
comfortable if I had a lighter sleeping bag. The air mattress held air
much better than the ones I have been using lately, and I slept all of
eight hours. After 4:30 a.m., I watched the sky for quite a while and
saw more meteors than usual. I think they must have been coming on the
average of one a minute for a half hour. It may have been a regular
shower, but I couldn't make out the radiant.

Breakfast was over before it was light enough to travel and I was ready
to move by 6:10 a.m. I had already had to negotiate a couple of spots in
the streambed which took just a bit of scrambling, but ahead the way was
easier. It was just plain walking down the gravel. At one place I sat
down and read to let the sun get high enough for me to snap a picture of
the north rim. From most of Unkar you're too shut in to take good
pictures, but now and then you round a bend and get a good view of
Vishnu Temple or Freya Temple. Vishnu looks pretty wicked to climb. I'm
afraid Merrel Club can have his corner on Vishnu.

Unkar Rapids occupied me for quite a while. It was a bit dark for good
pictures. I took one on bulb resting the camera on a rock. When I had
crossed the river, which I could do at about a 45 degree angle, I went
down near the rapid and shot some more. Walking the bank on the left of
Unkar Rapids is impossible even at the present low stage.

It was easy to walk the bank up almost to Cardenas Creek. The footing
either gave out or else was very narrow below a bluff near here, and
since I wanted to see the Indian ruin on the ridge, I climbed up and
away from the bank. I spotted the ruin when I was below it and a couple
hundred yards away. It is quite large with walls still standing about
five feet high along one side.

*Hopi Salt Spring
[December 6, 1958 to December 7, 1958]*

Allyn Cureton and I left the car at 8:00 a.m. and were down to the river
a bit after 11:00 a.m. We noted that the water was still lower than it
had been as a white line was showing on the rocks about four inches
above the present level. Keith Runcorn's rocks were still in the
mesquite tree. This time we tried going along the rocks beside the water
instead of climbing up and around the cliffs just upriver from the wash.
We were able to climb up the spot where I had previously rejected the
possibility of coming down and stayed near the water all the way. The
island at mile 66.9 was no longer an island. It was connected to the
left shore near the lower end and also still more at the upper end. Some
nearly clear water was filtering through the mud and rocks, but the
river would have to rise at least nine inches before there would be any
direct flow. Just for the record, we walked across the island. Upriver
from here the dunes were really something artistic. At mile 66.3, a
pebble and boulder bar formed a partial dam for a pool which began just
below Lava Creek Rapids. It looked as though a man could wade the river
here, and a horse would have no trouble at all. At Lava Creek Rapids,
the water was following a well defined and rather narrow channel near
the center of the river. There seemed to be no obstructions here as the
water was swift with no breaking waves. The waves were not much more
than a foot or so high and quite smooth. There were at least three
places between Lava Creek and Tanner Rapids which were distinctly rougher.

We walked by the old mining camp where the best structure was built of
driftwood saplings with mud still showing between them. The lower mine
shaft still had a pool of water over its floor, but there was no crust
on the surface. The upper deep shaft was wet near the entrance, but back
a bit farther we had to straddle mud and water in the middle of the
floor. The walls and ceiling are crusted with bubbles of salt so thick
that no rock shows. At a place or two, wet spots in the salt are stained
a brilliant green by the copper. Back where the shaft forks into three
parts, a short timber holds up the roof. We followed two of the branches
to their ends, but the one towards the surface of the cliff had too much
water on the bottom. About here I noticed my candle was burning very
low. The flashlight gave all the light we had. At the same time we
became aware that it was much warmer than out farther. When we got into
the fresh air again both of us had a slight headache. I wouldn't have
minded sleeping near the mouth because the candle burned twice as bright
as it had at the end of the shaft. However, as the inward slope was
down, the cold night air would have penetrated freely and we would not
have had much protection from the cold. We dropped our packs on a smooth
spot in the sandy soil where the mesquite is spotty near where the trail
takes off to go up above the Tapeats cliff. It took us about one and a
half hours to get to the bay where the Hopi climbed down for their salt
at mile 63.4. Strangely, I didn't recognize the place for sure until I
had passed it and stood on the point just north of where there's a
distinct rock-pile. This rock-pile seemed unfamiliar too since less
seemed to be standing than I remembered. However, from this point, I
could recognize the exact route I had followed down across on the south
side. We hooked the clothesline around the same square block to slide
down to the step built up from below. When we were both down, we
couldn't loosen the rope so Allyn climbed up and then came down with no
help from the rope although he had a bit of help from me in showing him
where to place his feet. I had also forgotten the exact location of the
peculiar rock used by the Hopi for fastening their rope when they went
down. It's not in the middle of the smooth bottom of the wash but over
to the left side on a ledge about six feet lower than the main lip of
the fall. It's shaped pretty much like the rear of a saddle and holds
the rope perfectly. After taking a picture of Allyn with his head
against the rock, I got ready and rappelled down with no ill effects.
The rope hangs out abut nine inches from the cliff at the steepest
place, but you reach this vertical place after an eight foot slope of
about a 45 degrees inclination. The straight drop can't be much more
than 15 feet until you reach a shelf of conglomerate where you can land
and get off the rope. By rope measurement, it's 35 feet from the saddle
rock to the ground below the conglomerate platform.

There were at least three salt seep springs along the next third of a
mile downriver from this descent. The whole cliff face is white with
salt stalactites and some stalagmites. The definite springs had built up
big deposits. After we had just abut given up finding a cave, Allyn
found two rather close together. They were about five feet deep and
about 20 feet long parallel to the cliff face. I could see nothing that
looked like a prayer feather or any sort of offering. One dusty looking
lump might have formerly been a pedestal where a spring had dripped
forming a pool on the top, but if this had once matched the Hopi
account, it no longer did. Our photography was handicapped by the
failing light and it was a good thing that Allyn had a tripod which
served for my camera as well as his.

I had forgotten the best way to go downriver along the bank and we tried
following the edge of the water. When a cliff developed, we went only as
high as we thought necessary, but by this time it was completely dark
and it was difficult to determine the best route. When our ledge seemed
to be getting worse, I finally insisted that Allyn turn back and we
climb up to the bench just below the Tapeats cliff. This would have been
easy in the daylight, but it took a bit of care in the dark. We went
down to the edge of the water again where we could see that we were back
in the vicinity of the open area. This also proved to be a mistake
because we had to pass the place where we left our packs before we could
break through the mesquite. I was leading when we got through the
mesquite and started looking for the packs. More by luck and intuition
than sense, I practically stumbled over the packs in the dark when we
couldn't make out the landmark we had picked, a peculiar rock with a
distinct circle embedded in it.

The night was a bit cold especially since I was still sweaty when I went
to bed, but we slept quite a few hours. The return was quite leisurely
with a late start about 9:00 a.m. and arrived back at the Tanner Trail
about 10:45 a.m. I noted an overhang of conglomerate just downriver from
the last cliff on the left bank and Allyn investigated it. He found a
five gallon can of Firechief gasoline and some wheat germ in glass jars,
possibly one of Georgie White's caches. The trip out took about six
hours. Allyn wanted a number of pictures and at one place he was delayed
a bit by losing a part from his camera. After he looked through his
pack, he found that he had put it on the ground. We were up to the car
about 5:00 p.m.

*From the Tanner Trail to the New Hance Trail
[January 3, 1959 to January 4, 1959]*

I got started down the Tanner Trail at 8:30 a.m. There was about four
inches of snow over the loose rocks which called for careful footwork
down to the bottom of the Coconino Sandstone. It had been quite cool
since this recent snowfall because there was a bit left in the shade
clear below the Redwall.

There was a car parked where I had left mine when I took Allyn to the
salt spring and when I saw the footprints on the trail ahead, I was
pretty sure it was Allyn with a couple of other people with him. They
had slept below the Redwall just above where the trail starts into the
draw to go below the Muav. They had left their bedrolls there while they
went to the river and back on Friday. I didn't meet them as I left the
trail at the top of the Tapeats. When I was starting down the ravine to
the west through the Tapeats, I thought I recognized a rock-pile,
presumably marking a possible descent. It was pretty crude, however, and
it may have been a natural circumstance. The way down wasn't
particularly difficult, but it called for constant vigilance as I found
when I rolled a rock and almost wrecked my wristwatch. The going was
easy in the bottom of the wash, but towards the river it turns toward
the east and the saving in distance would be minor if one were to follow
it. The trail itself would still be best if one were coming upriver
along the bank and were headed for the rim. When I was pretty well down,
I climbed the shale slope and kept to the region about 500 feet above
the river. here was a clump of mesquite and cane which signified some
sort of seep spring. here was no surface water at this time of year, but
this area showed quite a bit of travertine and someone has built a claim
marker about three feet high on this mound of travertine. Keeping at
this level, I went into Cardenas Creek and climbed a ridge above the one
where the Indian ruin is perched.

The map omits showing the streambeds in the bay west of Unkar Rapid, but
they are well developed and are surely as worth recording as the system
of washes between Basalt and Unkar Creeks on the north side of the
river. I went down to the beach and tried following the river
downstream. The strata tilt up to the west and form little drops
directly into the water even at the present low stage. With some
climbing and descending when there was a chance, I got to the angle
beyond which I could see the rather open area at the mouth of Escalante
Creek. The catch was that there was a 30 foot drop to a sand dune and no
way to go up or down this time. I had to back-track and climb clear away
from the river above this series of cliffs (going into Escalante is much
better). The cliffs on the east side of Escalante appeared improbable
and worked clear around to the west side of this bay. George Billingsley
has since gone around this corner at the river level.) I might have been
able to descend to the bottom of Escalante on this side, but I went down
a place that looked promising into 75 Mile Canyon instead. There were
places that looked a bit rugged in this route, but by choosing the best
way, it went through all right. I came to the bottom just where 75 Mile
enters its final impressively narrow and deep canyon. Rather than chance
getting caught by a fall in the narrow bottom at this time of evening, I
followed the east rim of the gorge to the river. This put me closer to
the mouth of Escalante than to that of 75 Mile Canyon. I just had time
to collect some firewood before nightfall. It had taken three hours to
go downriver about three-fourths of a mile, but I had seen some
amazingly rough country.

It appeared that going from Unkar Creek to Asbestos Canyon on the north
side would be considerably easier. You can follow the river bank from
Unkar to the mouth of the wash at mile 73.9 and then go up the ridge
which forms the west rim of this little canyon. A steady grade will take
one right on up behind Solomon Temple. From there you should be able to
walk around to the south side of Sheba Temple and down into Asbestos
Canyon. While I was looking this terrain over, I saw a very potent
little whirlwind move across the canyon just downstream from where I was
standing. The dust was scooped up from the bottom of the canyon just as
easily as it was from the rim many feet higher.

The two sleeping bags were almost too warm for the first part of the
night (neither was down) and just right for the cold towards morning. At
one time when I was awake, I heard the honking of flying geese. I
wondered where they could be going on the fourth of January. They should
have already flown south, and surely it was not time to be going north
again. While Flagstaff was getting a dusting of snow, my sky was
perfectly clear, but the wind for an hour or more kicked up the sand and
little piles of it formed in the corners of my eyes. I had to shovel out
before I dared open them. As usual, I ate crackers in bed before it was
completely light. Before I got under way, I spent a little time looking
into the mouth of Escalante Creek. The bed was easy to follow as far as
I went up, but I feel pretty sure it is boxed in higher with dry falls.
(I found out later that this is not true, there is a deer trail out.) I
believe I could have come directly down into it on the west slope, but
if I had I wouldn't have been able to plot my next move so well. There
was evidence that prospectors had been in this area also. There was a
rock-pile on the ramp next to the river where I came from 75 Mile Creek.
I liked the open area at the mouth of Escalante. It formed such a
contrast with the imposing cliffs both up and downstream.

There was no way to get down to the beach which formed quite a distance
upstream from the mouth of 75 Mile Canyon directly from the rim next to
the river, but I saw that there might be a chance to follow the bed down
from a half mile above the river. There were a number of places where I
had to use care in seeing that I could get back up some short drops, but
they were all fairly easy. This inner canyon, which was about 200 feet
deep and only about 30 feet wide, is one of the most impressive examples
of narrows in the entire Grand Canyon. There were also water pockets in
the narrow. It seemed so logical that there should be an unscalable
obstacle somewhere, but instead one could go right out to the boulder
strewn beach with enough driftwood to make a nice fire in cold weather.
I thought that the hour I spent reconnoitering here wouldn't be missed
at the end of the day, but it almost turned out otherwise.

The slope up to the west from the place where the narrows begin is
fairly easy going except where one strikes really loose material. When I
was above most of the slide with some really loose shale still ahead
before I would be at the break in the Tapeats, I noticed that I could
have gone up the creek around a bend and then up with less loose scree
to cope with. Incidentally, the Tapeats in this area has very few
breaks. I noted one on the south side of the bay formed by 75 Mile
Canyon, but there seemed to be no others all the way back to where I had
come off the Tanner Trail. (Later I found two such breaks in the
Tapeats.) You go up the Tapeats near the north end of the point
separating Papago from 75 Mile. I was on a faint deer trail much of the
way from here well around into the side of Red Canyon. Papago Canyon is
a short one, but it may be one of the relatively small number whose
bottoms cannot be reached except by a rope climber. It looked wild and
by now I knew that I had no time to waste investigating things no matter
how interesting they seemed. (4-28-74 There are two ways through the
Shinumo just north of the fall, one on the east arm near the river and
one on the east side. Both are hairy. Enter the lower end or from the
east (?) down cliffs just west of the point separating the two arms of
Papago.)

When I looked to the bay below Zuni Point, the headwall seemed to have
very little of the typical shale slope in the Muav. What benches there
were looked so narrow and devoid of vegetation that it seemed suicidal
to try that route. I saw that if I could get to the bottom of the wash,
the rest of the route would be clear with a good deer trail up the red
shale to the part of the New Hance Trail I had been over before.
However, from above on the north, I couldn't see a break in the Tapeats
and I wondered whether at last my luck had run out. When I came to a
narrow rockslide, I climbed gingerly down it among annoyingly loose
boulders and only realized when I got to the bottom and started up the
opposite slope that there was an easier way just a few feet farther to
the southeast.

At the top of the shale I noticed some copper ore and then saw a small
shallow shaft showing where the miner had gotten a few dollars worth of
the green and blue stuff. A definite trail went uphill from this mine
for several hundred yards and then disappeared. The Redwall seemed
rather broken from this direction, but I didn't recognize the official
place where the trail surmounts it. When I went towards the place that
seemed most promising, it turned out to be the right spot and I was
above the Redwall just before 3:00 p.m. The rest of the trip was
routine, but I have to confess that I missed the trail a few times and
was truly grateful to Dan Davis for more rock-pile markers than had been
along here before. Crossing the steep clay slopes at the heads of about
three or four bays before you reach the valley in the Supai required
about as much care as anything on the whole trip. It was similar to a
lot of walking that I had done, and by this time I was in the mood to
forget it. It took me about an hour to reach the Supai valley and two
more to get out on the rim. I was pretty cold when Allyn Cureton stopped
his car and backed up to see who was walking at that time of night. He
took me to my car and pushed it when it wouldn't start from a coast. He
even loaned me a flashlight to unstick the jammed choke. Even in the car
I was thoroughly chilled by the time I got home. This was about the most
continuously rough walking of any of my trips.

P.S. There is a driftwood pole about 25 feet long propped up among some
boulders just west of the mouth of 75 mile Creek.

*Trip from Clear Creek to the foot of Deva Temple
[January 23, 1959 to January 25, 1959]*

Allyn Cureton, Reider Peterson, and I went down the South Kaibab Trail
at a leisurely pace to Phantom Ranch in two and a half hours. Allyn's
knee was bothering him and he stayed at the Bright Angel campground by
himself while Reider and I went on over to the Clear Creek Indian ruin
to the most protected campsite I know about, short of an actual mine
shaft in the Canyon. We slept fine out of the breeze and the full moonlight.

On Saturday we went upstream to the break in the Tapeats where Allyn and
I had gone up to the figurine cave. This time we turned south into the
canyon which comes down from the saddle between Deva Temple and Obi
Point, actually just north of Deva. A picture I had taken from the base
of The Howland's Butte indicated that one might go up through the
Redwall here. One surprise was water flowing for about a mile in this
streambed just above the Tapeats. We got around the first fall in the
Redwall up a ravine to the south of the bed. It wasn't hard to go up nor
was it difficult to go down again to the bed, but only a short distance
above, we thought that there was a bigger fall with no way to bypass it.
We were so sure we would be turned back that we left our lunches, water,
and even my camera behind. When we investigated, we found another ravine
to the south and just when it became vertical, there was a narrow shelf
on which we could go back into the bed above all obstacles in the
Redwall. From there it was straightforward up to the very top small
cliff in the Supai. Just below this cliff, we found a rather fresh
looking tin can. We would have had to make a long detour along this
cliff except that there was a small juniper growing out of a crack just
high enough to reach. After pulling up to it, there were foot and finger
holds the rest of the way.

Deer tracks were not observed on the way through the Redwall until we
came out on the Hermit Shale above Bright Angel Creek. They led north,
but there was no break in the Coconino in sight. However, I think there
is one around Komo Point via Obi Canyon. Walking on the frozen shale in
a light coat of snow was very tricky. We also knew we could go to the
south shoulder of Deva and get up it, but we didn't want to go that long
without food. It took us a bit over an hour to get back to the packs and
we were back to our campsite before 4:15 p.m. It took 25 minutes to go
from the ruin to the place you leave the stream and three hours and 25
minutes to go from Clear Creek to Bright Angel Divide. Reider made it to
the rim from the campground with a 17 pound pack in three hours and five
minutes while I took three hours and 18 minutes for a 19 pound pack.
Allyn came out a couple minutes faster than I with a 26 pound pack even
with his stiff knee.

*To Horn Creek Rapids on the north side of the Colorado River
[February 28, 1959 to March 1, 1959]*

Allyn Cureton and I made it down the South Kaibab Trail in good time and
ate an early lunch. We walked along the north side of the river on the
old telephone trail, starting away from the engineer's station about
11:30 a.m. We left the trail shortly before it gave out and found the
climb out of the inner gorge not too bad. We had to do more worrying on
the way down on Sunday, but this was not bad either.

In crossing the valley southeast of Cheops Pyramid, we dropped down to
cross the wash about as far south as it's feasible and kept to a fairly
direct route to the west. We noted that there is no way to climb out of
this valley up to the base of the Pyramid short of going up the wash
itself. However, there is a break with a deer trail up on the plateau to
the northeast. On the return we saw a beautiful sight, five deer
breaking into a gallop down and across the wash and up this route.

In the drainage directly south of Cheops, we went west above the ledges
well above the bottom of the wash. The going was rather rough, so we
returned along the bottom of the wash until we hit the drop-off at the
Bass Limestone. The return was probably better.

With the hope of finding water in the streambed to the west, we went
around the base of the Tapeats plateau to the north. There was no water
in evidence unless we were willing to go a long way down, so we kept
going just below the base of the Tapeats and arrived at the head of the
ravine leading south to the river just below Horn Creek Rapids before
2:30 p.m. The start down here was so easy that we both thought we would
be at the river in less than a half hour. However, about one-fourth of
the way down, the bottom of the wash dropped out, and we had to climb
out of it to the east. There was plenty of unsound rock and scree
covering steep rocks where one has to be very careful. When we finally
found our way back to the bottom about two-thirds of the way down,
plenty of time had passed, and our half hour had become an hour by the
time we reached the river. It was another ten minutes for us to go up
the river bank to the rapid itself where we finally found some small
patches of sand that made good spots to bed down.

The river was lower than we had seen it last year in the middle of
March, and the waves were really ferocious. It a boat would go down the
middle, it would meet explosive waves where the direct current strikes
big submerged rocks.

The temperature was just about perfect for our bags except that I got a
bit clammy and cold towards morning. It must have been warmer than it
was five weeks earlier because my hands stayed warm in the morning
without gloves.

Climbing from the river to the base of the Tapeats on the return again
surprised us by taking an hour and a half. We estimated that following
the base of the Tapeats east is impossible. When we went back we varied
the route by going up on the Tapeats plateau at the break rather near
the west end. We crossed the top to the south and stood directly above
the top of our route ravine. Then we went east and checked the break in
the Tapeats by which you can go down to the granite on the side of
river. We think that one can go around the point here into the ravine
with the yellow bottom. This is a good route to the river, but you can't
get downstream to the rapid itself.

Allyn found a hole in the top of a flat rock which had about a half inch
of water in it. He said that it was about four inches deep and would
hold a good many gallons. This was just east of the drainage across the
middle of this plateau between the two humps. We returned by the route
already described and were slightly disconcerted to find that the way
down to the telephone line was harder to find than we had thought it to
be on the way up. It was 2:30 p.m. by the time we were at the bridge and
we both had a slow time getting out a little after 6:00 p.m. Allyn went
ahead and must have been about a mile above me at one time. He tired out
at Cedar Ridge, and by the time he had eaten more food, I was up with
him, so we walked out together.

*Red Canyon to Old Hance Trail loop
[March 27, 1959]*

The Gibsons let me take their car to the head of the Red Canyon Trail
while they hiked to Phantom Ranch by the South Kaibab Trail and returned
up the Bright Angel Trail. I left the car at 8:35 a.m. and had no
trouble finding the head of the trail. A car track goes right to it
except that when you are in the beginning of the draw leading to the
trail head, the track stays out of the draw.

My objective for the day was to identify pictures in Stoddard, and I
found the one called starting down, the one at the joint of the Toroweap
Formation and the Coconino Sandstone. I missed the site where the men
were obliged to walk. I wonder whether the printer could have reversed
that view. I also got his shot taken from the top of the Redwall showing
the point of the Redwall projecting north from the base of Coronado Butte.

I was able to follow the trail better this time than on previous
occasions. Below the Coconino the trail swings west on the gentle slope
towards Coronado Butte and then switches down to the west side of the
wash where it is fully developed in the Supai. It crosses to the east
side of the wash for a few yards and then keeps to the west for another
good stretch. For about the lower third, it's on the east side.

Dan Davis has told me about the other way to get down through the
Redwall before you have reached the old official way, and I thought I
would try it. I looked ahead when I got down to the Redwall and noted a
place where the slope comes high on the Redwall. It seemed closer than I
had remembered the right place to be, but I decided to try it anyway. I
wish I had timed myself in getting to it, because it came along in what
seemed far less time than the right spot had last spring. I had been
going along lower than the trail and didn't notice the rock-pile and
other marks of the old route, but when I got out on the promontory and
started down north of the point, I realized that I was back to the
standard descent.

Below, everything was familiar to me. The trail was clear for a while,
but just before I reached the arroyo-like ravine to the north, I lost it
and crossed the ravine a bit too high. When I followed it down a bit
before climbing out, I came to a rock-pile showing the official
crossing. I went north in the vicinity of the copper diggings, but I
missed that hole this time. The way I had gone to the bottom of the
tributary gulch which separates Moran and Zuni Points was easily
identified, but from this angle, it didn't seem so impossible to keep up
on the slope just below the Redwall. I might have saved time doing that
last January. I followed the ridge on the south side of this gulch and
ran into the trail still well defined before I got to the bottom. It was
very clear on the north side. This was clearly a bypass for some big
rocks and drops in the main stream. When the trail returned to the wash,
the bed was still rock and a little water was trickling along it,
something which is not true for most of the year. Towards the river,
there was a narrow gorge. Before I entered this, I looked back at a view
of Coronado Butte and recognized one of Stoddard's pictures. When you
are through this narrows, there is a mesquite flat on the east. About in
the center there is the old campsite with a cast-iron stove and sundry
other gear lying around.

Down river from Hance Rapids, I didn't find the trail down to the ferry
site, but the Tonto Trail was higher from the river than I had been on
the other occasions I was along here. I kept on the trail most of the
way but I didn't follow it clear back into a big horseshoe bend into
Mineral Canyon. This time I didn't look down into the impressive drop of
Mineral down to the river in the granite. When I climbed out of the
depression still farther west before coming to Hance Canyon itself, I
must have been closer to the river than previously, for I almost started
down into Hance too soon. There was a burro trail leading down through
the Tapeats, but I couldn't see what it was like below that. It might
have been quite feasible to go all the way down. However, I continued
along the contour and got a good look at the route out of Hance to the
west beginning about where the canyon becomes narrow in the granite and
where the last cottonwoods are growing. This was opposite the route I
had used before to get down into Hance from the east. I was glad to go
down here again because my canteen had been dry for some time and I also
think it's quicker to get to the bottom and then go steadily up instead
of having to wind along the contours of the upper slope. The bottom of
this descent is a few hundred yards up Hance from the last cottonwoods
where I had camped before near the start of the burro trail out to the
west. It was only a short walk upstream until I recognized the picture
of the overhangs referred to as being near the Temple of Set. I take it
that the latter is an alcove in the Tapeats just downstream on the east
side of the wash.

As I proceeded up the wash, I was interested in a helicopter going up
and down the canyon sometimes rather close overhead. I began to wonder
whether someone was lost and they were trying to decide whether I
answered the description. I discovered the reason for all this traffic
about half way from the junction of the east and west arms of Hance to
the head of the east arm in the Redwall. A few hundred yards north of
the biggest cave on the east wall of the arm, about where the old Hance
Cabin should have been, and where the walls of an elaborate corral still
stand, was a disabled helicopter. It had been transporting a government
surveyor and had to make a forced landing. The second helicopter landed
nearby while I was still talking to the two men. Apparently whoever had
come down at the time of the mishap had not realized that they could
walk to the rim in three hours or less, for they had built a very good
leanto out of juniper boughs, a piece of work that must have taken about
three hours.

At this spot, near the seep spring on the east, I got a good match for
the background in Stoddard's picture of the Hance Cabin, but the
foreground rocks eluded me still. There are no longer any cottonwoods at
all south of the beginning of the gorge through the Tapeats, so I
suppose a flood got those fine trees and also the cabin.

I found more of the trail above the Redwall than I had on the previous
trips, but I seemed more confused near the top. The notch in the Kaibab
which was farthest east had been the clue I had used before, but this
time it seemed unpromising. I headed for the break just west of it.
There were rusty tin cans down here, but I got out on the rim without
finding the old trailhead. I then saw that the eastern most notch was
correct, but I had done better by coming out where I did. There was a
lot more snow in the right break.

It took me about three hours to go down Red Canyon to the river and
about four to come up the Old Hance Trail from the cottonwood camp in
Hance Canyon.

*Cheops Pyramid and the Colorado River
[April 4, 1959 to April 5, 1959]*

Allyn Cureton and I hiked down to the Bright Angel Campground in a bit
less than two hours and arrived at around 10:00 a.m. We had passed a
group of boy scouts on the trail and I had marveled at their warm
jackets when I was going shirtless or at least wanting to. While we were
eating a snack, we made the acquaintance of the math teacher at Verde
Valley School who was also down there with a group of boys. They were
taking the trip in easy stages, down one evening , up as far as Indian
Gardens the second day, and out the third day. Mr. Caley, I believe his
name is, is quite an enthusiastic Sierra hiker.

We started at about 11:00 a.m. to hike up the granite at the north end
of Bright Angel Campground. Allyn still seemed a bit uncertain about the
direction to take towards the top of the granite and he confessed that
he had wasted quite a bit of time being confused about this part of the
route when he went over to Trinity Creek on a previous trip. I went up a
deer trail which was very clear but was a bit farther north than I had
remembered the route to be the two times I had come down it. his good
trail abruptly ended and we had to do some rock climbing to get back on
the former route which was only a few yards away. We noted the trail
cairn at the top of the granite ridge and also the one at the top of the
ravine through the Tapeats Sandstone when we arrived at this higher level.

In order to save distance at the expense of some climbing, we dropped
down into the upper end of the valley to the east of Cheops Pyramid.
Here Allyn called my attention to a peculiar looking rock pile which
proved to be a mescal pit with quite a bit of charcoal still showing. It
was right against the base of a cliff.

Allyn had left his pack at the campground as he had decided to study
while I went on after the ascent of the pyramid. I left my pack about
where I knew I would have to go to get down from the pyramid to the
shale, quite near the upper end of this steep valley. We looked the
route over and decided to go up a talus slope to a shelf about one-fifth
of the way up the Redwall on the east side of the pyramid. Then we
walked around near the southwest angle. Here we had the steepest
climbing, but after about 50 feet of not so difficult scrambling, we
were able to finish by walking up to the east and then to the top by an
easy route. A deer could probably get to the top, but we didn't see any
signs that they wanted to.

Clubb's can and writing were still there under a small rock pile. He had
written on a piece of cardboard, "Climbed by M. D. Clubb in his 60th
year on July 12, 1957 in lieu of the great pyramid at Gizeh, which he
was prevented from doing by virus jaundice." We had reached the top in
just under three hours from the campground and we thought we had made
all the right decisions about the way up.

When we had recovered my pack and had eaten a little, Allyn went with me
down the draw to return to the camp via the Telephone Line Trail along
the river. I went across the cactus covered shale flats to the east end
of the isolated plateau of Tapeats next to the inner gorge. I decided in
favor of skirting the east base of the Tapeats instead of going across
the top to the break about in the middle above the inner gorge. There
were three awkward spots where I had to use my hands a bit to get past
small ravines, but when I reached the head of the sulfide ravine going
down to the river, I saw that it was rather questionable whether one
could get around the point to the west to reach the ravine we had
previously used to get to the river at the foot of Horn Creek Rapid.
Emery Kolb had said that he had run down the sulfide ravine to the river
in 25 minutes. My time from the base of the Tapeats to the river was
more like 45 minutes, but it was easier than the route presumably used
by Chief Ranger Brooks after Sturdevant and Johnson had drowned.

I had been planning to sleep near the river somewhere and return to
Bright Angel Campground the next day. I had my mattress with me and I
had time to try something. I found that I could carry the inflated
mattress over little promontories and paddle across, upstream on the
quiet water between them. When I had gone along the north bank far
enough, I paddled across the river. By then it was getting late and I
just had time to find a nice bit of level sand for sleeping. In the
morning it was only a short walk to the bottom of the Bright Angel Trail
and I was back to the campground long before Allyn expected me. If I had
some way of telling him where I was without going to the campground, I
would have had a shorter walk to the car, but there was no big deal
about having to go to the campground first.

*Loop trip from Topocoba Hilltop north on the Esplanade and then on to
Supai
[March 24, 1959 to March 29, 1959]*

Allyn Cureton and I slept next to the car parked in front of a cabin
near the junction of the Topocoba road and the one going north on the mesa.

On Sunday we made good time with our rather heavy loads along the road
near the east edge of the mesa. We carried almost one and a half gallons
of water apiece so that we could return to the car if there was no water
down on the Esplanade after this very dry spring. I watched the map
carefully to try to get down off the rim in the same break between
Gatagama and Hamidrik Points where we had come up two years ago. When I
thought that we had reached the right draw to go west, we noticed that
we could just get a glimpse of Great Thumb Point. But when we came to
the fall in the bottom of the Kaibab, it didn't look like the right
place at all. As I had remembered it, there should have been a longer
approach below the fall after you turn into the ravine on your way up.
However, when we scouted about 20 yards to the east, we found the place
along a ledge where we had come up. It still didn't look like a good
place to be carrying a pack, so I used the rope and let the packs down
to Allyn. While I was doing this, I dislodged a rock which gave his
finger a rather nasty gash. We ate lunch in some fine shade just after
we got past this tough spot.

We noticed something we hadn't seen before; a way to get down from the
rim into Fossil Bay. We didn't try it, but it looked sure fire. The
route is south of the place where one would say the wash starts. This
will be useful when I want to go along the Esplanade from Apache Point
to the spring above 140 Mile Canyon. I could break the trip there and
proceed later after getting more water.

The seep was still running in the main fork of the east arm of Olo
Canyon, so we dropped our packs about 3:00 p.m. After a short rest, we
started down canyon to see whether we could reach the bottom of the main
part of Olo. There were several fine rain pools in the bedrock and we
even took a bath in one on the return. A big drop stopped us about a
quarter of a mile before we got to the main branch. We made our way
along a bench on the south side until we could look up and down Olo
Canyon. If we had been able to get down to the bottom we could have
followed along the top of the Redwall to the Sinyala Fault and we could
probably have followed this up and down right over to Mount Sinyala.

On Monday we got a fairly early start to try to find Reilly's Keyhole
Arch. The walking was easy along the rims of small canyon tributaries of
Olo, but we found later that we would have saved much walking by staying
closer to the Hermit Shale slope until we could head this series. A
short look at the fault canyon into 140 Mile showed us that it was well
broken down and the descent would be easy. Furthermore, there is just
about the best spring in this entire area near the bottom of the Supai
here. There was actually a small flow of water from one pool into
another among a grove of cottonwood trees. It took only about 25 minutes
to get from the Esplanade to the top of the Redwall. If anyone really
thought that the Redwall should be broken too, it was a mistake. There
is a peculiar pit where two tributary canyons meet. On the north part of
the partition separating this pit from the sheer precipice beyond,
there's a depression which would appear to be the extension of the
fault. Below this groove, entering the pit near its bottom about 100
feet down, is a cave which we at first assumed was a tunnel and would
show an opening on the face of the wall to the east. However, there was
no sign of this when we looked. Water going down into the pit actually
flows out through Keyhole Arch a little south of this cave. One can
stand on the west rim of the pit and look down through the arch to the
bottom of the canyon beyond. It impresses me as being as interesting as
either Goldwater's or Hartman's. I would estimate it's being about 100
feet high with a maximum width of about 40 feet. In an inconspicuous
place a little south, near the outer end of the arch, Allyn noticed a
small rock pile; more like a little wall or bridge built of seven or
eight stones. We wondered who could have made it.

After lunch at the campsite, we made good time around the heads of the
branches of Olo although we first went too far to the west and had to
back up towards our escape route east of Hamidrik Point to get past the
first canyon. When we were rounding Chikapanagi Point, we noticed that
the fault canyon into Matkatamiba seemed to be just as feasible as the
extension into 140 Mile Canyon. When we reached the place where McKee
had reported water about halfway from Chikapanagi to Panameta Point, we
were gratified to see two fine big cottonwoods growing just at the right
place. However, when we got to them, there was not a drop of water on
the surface. We had seen a seep in the small tributary to the north just
before we reached this arm, but it appeared that we could not get down
to it, so we spent our time going down the canyon we were in. Before too
long, we came to a drip which we thought would be adequate if we used
all the pans and got up in the night to collect the water into our
bigger containers. In fact, when we left in the morning, we threw some
of the water away.

We now had the idea that the fault canyons would make a fine shortcut
over to Sinyala, but again we couldn't get very far down the canyon we
were in until we came to a complete barrier. Just a few yards below our
campsite, Allyn had to go back and look for his sweatshirt. While he was
doing this, he located a better seep than the one where we had camped.
It's near the junction of our canyon and the smaller tributary from the
north. One cannot go up this arm because of cliffs. We followed a bench
for a short way and then went out by way of an arm that led up to the
ridge joining Panameta with Mount Akaba. We did not get around to the
waterhole McKee indicated as being southwest of Mount Akaba. However,
there was no sign of the two waterholes he mentioned as being in the
Hermit Shale and just below it a little south of Paya Point. We checked
down this canyon a short way but were soon stopped by a cliff. We did
pick up some rainwater about where we ate lunch.

After lunch, the sky got quite cloudy and we had a few drops of rain. It
was easy to get down to the bottom of the long arm of Matkatamiba which
comes from the bay to the east. There were several good rain pools
before we reached the main branch of Matkatamiba, and here were the
first fresh signs of horses that we had seen. In fact, we saw the print
of a man's boot also. When we reached Supai, we learned that a couple of
young men had come over this way two weeks earlier to look for horses,
but they had found only one. We made camp quite early at another good
rainpool a little ways down the main arm of the canyon. Allyn scouted
ahead while I took a bath and did a little laundry. He reported that
only a half a mile or so downstream, the way was blocked. (I later found
out that it does go clear to the river.)

On this trip, we noticed an almost sure way to climb from the Esplanade
to the rim in the bay north of Paya Point.

Near the end of the Apache Trail, Allyn looked up and saw a ladder
against the cliff. We inquired later and learned that someone had come
down using this ladder all the way from the top of the plateau where we
had first come and then had retreated.

When we left the camp by the rainpool in Matkatamiba, we counted on
making a dry camp that night somewhere short of Supai, so we carried the
most water of the entire trip, a gallon and a half apiece. We had to
back up a bit before we could climb out of the canyon, but then we soon
found a faint horse trail which saved us quite a bit of time the rest of
the way to Supai. We got around between Mount Sinyala and the rim before
noon. Rather than get a day ahead of schedule by going on in to Supai
that evening, I elected to see the spring east of Sinyala. There was no
trail going over there as we at first thought, and we wasted some time
trying to follow something that turned out to be the regular trail
leading towards Supai itself. Again it wasn't difficult for a man on
foot to get to the bottom of the fault canyon. This time we were not at
the base of the sandstone, but we found the spring, three shallow pools
rather full of dead leaves and little bugs. Since we now had no worries
about being short of water we decided to go down canyon and see how the
Redwall looked there. After following it a short way, we came to an
obstacle. We could have gotten by this place by going first up and then
coming down a little farther, but we felt pretty sure that we would be
stopped cold later. So as to assure ourselves of success, we hit upon
going along the top of the Redwall on the west rim of Sinyala Canyon out
to look down on the Colorado River. Here we had the benefit of a well
defined burro trail. In fact, we saw three burros as we started along
here. The Indians who had been over to Matkatamiba two weeks before had
seen three bighorn sheep here. One interesting experience along here was
to hear a shower of rocks from the ledges high up on the wall and to
watch a dust devil slapping the cliff as if it were something at least
as tangible as a tarpaulin.

The view of the river was outstanding. In fact we seemed to be standing
right above it. Allyn gave me chills by insisting that there was a way
to climb down the rocks as they were broken up. On the way back, we got
buzzed by a small rattlesnake.

We were both pretty tired when we reached our packs after this detour of
almost four hours, but after a short rest, we went on for an hour and
camped at a rather windy, exposed site.

On Thursday morning, we were very glad to have the horse trail to guide
us through the intricacies of the head of the north arm of Carbonate
Canyon. We reached the head of the canyon leading down to the Apache
Trail into Supai in good time, about 11:00 a.m. Here we made the mistake
of following the horse trail along the top of the plateau to the west.
We left the horse tracks rather soon, but we began finding cairns
leading us on. When we got near the end and could look down on the
village, we couldn't see a good way down, so we went clear back where we
had come from at the head of the canyon. After eating, we started down
the bottom of the wash and about 2:15 pm we were stuck again as we were
looking down to the schoolhouse and chapel. We had to retrace our steps
a second time until we could climb up to the horse trail on the north
side of the wash where it goes about halfway up the entire cliff.
Finally, at 3:25 p.m. we made it to the bottom of the valley and soon
took a good soak in the cool water. We dropped our packs at a slightly
wild spot and went down to see the falls without them. By this time, I
could see that I was weaker than when we had started because I seemed to
tire pretty easily. We reached the car on Friday about 2:45 p.m.

*Sipapu, Marston Boat Party, and Disney Crew
[June 9, 1959 to June 12, 1959]*

I left the car at Lipan Point and made it to the river in less than four
hours. I didn't try to go along below the cliff at the bend and rather
botched the process of circling around above. I was already feeling the
heat pretty badly, a fast pulse even without much climbing, and I had to
find even poor shade and sit down often while I was going up the
Palisades Creek area. In the last wash before one leaves the river to go
up along the Beamer Trail, I took a long rest and several dunkings in
the river to cool off. I also cooked my soup and ate supper here, rather
early for I got going again abut 5:20 p.m. I stopped for the night a
little before 8:00 p.m. in a wash which I didn't recognize at the time,
but it was the one leading down to the Hopi Salt source.

There was so little water in my canteen that I knew I should go on to
the Little Colorado River before I ate breakfast. In fact I started on
about 4:30 a.m. and got there about two hours later. On two of the
former trips to the Little Colorado River, I had missed the trail at the
last quarter mile and had followed the ledges just above the water, not
too bad a method along here, but this time I repeated last year's
process of going up from the mouth of this wash again and finding the
trail which goes on and lands one above the sand hills leading down to
the wash just east of the mouth of the Little Colorado River. This time
I noticed a low wall made of rocks on the north slope of the wash where
the trail goes down near the Colorado River and then back up again. It
might have been put there with the idea of stopping a grazing horse.
After a leisurely breakfast, I headed up the Little Colorado River,
which was running only with spring water at the time. I took Eiseman's
suggestion and forded the stream every time the other side looked like
it would provide easier walking. Just above the sand slope on the north
side at a place I can no longer pinpoint because I missed it when I was
coming back, I noted a shallow cave in some conglomerate or breccia. The
bottom wasn't level enough for a good bed, but there was a bit of
charcoal and smoke stains on the ceiling. I couldn't decide whether this
occupancy had been ancient or not, but I thought a bit of the ceiling
had fallen since the smoke had stained it.

Just east of the second side canyon coming in from the north there is an
alcove where a spring has deposited travertine or salt. The trickle of
water didn't seem any saltier than the Blue Spring water, and I didn't
taste the white deposits. When I had finished the detour up here and
taken pictures, I noticed it was 10:00 a.m. meaning that I had been
coming upstream about an hour and 45 minutes.

The Sipapu Spring was near the end of the track to the south and then on
to the north. Its brown will contrast well with the green mesquite
behind it, showing the advantage of color photography. This time I
noticed that there is quite a flow of gas, a steady bubbling which keeps
the water humped up in a place wider than a man's palm. That the spring
flows more gas than water is clear when you notice the tiny trickle of
water over the east rim. The stick is still cemented in the mineral of
the rim. I noticed that the pool is an oval about nine by eleven feet,
and that the top of the whole mound must be about three times the longer
dimension of the pool. On the river side of the mound, I believe it must
be about 25 feet tall. Something that struck me as odd is an ordinary
galvanized iron laundry tub sitting upside down with a rock on the
bottom on the ground just north of the cone. There was also a rock pile
nearby. I was keeping fairly cool by getting my shirt and me wet in the
stream quite often, but when I had taken the picture of the Sipapu, I
saw that it would be at least noon before I reached the mouth of Salt
Trail Canyon, and then if I went on up to the cross-over point above the
Redwall, it would be quite late by the time I got back to my pack. I
would have done this anyway, but I thought it would be interesting to be
at the mouth of the Little Colorado River when the Marston party
arrived, around four as I thought. So I turned back with the thought
that sometime I would drive to the head of Salt Trail Canyon and come
from the car down to the landmarks along the trail.

When I got back near the mouth of the Little Colorado River, I noted
something that I hadn't seen on the way up, fresh tracks of several
people in the sand. I thought this meant that Dock had already arrived,
but I was a bit upset when I found no one near the mouth. I decided that
they had taken a quick look and then had gone on down to the place where
Dock said he liked to camp, just up from the mouth of Lava Canyon on the
right bank, so I decided to join him there. The Beamer Trail would be
mighty hot at that time of day, about 4:00 a.m. so after some
misgivings, I decided to go by air mattress. This took a while to
prepare for and I goofed in going down the blue water paddling. When I
saw how rough and swift the water was over the rock bar, I climbed out
on the bank and then had a tiresome fight with the willow and tamarisk
before I could proceed. I should have just gone ahead in the swift
water. I did take off finally, but below the island I didn't get far
enough to the right, and before I knew it, I was in a back eddy. I knew
this wasn't the only one, and I was so disgusted that I paddled over and
got out at the place where the Beamer Trail comes down near the river.
This time I started off with a full gallon of water prepared to make a
dry camp fairly far along towards Palisades Creek. I stopped shortly
after 7:30 pm where I could look across to the mouth of Carbonate Creek.
On this trip I was fully aware of the identity of the Hopi descent
ravine. The big rock which formed an island last year a bit below this
place over near the right bank was joined to the mainland this time.
Well before the time that I stopped for the night, I saw the power boats
go by. I waved madly, but of course they had eyes only for the water. It
was a pretty sight to see such a fleet of graceful craft.

I ate my breakfast where I slept and was on my way again by 6:00 a.m. My
choice of a double cotton blanket fortified by long Johns was just about
right for the temperature at this time of year. There were no insects
after dark, but last night it still took me a long time to get to sleep.

When I had been walking only a short distance, I saw that I was right in
my guess. There were seven boats lined up on the short beach. While I
was filling my canteen and fooling around across the river and a bit
upstream, they saw me and someone came over for me in a boat. I knew
that if I crossed on my mattress I would have to go as far up the bank
as I could, and then I might not keep clear of the rapids. Marston had
brought a group of people from Disney Productions down the Colorado
River to film the movie Ten Who Dared, which was about Powell's historic
first boat trip through the Colorado River Gorge.

Thursday was spent in going back up to the Little Colorado Lagoon, this
time the easy way, by boat. There were a couple of places along here
where even the 70 horse power motors had a hard time taking the boats
through. A couple of boats had to make more than one approach before
they got over the hump, but finally all of them made it. The Walt Disney
crew got busy with the Emma Dean and Kitty Clyde's Sister. We were in
the lagoon swimming and fooling around when someone had the misfortune
to take Kitty Clyde's Sister too close to the bar of rocks where the
river flows around the island. It caught with its rear up on a rock and
the prow down. The water poured through the motor well and soon nearly
filled the boat. They got a rope to shore and transferred the duffel to
the island. Finally after several hours of work, they blocked off the
motor well and stopped the river from flowing through. Then after
considerable bailing, they were able to float it free and drag it up on
the sand. The bottom was pretty badly scraped with the fiberglass
coating torn some and the keel scuffed, but they propped it up on its
side and were able to repair everything before nightfall.

At the place where Boyd and I were caught in the big eddy, the water was
boiling and forming temporary whirlpools. I would have had some rough
riding if I had come through there with my pack on my back. It gave me
something to think about.

At the blue lagoon, I retrieved the crackers, dates, and cheese that I
had discarded the day before, and they were very welcome because the
Marston party hadn't put the lunches in the boats as they had planned. I
was able to share some of my stuff with them.

We camped in the same place Thursday night. Before supper, I was shown
the mining shaft with the pack saddle hanging up, which was a little way
up the igneous rock just north of the main growth of mesquite. I also
went west through the mesquite until I could get behind a small peak of
dark rock. An old trail goes up here and before I was through, I had
climbed as high as the base of the Redwall across the river and was
looking out towards the rim at Cape Final and points north. On the way
down, I came to another mining shaft which was also too deep to explore
without a light. Either of these would make a fine camp in the winter. I
noted a claim marker clear up on the scree above the long climb up the
ravine.

On Friday morning, there were quite a few things to do to get organized
for more picture taking and packing to get off. I had plenty of time to
experiment with floating through the rapids. The water was fast and the
waves, especially at the end of the tongue, had a way of coming to a
peak which were about six feet above the trough, but the mattress
carried me up the steep side easily, and only the small crest would slap
me in the face. I made two runs and thought it was as much fun as
skiing. Of course there is less to learn, just get out far enough so you
won't be hitting any rocks on the banks and turn the mattress crosswise
to your body. The second trip down, I went almost to the middle to catch
the biggest waves and where I landed on the right bank, I had to use a
back eddy to get back upstream without having to climb high above the bank.

When the party finally got away from the campsite, we stopped below the
rapid on the left bank and took pictures of other boats coming through.
There was quite a bit of delay in getting the Powell boat, Maid of the
Canyon, ready and I got impatient. I got on the mattress again and
decided to see how easy it would be to cross the river. It wasn't a bit
easy, and I was far downstream when I landed. I walked up as far as I
could with ease and then started to return. This was still harder, and
even when I was lying lengthwise on the mattress, I couldn't seem to
shorten the gap to the other shore. My arms wore out and I finally had
to use my feet with a scissors kick. Finally, I got into an eddy and
landed, but I had not given anyone my plan of action and I was almost
left stranded when the boats took off to go down to Tanner Creek. I
guess I could have followed them down by water rather quickly, but by
that time I had about enough water. I concluded that at 30,000 cfs or
more, a person on an air mattress had better not count on landing at will.

The trip back up the Tanner Trail was done without undue strain in a
little over six hours. Almost the whole afternoon was cloudy which made
it quite a bit easier. I did happen to see a couple of claim markers I
hadn't noticed before. I got home about 9:00 p.m. to find Roma mad as
hops that she had turned down two fine invitations to bridge parties for
Saturday night.

P.S. There were some good size fish in the Little Colorado, the first I
had noticed. Up near the Sipapu, I saw one school of about 20 ranging
from a foot to 18 inches long. There were some more down in the lagoon
at the mouth. One rather small one of about eight inches was a catfish,
but the rest were something else.

The people I remember from the Marston party: Otis Marston, Rod
Sanderson, Larry Sanderson, Bill Beers, Bob Malotte, Buzz Belknap,
Ballard Atherton, John E. Doerr (the NPS chief naturalist), William
Clawson (a petroleum geologist), Al Nickerson (former Harvard crewman).

*Disney Studio Men: Russ Haverick, Les Gear (radio man), and a number of
Forcier.

*Deva Temple
[July 17, 1959 to July 18, 1959]*

Friday evening I slept beside the North Kaibab Trail 2.2 miles north of
Phantom Ranch. I had visited with Dan Davis until I thought the bottom
would be tolerably cool and had reached Bright Angel Campground about
7:30 p.m. After talking to some hikers there and getting my supper over,
I walked on but spent some more time talking to George Shake, his
brother, and the new manager of Phantom Ranch, Windsor, until about 9:45
p.m. The moon was bright, so I walked until 10:30 a.m. After a cool bath
in the creek, I thought I would be all ready for a sound sleep even if
it would be a short one. However, for some reason - I could have been
excited about the next day - I slept only for two short naps all night.
I was up and on the trail by 4:45 a.m. and ate my meal of crackers and
raisins as I walked.

It was a little before seven when I filled my gallon can and the
one-third gallon canteen to leave the trail. From below, the Redwall
didn't look very good but I could get on the shelf formed by the bottom
fifth. The place where I left the trail is about a quarter mile north of
Ribbon Falls. The access to the shelf is at the farthest west projection
of this Redwall promontory. I could see a ravine around on the south
side of the promontory which just might be a way up, but I knew I had to
go clear to it before I would be sure.

There was a faint deer trail along this lower shelf, so I was
encouraged. The ravine was even easier than I had thought it would be.
Most of the way up, hands on the rocks were unnecessary. Beforehand, I
had expected the Supai rocks to be easier than the Redwall, but this was
not so here. I followed a deer trail around the bay to the north and
then went up along the rocky ravine that slopes up to the south. The
general procedure was to go as high as one could in a ravine and then
follow a ledge to the south and look for a break in the immediate wall.
There were three places where I had to use cracks and toeholds to go a
short way almost straight up. I marked these with rock piles or by
putting a rock into the middle of a century plant, but on the way down I
missed one of these signs. As a matter of fact, I had found an easier
way. If one explored this slope many times, he could probably arrive at
a reasonably easy way up. There were deer tracks at all levels but I
feel pretty sure they didn't get through the cliffs at the same place I
did, at least not the way I went up. The chief hazard was not the
feeling of exposure above sheer cliffs but rather the poor footing on
the steep shale slopes that always threatened a slide. If one were ever
careless, he could not only take a spill that would scrape the skin, but
he might not be able to stop himself from going over a cliff.

After passing about five places which seemed like the only weakness in
the successive cliffs, I thought that it would be likely that my luck
would give out somewhere. However, on the southwest side of Deva there
was a ramp of slide rock from the Coconino above. Everywhere else that I
could see, the ascent would have been impossible for my style of
scrambling. Then at the very top, along the narrow summit ridge, I
noticed what I thought to be the highest point. It was a small block of
limestone about 25 feet high with sheer walls. However, it wasn't the
highest point. Beyond it was a considerable plateau of the same
limestone, but there was a nice ramp up it. The highest part was still
farther north and was composed of red soil with a pinyon tree growing on
the very highest mound. I built an eight inch rock pile near the pine in
the open. There were no signs of any previous ascent, nor were there any
deer tracks at the top. There were tracks on the Hermit Shale, and I am
sure deer can go to the Summit.

One surprise was how narrow the temple is at the top. I didn't visit the
wider southeast end, but from the middle to the north end, the level
part on top is only 20 feet wide. One can see how much more difficult it
would be to climb Brahma. Maybe the east side would have possibilities.
I think that my way up from just north of Ribbon Falls would be easier
than the route to the base of Zoroaster. The views of the other towers:
Wotan, Brahma, Buddha, and Manu, were really terrific from Deva. There
were lots of birds along the way and at the top hummingbirds were
perfectly at home zipping by. As I looked down the steep slope where I
had to find a way back, I envied them. In fact, I had some misgivings
about locating the same breaks in the cliffs I had found from below. I
was tempted to make it a real long trip, but surer, by going down into
Clear Creek north of Deva, the way I knew for sure. As it turned out, I
was temporarily confused a couple times, but I got down without hurrying
an hour faster than I went up. On the way back, I saw just about the
most perfect swallowtail butterfly I had ever watched. There were quite
a few clouds and a several drops of rain. I even had some water to throw
out at the end of the trip. It took me ten and a half hours total
elapsed time to go from the creek to the top and back.

I walked back to Bright Angel Campground before I started supper at 8:15
p.m. It was one of my longest days on foot. My only regret is that I
didn't take any pictures of the route either going up or coming down. I
hope the views from the top will show well.

*From Pipe Creek past Horn Creek to the North Rim
[August 20, 1959 to August 23, 1959]*

This route was suggested to me by Emery Kolb. He and John Ivens had done
it in 1907 after carrying a 100 pound boat down the Bright Angel Trail.

Apparently I had been influenced by the people who cry horror at the
mention of an air mattress on the Colorado River, because I didn't push
off into the water until I was definitely past Pipe Creek Rapids. I
really know that I can bounce right through about anything on the
mattress when I ride it crosswise under my chest. As it was though, I
stayed on it lengthwise all the way to Horn Creek Rapids and had
difficulty keeping away from only one back eddy. I was interested in
studying the south shore especially since I had walked there several
times. I noted the sulfide ravine on the north side where I had come
down before to cross the river last March. I was wondering whether it
would be easy to land above Horn Creek Rapids while keeping far enough
away from the bank to stay out of any back eddies. Actually, there was a
good factor of safety here and I don't understand what the trouble was
for the ranger party unless they couldn't decide which bank to land on.
I stayed close to the right side for the last quarter mile.

Again I should have taken to the river without walking as far as I did
along the talus. The sand seemed to have changed some and I didn't
recognize exactly where we had put our bedrolls last February. The big
jutting rock was still the perfect landmark and the river seemed a bit
higher than it had been last winter. The rapids were still the most
impressive that I have seen on the Colorado River and I got two more
pictures.

From the river view, there seemed to be at least two fairly simple
walk-ups on the south side at intervals of a few hundred yards below the
rapids. I was taken by the big rock island just above the mouth of the
first wash on the right below Horn Creek. I should have gone down to the
delta of the creek itself, but I thought there might possibly be some
barrier as there is at the mouth of Shinumo so I landed at this rock
island. The next poor decision was to climb up to the base of the
Tapeats quite near the mouth of the creek. I probably would have made
better progress staying in the wash. (In March, 1973, I climbed up here
from the bed using a rope for my pack.) Then when I got to the base of
the Tapeats, after consulting the map, I turned towards Trinity Canyon.
After about 20 minutes in this direction, I was stopped cold by an
abrupt and absolute end to the ledge. (I later found it was possible
using a rope for my pack. When I was going back, instead of trying to
work down to the bottom of Trinity which may well be possible, I saw a
low, man-made wall which I considered to be a windbreak left by some
prospector who spent the night here.

The ledge continued around to the east and north with only some minor
ups and downs. When I saw a chance to climb through the Tapeats without
going on to the upper end of the short wash, I did this with a little
care using both hands. Walking was easy across the flats here and I soon
had to decide whether to go down into the arm of Trinity that begins
below the middle of Isis Temple or go around it to the right. By this
time I realized that water might become a problem before I reached the
north rim, so I went down into the arm of Trinity. It was all boulders
and sand and had no surface water. My next thought was to look for water
in the arm I intended to follow to the top of the Redwall or, failing to
find it, I would still have the choice of walking on to the rim in bad
shape or going back down Trinity until I came to some. I had seen it
from above when I was at the top of the Archean rocks near the river.
Neither of these undesirable courses was necessary, however, for there
were abundant rain pools in the highest part of the Tapeats Sandstone
and even a little higher. It was only 5:00 a.m. but as I was quite tired
and didn't know where to expect more water, I stopped for the night. On
Friday I was under way by 6:00 a.m. but I didn't reach the top of the
Redwall until 8:00 a.m. All of this walking was simple until near the
top of the Redwall. Here a 20 foot cliff seemed like a real barrier
until one reached it and looked to the left. There was some two-hand
climbing here, but it was not bad and I could have gone up an easier
place than I did. The best place to climb the Supai seemed to be in the
bay on the east side of Shiva Temple rather than farther north. As I
reached this draw, I looked down into the ravine through the Redwall,
for it is this one that seemed to connect with the talus below by a
ledge that traverses the upper part of the Redwall down into Phantom
Canyon. It is still highly doubtful whether this is a feasible route
because the ravine at the top seemed bad. I still want to test it
however. (Later I found out that it does go.) I didn't look carefully,
but I didn't see any rain pools here.

The way up through the Supai was easy scrambling until near the top. I
believe I had already turned into the north arm when I gave up at a
place over to the right of the wash itself and thought I might be in
some real embarrassment, but then I saw that it was all right in the
middle at a small fall. Near the very top, there was no chance in the
middle nor to the north in the immediate view. Still I could see that
the cliff was lower in that direction, so I went along this ledge. Just
around the bend, the cliff ended and I was on the top in the Hermit
Shale. Emery's water hole was below this highest fall of the Supai. (I
later found out that this wasn't Emery's water hole; his is a rainpool
on the saddle.) It's on the saddle on high rock. I would guess that it
holds more like 20 gallons than 50. I filled my canteen here a little
before 10:30 am.

I was not moving as fast with my pack as when I was walking with Allyn
back from Shiva, although I was on a deer trail almost all the way to
the top. I believe it was something like 1:00 p.m. when I got started
away from the point just east of the nose that points towards Shiva
Temple. I aimed to cut through the woods to the head of the Transept
rather than follow the road. As I had no compass, I mostly walked
directly away from the sun whenever it was shining. It seemed to take a
long time just to reach the road out to Tiyo Point. I couldn't tell much
from the ravines shown on the map because the actual ravines seemed to
split into tributaries that I could not identify. Finally it became
completely overcast, and when I came to access road W1C, I followed it
rather than take a chance on getting lost. For the last hour and a half
I was walking in a cold rain. I didn't want to get all my clothes wet,
so I wore only my swimming trunks and my shirt. My teeth were chattering
before the rain stopped just as I reached the shelter of the shed where
they keep the mules. I walked back to the south rim the next day.

*Original Tanner Trail and Solomon's Temple
[October 3, 1959 to October 4, 1959]*

I parked the car at Lipan Point so that a coast would be sure to start
it. Anywhere along the rim between Moran Point and Desert View would be
satisfactory since I would have to walk that whole stretch either at the
beginning or at the end of this trip. It took me about an hour and 20
minutes to reach the point where road E14 leaves the rim to turn east
towards Cedar Mountain and I was eating an early lunch when I had
reached the present trail along the Supai. The start of the Old Tanner
Trail away from the rim is clear for about 100 yards, but the next time
I was sure I had it was almost below the Watchtower. It was clear from
here to the west arm of Tanner Wash above the Redwall. I checked the
possibility of going down the Redwall about where it is tilted up the
steepest and a talus below forms a long ramp. An expert could probably
chimney climb down but I thought discretion was the better part of valor
and went on. Vince Hefti, the Desert View ranger, said that the Redwall
can be climbed near the end along the west arm on the south side. There
was one rock pile marker that I saw along this whole clear part of the
old trail. In the top layers of the Redwall in the main wash was a
rather deep pool of water with signs that deer use it for drinking
water. It had not been appreciably freshened by the recent rain and I
was not tempted to use it for replenishing my quart canteen. I had found
enough water on flat rocks so that my canteen was still full.

Along the Supai near the place where the trail descends the Redwall
there were some horse tracks. When I got down the Redwall, I went
directly down to the bottom of the wash to see where the priest was
killed. Evidently Slocum and Veazey had come down into the wash farther
upstream, because I did not see their seep. Heftik says there are some
seeps up the east arm where the ill-fated party could have gone for
water. Where the wash makes the leap straight down through the Tapeats,
you have already come through 50 vertical feet, and the bottom of the
fall is a good 20 feet above the bottom of the Tapeats, so I suspect the
fall is closer to 100 feet high than it is to the 150 feet that some
estimated it. It took me seven minutes to backtrack and get to the top
of the place where the boys went down. At the bottom they were about
four minutes walk and a scramble from the bottom of this fall. It took a
bit of climbing up a low fall to reach the bottom of the big one. It was
a walk of more than an hour to reach the river.

About a half mile from the river, a set of bighorn horns attached to
part of the skull was perched on a small rock in the wash as if someone
had started to take it out and had gotten tired of lugging 15 pounds or so.

I crossed the river on my air mattress and determined that the cabin
site Dan Davis saw must have been at Basalt Creek delta instead of
farther down. On the west side of the sandy area, not more than 100 feet
from the shale slope and closer yet to the bank leading down to the
river to the west where you'll find what's left of two cabins, probably
consisting of wood floors and canvas roofs. One upright post is still
standing to support the ridge. There was an elaborate stove built of
thin stones and a cast iron laundry stove in the west dwelling. Near the
east one there was some sort of grist mill. A base for a forge built of
stones was farther east. I noted some small sherds on the sand at Basalt
as well as at Unkar. At Unkar in the corresponding region of the sand
delta was what seemed to be low walls of an Indian ruin. In one of the
standing pools left when the river fell, there were some small fish
which were jumping at flies on the water.

For some distance below Unkar, the going along the edge of the river was
simple, but then ledges began to appear which tilted up to the west.
When I was trying to get down at one place, I decided that it would be
much easier if I would drop the pack. I chose a spot where I thought the
pack would land without rolling, but after it fell about 15 feet, it
bounced and began to roll towards the river. I watched helplessly while
it gained speed and finally when I was about sure there was no hope, it
hit a big rock, the last obstruction, and stopped. I might have been
able to swim for it, because the water next to shore was in a slow
backwater. Some of the opening mechanism of the camera was rather badly
sprung, but I was able to open it and do a bit of bending to make things
right, I hope.

My campsite was at mile 73.7 on the sand. The night was calm with no
sand moving, and the views both up and down river were fine with
Comanche Point getting the setting sun and Solomon prominent to the west.

I passed the mouth of the wash which heads below Rama and climbed up the
west side of the short canyon more directly towards Solomon. I was not
sure this was better than going up the bed. There seemed to be some
water in the bottom, and the walking might have been easier. At the top
I could see a good break in the Tapeats rather directly on the route
towards Solomon, and this turned out to be fairly simple. Solomon looks
as if it could be climbed, but the top would give one more to be careful
about than Cheops, for instance. I also considered another route over to
Asbestos as feasible, along the river until the Bass Limestone starts
up. Follow along its top and then the Tapeats can be climbed directly
south of Solomon.

The ravine down into Asbestos didn't look promising from above because
it was so steep. I wondered whether I had mistaken its identity, but
started down anyway. The closest one to the river is right. It leads
down with no real difficulty right to the cabin site. Any other ravine
would likely lead down into Asbestos above the dead end, dry falls in
the cliff far below the Tapeats and Shinumo Quartzite. There was a seep
in the right ravine about halfway down, so I knew that if I had to turn
back, I wouldn't die of thirst. When I got to the bottom, I checked
upstream and found that if one wanted to follow Asbestos higher up than
the nearby fall, he would have to go up this same ravine, far above the
block and then down again. I later found out this is false and the trail
goes up to the west.

This time I looked over the cabin site better than I had before and also
renewed my recollection of the polished conglomerate in the bed of
Asbestos Wash. The cache of prospector's supplies under the overhang in
the creek bed was also interesting. There was the old sleeping bag right
where I had seen it before and also a new one folded neatly in the rear
of the cave. Four large cans of tomato juice, a can of milk, and a jar
of flour were stowed in some cardboard boxes with eating utensils for
two lying clean and neatly placed to one side. The trail around to the
ferry crossing seemed harder to follow and in worse repair than I had
remembered it. I missed it a couple of times. The dark rock was just
showing at the place where I crossed. The water was still swift and wavy
from a small rapid and there were some boils and swirls. I was spun
around once and had to kick fast another time to keep from tipping over.
It was easy to go back up along the south bank in the backwater until I
could get out without having to climb up away from the edge of the water
to go upstream. There was some rainwater in hollows of the Archean rock
so I didn't need to fill the canteen with muddy water from the river.
The river seemed much redder than it had just the day before.

I forgot to look for Owen's markers on the sand next to the river. I
followed the bed of the wash as far up as I could this time. There were
a couple of seeps about 45 minutes walk from the river, but they are so
slow that one shouldn't count on them in hot weather. I got more water
from a rain pocket in the bedrock and then treated it with tablets since
I saw some burro manure in the bottom of the pool. Just above the main
tributary which comes from the east, there is a sizable waterfall, not
straight down, but too steep for walking up. It can be passed to the
east without extra effort. There is a good deal of fracturing along here
with a number of places to climb out to the east. Before long, you come
to another fall in the Tapeats and you have to get around it by climbing
up to the east and go back above the fall along a ledge, but almost
immediately there was a moderate sized fall but with no way of
surmounting it. I had to retreat along the same ledge. When I climbed
out of the wash, I could see that this third fall was the last. The
burro trail over into Mineral Canyon went by right above this fall. I
was soon on a maze of burro trails and one seemed to be the main trail
with a horseshoe lost along it. It seemed to be going farther south
before ascending since one has to cross quite a ravine to get to the
right place in the Redwall for the climb. I gave up this idea of finding
Davis' shortcut down the Redwall since I realized that it was doubtful
whether I would make the rim in daylight.

The trail along the talus above the Redwall still seemed hard to follow.
One can find some of it, but one mustn't try to find it all the time, or
he will waste a lot of time. Just keep going here. There is a good deal
of the old trail left paralleling the wash coming down the Supai. As you
go upstream, you keep to the east of the bottom for perhaps one-fourth
of the way. Then it switches to the west for a shorter distance. After
that, I thought it followed the bottom for a short way and you find that
it has been along the west side all the time. A little higher, the trail
switches away from the west for the last time and follows up the middle
between two branches.

On the way through the Coconino, I heard a noise and turned just in time
to see two suitcase sized chunks of stone come down a 100 feet or so
from me and crash near the trail where I had been just a few minutes before.

*Apache Point and Royal Arches Creek
[October 17, 1959 to October 18, 1959]*

I parked the car near the park boundary sign on the Hilltop Road and
started up the drainage in the direction of Point Quetzal at 10:00 a.m.
Getting to the rim took a bit over 30 minutes. I was a bit surprised to
see the telephone line going so close to the rim. Apparently the
linesmen were not using a compass because it follows the bends in the
rim. There is a trail of sorts approximately following the line. After a
few false alarms, I finally got out on Apache Point. The trail seems to
go from the east across the end of the point before it starts down on
the west side. There was part of an old tin can on the ground just
before you start down. The only other sign of civilization was a
horseshoe on the trail along the Esplanade where it crosses a ravine,
the second just north of Point Quetzal. Of course the trail construction
itself is in evidence most of the time until it reaches the Esplanade.
Along here there are plenty of burros and deer to show you where to go.
There's even so much concentrated traffic along here that there are
white scratches on the bare rock. The deer and burros seem to be thicker
along here than about anywhere else in the park unless it would be along
the Tonto Trail west of Bass Canyon.

The trail down the Kaibab and north around the spires below Apache Point
was surprisingly well defined. Even in the white clay slope, it seems
much clearer than it should if it were only maintained by the deer. The
Indians built well. At least I have never heard of anyone like Hance or
Bass working on this. The switchbacks down through the Coconino show
quite clearly near the top, but lower they are about gone because of
rock slides.

It was clear that I would have to keep moving if I hoped to get to the
river by nightfall. After two hours along the Esplanade with plenty of
the usual frustrating detours, I was about where I thought I should
begin looking for a way through the Supai. When I was about directly
west of the long tributary from the east, there was a rather promising
break through the top layers of the Supai. When I was nearly halfway
down, I was gratified to notice rain pools although it had not rained
for 16 days. Apparently, the weather has cooled enough now so that
evaporation is not so terrific.

At this level, I could see that the major cliffs were still below.
Judging from what I could see across on the other side and to the south,
there wasn't a chance to get through the lower cliffs. I filled my
gallon canteen as well as the quart one and decided to go back up on the
Esplanade and continue around to the Bass Trail and go out there the
next day. I resented having to backtrack to get up on the trail at the
foot of the Hermit Shale and I went around one more point. There in the
canyon heading where the Esplanade Trail swings from southeast to east,
the rocks were pretty well broken and I found no real difficulty getting
down to Royal Arch Creek.

I remembered the route down through the Redwall along the creekbed
fairly well, although I had the impression that some of the places were
harder for me this time. It may have been because I had my pack on my
back or it may have been because there was more water in pools at the
bottoms of steep descents. The water was not very attractive because, in
the larger pools at least, it was covered with a sort of green scum.
This may have been pollen from the willows which were in bloom. In fact,
the air was perfumed by the inconspicuous green flowers, rather odd I
thought for the middle of October. By 6:00 p.m. I had just arrived at
another large pool and there was a fine flat rock for my air mattress
with plenty of wood at hand, so I decided to call it a day. The night
was pleasant again, a little warmer than two weeks ago, but really about
right for my bag.

On Sunday morning, I left my gear and started down to see whether I
could get to the river. Within minutes I came to the spring. I
remembered it as having fine pure water, but this time I detected a
slight odor, a bit like sulfur. Just a few yards farther is the last
tributary from the west, which looks like a promising way to get out on
the bench below the Redwall to the west. One might try for a way down to
the river in that direction. (I later found out that you could not do
it.) I looked over this bench from a distance on the east side of the
creek, and it appears to be impossible to get down the cliff to the edge
of the river. (I later found out it would be possible but only with a 20
foot rappel - bring a 30 foot rope to tie around a rock on the ledge,
this has also been force climbed by experts.) It's too bad that Allyn
and I didn't study this point when we were going to Elves Chasm.

Just a few more minutes and I was thrilled to see a very shapely natural
bridge spanning the main creek. It's about 60 feet in span and about the
same height from the water up to the ceiling. One can go on beyond the
bridge for about 100 yards and then you come to the end. There is a
sheer cliff of around 150 feet drop. If there were a real flow in the
creek, what a fall would be there. I took time exposures since it was
still so early. This is the only bridge known in the Grand Canyon which
spans a main canyon with a perpetual flow of water in it.

The trip back was uneventful. At the top of the Redwall, the choice of
the right canyon was a bit confusing, but when I finally picked the one
I thought I had come down, confirmation was forthcoming in the form of
footprints. It took me six hours from the top of the Redwall where the
tributary comes in from the east to get out on the rim. My navigation
from Point Quetzal was weak and I hit the road a mile southeast of the car.

P.S. The narrow canyon which enters Royal Arch Creek from the west just
below the spring has an interesting rock supported about four feet above
the creekbed. The rock is nearly spherical and looks as if it could have
rolled to its present position about 20 feet in front of a small fall
and four feet above the bed.

*Old Hance Trail, upper Mineral Canyon, and Red Canyon
[October 24, 1959]*

Reider Peterson went with me while the main gang of the hiking club was
going down and up the Kaibab Trail. I fumbled a bit in finding the head
of the Old Hance Trail. I should park the car at the turn-off from the
highway to the head of the Red Canyon Trail. I should remember by this
time that the old trail goes down the ravine which is farthest east next
to the cliffs in the Kaibab Limestone. We went east just below the
Coconino this time and avoided the bad ravine crossings lower down.

We kept to the bottom of the wash through the Redwall, and I found that
you can't see the big cave entrance after you've gone past it. I must
not have looked up soon enough. There was running water at the spring
near which Hance used to have his cabin a bit upstream from the old
corral which is still showing with some of the rock walls in fair shape.
The flow in the bed through the Tapeats wasn't much. We went down
through the Tapeats and climbed out to the east after we came to the
granite.

I got confused and told Reider that we were crossing Mineral Canyon
before we had come to it. At the higher level, it seemed as though the
trail made a big detour. It took over one and a half hours to go from
the plateau where we had just come up from the bottom of Hance Canyon to
where we were definitely in Red Canyon. It was really surprising how
well the burros have formed a trail along the steep slope down to the
bed of the wash on the west side of Red Canyon. There was water along
here and it seemed to be staying above ground where I had found the bed
dry just three weeks before, down below through the Tapeats. There were
some rather good pools higher up in the shale below the Redwall.

We followed the bed until we were quite near the head of the canyon and
then turned left. There seemed to be a sort of a deer trail where we
went up the Redwall. At one place, for about 20 feet, we had to use our
hands, but I believe deer could get up it, especially with a spring.
Above this place we turned to the north and got to the top of the
Redwall between two tower-like promontories. It was only about one-third
as far from here to the beginning of the trail in the Supai valley as it
would have been if we had come up the official way. I a.m. in favor of
using this route from now on, especially as there is water along it. The
bypass of the fall at the top of the Tapeats is a chore, but it's not
too long.

The trail through the Supai goes first for quite a way on the east side,
then about as far on the west. After a short stretch on the east and
another on the west, you are sent up the middle into a slope where there
is a peculiar forest. Although the rim, 1000 feet higher, is covered
with junipers and pinyons, down here there is a fine stand of ponderosa
pines. We got to the highway in semi-starving condition and had to walk
to the car along the woods road in the dark.

*Newspaper Article Written by Harvey Butchart for the Arizona Republic
about the Goldwater Natural Bridge
[sometime in late 1959 or early 1960]*

"Newly Discovered Natural Bridge"
Editor, The Arizona Republic

For years, the existence of natural bridges in Grand Canyon National
Park was unsuspected. Then Senator Goldwater discovered one from the air
in Nankoweap Basin which received publicity in Arizona Highways and Life
magazine. Not only was this the first reported, but it had the
mysterious habit of disappearing when in shadow. Until Goldwater went in
on foot, its existence was discounted by an eminent geologist who could
not believe it would have escaped observation by the official mappers.
On the other hand, Melvin McCormick of East Flagstaff says that this
bridge was well known to his father and his uncle who spent weeks in the
area looking for the lost John D. Lee gold mine. This was 50 years
before the recent discovery.

The public is probably not aware that other bridges have been
subsequently discovered in the park, also from the air. In 1956, Pat
Reilly of North Hollywood, California., found a bridge on an aerial
photograph he had taken. It is in the Redwall formation at the head of
one branch of 140 Mile Canyon north of Great Thumb Mesa, down and across
the Colorado from Thunder River. Reilly and his companions on the trip
through the Grand Canyon came up from the river and photographed it from
below. Allyn Cureton and I were the first to get down to it from above
to take pictures. We found a peculiar, man-made rock pile in an
inconspicuous place near it. A commercial flier, Hartman, has discovered
two more bridges from the air. I found one of his independently while I
was verifying the existence of an Indian trail from Lava Creek below
Naji Point and Point Atoko up to the rim of the Walhalla Plateau.

Recently I was exploring a creek with an interesting name, Royal Arch,
which is west of the Bass Trail and east of Apache Point about 28 miles
west of Grand Canyon Village. I followed an old Indian trail down from
Apache Point, along the top of the Supai Formation. The number of burros
keep the trail well defined. Using a mixture of luck and experience, I
managed to get down through the red cliffs to the beginning of the cliff
through the Redwall Limestone. At a number of places both hands were
needed to descend the steep drops in the creek bed.

On Sunday morning, I continued downstream hoping to reach the Colorado
at Elves Chasm. About a half mile from the river, I was stopped cold by
a 150 foot cliff, perfectly sheer. If the spring were only bigger, this
stream would make the finest fall in Arizona. I would have been keenly
disappointed in not getting to the river except for the fact that I had
just discovered about 100 yards upstream from the cliff, a beautiful
little natural bridge. Using a rope, I measured the span as about 60
feet and I would estimate the height as the same. By this method I
measured Goldwater's bridge as having a span of 147 feet. The park
rangers did not know of the bridge, but the prospectors who apparently
were everywhere in the 1900's must have told the mappers about it. This
one, the only bridge in Grand Canyon known to have a permanent stream
under it, should therefore be called Royal Arch.

J. H. Butchart
Flagstaff

*To the Colorado River below Horn Creek, then on to Salt and Epsom Creeks
[March 12, 1960 to March 13, 1960]*

This time I walked quite a distance with a group of the college hikers:
Donna Lee Haskell, Martha Shidler, Allyn Cureton, Dave Little, Dick
Cowdrey, and the sponsor, Lawrence Abler. We took the Tonto Trail from
Indian Gardens and headed for Horn Creek. I had been over the Tonto to
Hermit Camp from Indian Gardens twice before, the first time going west
when I made the loop to Hermit Rest and back to Indian Gardens in one
long day with the help of a car ride for half the distance along the rim
road. The second time Boyd Moore and I had come east camping, I believe,
at Salt Creek after first visiting the river to see Hermit Rapids. I
believe they must have some maintenance work on the Tonto along here
because it seemed to be in better shape than I had remembered.

There was a little water running in the east arm of Horn Creek a bit
below where the trail crosses it. I checked down this arm to see whether
one could get below the Tapeats here. A big block in the bed made a 30
foot drop right where it joins the main stream and this proved
impassible. (However, this climb has been done, I think by Sue Varin.)
It was a short walk to the main arm with no problems. The walking is
without incident until the place where the first granite shows. Here a
large chock-block makes one pause. There are really three ways to pass
this. First one can go up and around on a brushy slope to the east, or
he can hang down and drop off on the east side of the block, or he can
find steps in the granite to the west of the block. Between us, we used
all three ways. When one is perhaps 400 feet down in the granite, almost
even with the angle formed by the Tapeats from the river as it turns
back into Horn, you find another barrier, a fall of perhaps 50 feet. To
pass this you need to climb up to the west about 150 feet and come down
to the north. This is the place in the streambed that we reached in 1958
by coming down from the base of the Tapeats to the east. The rest of the
party went down below this fall and ate their lunch where the water is
above ground in the granite bed. By this time it was nearly 1:00 pm so I
thought it behooved me to be on my way. My first project was to test the
ravine which ends about even with the last waves of Horn Creek Rapids. I
had to go clear up to the base of the Tapeats to get over it. Between
the beginning of this ravine and Horn Creek, there is a fine pinnacle in
the dark Archean rock. If rock climbers get desperate for a risky
unclimbed point, I could refer them to this needle. I'm sorry that I
didn't get a picture of it. There were no difficulties in the descent
over the partly loose slabs to the river.

The day was quite warm down here and I thought that my idea of floating
downstream was going to work out. I had thought I would put one mattress
on top of another and keep out of the water except for my hands in
paddling. When I saw how swift and full of swirls the river were, I
decided that I would have to use only one mattress and be prepared to
slide off when necessary. As a final precaution, I lay on the mattress
in the quiet water next to the rock and tested my reaction to the
temperature of the water. In a few minutes, my forearms, which I kept
under water, started aching. Since it was obvious that I would have to
stay out from shore longer than that, I gave up the idea of going down
to Hermit Rapids that day. The dip kept me cool for most of the way back
up the ravine. Near the head of this route to the river, I saw an

unmistakable rock pile. Not too far south of here, I began to recognize
signs of trail construction near the top of the granite. I could make
better time along here than I could in the streambed. It finally came
back down into the wash just a bit below the first showing of granite, a
few yards below the spot where the chock-block caused our party to split
on the way in.

When I gave up the idea of floating downriver, my alternate objective
was to try to reproduce an attempt by George James, John Waltenberg (?),
and R. M. Bleak (Dad) to reach the river in the next canyon west of
Horn. I noted a bay in the Tapeats northeast of Dana Point which they
inspected and decided must not lead to the river. Their next premature
attempt to descend was down an arm of the unnamed canyon just east of
Salt Creek. They checked the rim here although I thought it was
obviously not a place to start down. There are two very simple entries
into this canyon only a little further on with plenty of deer and burro
signs leading down. I wanted good water for the night, so I kept on to
the place where the trail crosses Salt Creek. It was running a nice
little flow, and I was able to get a fire going with just time enough to
eat most of my supper before it got dark. I had already found a good
bunk under a convenient overhang just a few yards up from the trail.
There wasn't much headroom, but I knew that my gear and bedding wouldn't
be wet with dew in the morning. The air was so still that I could read
by candlelight for a while. The temperature was perfect for my bag and I
passed one of the most comfortable nights ever. There was just one flaw
with camping at this time of year. There were great numbers of ticks
out. Numerous times when I had brushed against some bushes, I found them
crawling up my clothes. I had to pull a dozen or more off my skin where
they were beginning to dig in, and in the morning I found one behind my
ear quite fat with blood. Fortunately, I have not heard of any spotted
fever in this area. I did wake up enough during the night to crane my
neck out from under the rock roof and watch the progress of the lunar
eclipse. The sky had been overcast at bedtime and it was also lowering
in the morning, but during the eclipse the sky was as clear as everyone
could wish.

On Sunday morning I started down Salt Creek itself, although I was quite
sure this was not the place where James and his friends had been
baffled. In about 25 minutes, I came to a drop in the bed which could be
passed by climbing to the east, clear to the base of the Tapeats. A
short distance north of here, one could scramble down to the bed again
at a much lower level. In fact, I found the highest single fall in the
Archean here that I know of. I'm sure it must be at least a third higher
than a similar one in Asbestos Canyon. Furthermore, there is a
permanent, though small, flow coming down here. The drop is not
vertical, but it must be at least 75 degrees with the horizontal. It
seemed about as steep as Nevada Falls in Yosemite. I would say that the
drop here is 250 feet and it must be a real sight during a storm. Just
around the bend from the base of the fall, there was a huge chock-block,
but I was able to go down the 30 feet beside it to the right. Only a few
yards farther there was another drop in the bed which stopped me
completely. I put my pack down here and tried to get by it, but I saw
that the least slip on the polished granite would render me helpless to
get back, and I decided that the attempt wasn't worth it. Almost
certainly there would be more and worse places. (The way was better to
the east.) I had to go back up to the base of the Tapeats and I could
see that I was still a long way from the river. I decided that the best
chance to reach the mouth of Salt would be to follow the base of the
Tapeats on the west side of the creek until you were nearly to the river
and then try to come down. The going looked rather steep, but I believe
it is possible - another project for my backlog. (Actually not, from
here to the river is easy. R. Peterson passed this and returned when it
was dry in the fall of 1961.)

I went east around and below the point in the Tapeats which separated
Salt from the nameless parallel canyon. I could see water flowing along
it and I dumped my canteen, which was a mistake. There were lots of
burro signs here, more perhaps than I have seen anywhere else, but when
I drank a couple mouthfuls of the water, I almost felt like throwing up.
It tasted salty but also rather bitter like Epsom salt. I propose the
name Epsom Canyon for this one. Fortunately the weather got cooler and
wetter as time passed and I didn't suffer from the lack of water. The
minerals in the water had formed a natural cement in many places along
the bed and had thus formed a sort of conglomerate travertine from the
pebbles. Coarse grass grows profusely right in the sandy bed in many
places. The bed is unusual for the steady pitch downwards with no real
drop-off until you are within earshot of the roar of the river.

Here, there was another chock-block of Archean rock possibly 20 feet in
diameter at the lip of a fall, fully 70 feet high. I felt sure I was at
the next to the last bend in the wash before you could see the river.
When I was within 30 yards of this barrier, I heard a clatter of falling
stones and looked up just in time to get a quick but clear sight of a
bighorn ewe. She dashed over a knob of granite to the right of the sheer
fall and then I heard her go across a cliff face somewhat broken by
small prominences and ledges. When she was across this concave face, she
paused at a little angle on the other side about 150 yards from me, and
I attempted a picture of the white rump. She crossed this cliff face at
a gait which was as fast as a deer's trot. However, when I looked at the
sheer drop below and the very poor holds, I decided that discretion was
the better part of valor and backed away. Beyond this cliff, there was a
simple ravine leading down to the wash at the river level, and I dearly
wanted to be over there. I thought that I could reach an approach to it
by climbing straight up the rather steep slope to the mouth of Horn
Creek. When I had gone to the top of the ridge some 200 feet above
without finding a descent into the ravine toward the river, I was
anxious to find a less frightening way down. This was possible and I
went down into Epsom Creek south of where I had climbed up. The walk
back up Epsom was in the nature of an anticlimax. I passed the rather
large arm to the east and went out by a deer trail up the more easterly
of the two areas where the Tapeats is completely broken down.

If and when I try to get to the river here again, I would go to the base
of the Tapeats here and then follow the top of the granite until I was
in the ravine which forms a direct line with the last part of the creek
where it reaches the river. I looked down from the rim of the Tapeats
while I was going back to Indian Gardens and it appeared to be a fairly
simple route. A person leaving his boat at the river would invariably
choose this as the only feasible route. (I found out later that you
could go east below the Tapeats and hit the trail out of Horn.) I was up
and on the Tonto Trail by 11:00 a.m. What with dodging rain and sleet by
sitting under overhangs below the trail and stopping for food, it was
4:30 p.m. when I finally reached Bright Angel Lodge. From Indian Gardens
on, I had the company of a young Englishman in the foreign service who
was returning from Japan to England and doing a bit of touring in this
country. His last name was Watson, and he was experienced in technical
rock climbing as well as being a skier. I can vouch for his walking
ability. He had climbed the Battleship before we had met.

Principal Observations:

The old trail near the top of the granite on the west side of Horn Creek
leading to the escape route from just below the rapid.

Noting that the spring in the nameless canyon just east of Salt Creek
really is strong with salts while the spring in Salt Creek is pure
water. The cartographers probably used a name obtained from the
prospectors and put in on the wrong creek.

The bighorn ewe and its agility over a cliff face that I wouldn't tackle.

*Fossil Bay
[April 30, 1960 to May 1, 1960]*

When I came to the end of the good road to Topocoba Hilltop, 12 miles
west of the village, I thought I would experiment with the road sign
which seems to promise that Topocoba is 24 miles starting on the less
used track which goes west beside the fence. The ground here is much
more nearly level than it is on the road I had used previously, and I
could make relatively good time. However, when I came to a chance to
turn right, away from the fence, I thought I ought to take it. This led
to a wire gate that was a bit hard to close because it had to be pulled
so tight. Just beyond, there was a water tank with water in it. Then the
road began to wind in the bottom of a ravine until one reached another,
larger pond. There were some cabins in this area, but no current
inhabitants. With a good many curves and some pretty rough uphill
driving, I finally got back to the usual road at the sign pointing to
Pasture Wash. From the sign, I learned that I had passed Rock Tank five
miles back. The experiment was interesting, but I had wasted time trying
it. I came back from the fork between road W2 with W2A in a half hour
less time than it took me to get there.

Road W2A going north was interesting in that there were fairly recent
tire tracks up it. There were places where the vehicle must have tipped
most uncomfortably, and the grades were such that I was satisfied that
my old Ford 6 would have stalled completely.

The road north which often comes close to the rim was just as scenic as
I had remembered it to be. This time, however, there was the bonus of
spring flowers. The recent rains had brought them out in profusion. I
could name a few, paint brush, penstemon, and wild phlox. I think I'll
begin taking a few slides of flowers and have Mr. Deaver teach me the
names. I enjoy them a bit better when I can call them something; such as
desert mallow, lupine, or loco.

As I approached Fossil Bay I made frequent detours to study the possible
way down. It was about as I had remembered it, but the place where I was
rather sure of getting through the Kaibab Limestone seemed a long time
in letting me reach it. Then I realized that it was the last place where
the Jeep road is close to the rim. The wheel prints were still
proceeding along this route, even though there were places where the
vehicle had surmounted loose rocks bigger than footballs and had rolled
over ledges like the courthouse steps. I decided it must have been a
four-wheel drive vehicle.

When I finally started down through the Kaibab, I saw that the Toroweap
Formation was going to be the question mark. The Coconino was well
covered by talus material in many places along here, but the first of
several places I inspected in the Toroweap was out of the question.
About 200 yards to the north, I came to the place where I had placed my
strongest hopes, and it was possible although two hands were necessary
for safety. I could see that the deer went up and down here, and also
there were numerous droppings which didn't strike me as just right for
deer. Subsequently, I decided that they were left by bighorn sheep. This
passage seems to be the only one for miles and later I found out that
there is a constructed trail farther north. From a distance below on the
Esplanade, it doesn't seem like a foregone conclusion that it is
possible, but it appears that everything else is impossible, so it isn't
hard to pick the right spot. On the return, however, I felt some relief
when I detected my own foot prints and knew for sure that I was
approaching the right place.

There was a change in the floral display below the rim.The delicate
Mariposa lily was especially attractive. Barrel cactus was also in bloom.

The first thing I did down on the Esplanade was to head straight down
the ravine. As I came to the first bedrock, I found rain pools and I
know that I didn't have to retrace my steps to survive on the water left
in my canteen. From the rim I had concluded that my best hope in getting
down to the top of the Redwall was in a shallow bay on the northeast
side of Fossil Canyon about the closest to the river. To get there, I
had to head three other tributary ravines. In getting across these, I
usually compromised by going almost to their heads and then crossing
instead of going still higher and really heading them. There were more
pools fairly accessible in these ravines, but I can imagine that in the
summer heat, it might be a different story. When I got close to the fin
of Hermit Shale which projects quite a distance from the base of Stanton
Point, I found the walking fine. At the end, I decided to go on east and
look down at the river.

When I had followed this course a short time, I was amazed to see a
bighorn ram calmly browsing in the stiff false sage which is dominant
over the Esplanade as well as on the Tonto Plateau farther east. My
camera was now in the pack, so I ducked down behind the brush and got it
out. Just after I took the picture, the ram looked me steadily in the
eye, showing how the horns sweep down and spread apart. I turned the
film and found that I was at the end of the roll. Before I had changed
to a new film sitting down in the hollow behind the brush, the ram had
moved on. I wish I had skipped trying for more pictures and watched it
go. I estimated that the range for my picture was about 75 yards.

As I advanced, I carried my open camera in one hand and my canteen in
the other. Once I realized that I was a bit excited by seeing the ram
and wondered whether I was proceeding carefully. I wondered whether I
had put the exposed film in my pack before I moved on. I stopped
immediately and found that I had. Then when I was quite close to the rim
of the Middle Granite Gorge, I put down the canteen to take a picture of
Steamboat Mountain in the sunset. Almost at once I saw the advantage of
going to the very edge for the picture and I walked 50 feet without
moving my canteen. When I had the picture, I reached down for the
canteen and couldn't find it. I had been wrapped up in my amazement at
the dark and narrow river so far below, a view that appealed to me more
than the one at Toroweap when the background of Steamboat Mountain is
considered. I had no recollection of my movements regarding the canteen.
First I considered the possibility that I had put it down a short
distance away, but I couldn't see it. Then I tracked myself back through
the soft soil for half a mile and then returned to the rim again. By
this time I began to consider ways and means to do without it. I figured
that the safest way would be to get back across the Esplanade as far as
I could before dark and then go out to the car while it was still cool.
I did go back for a half hour and found a good water hole. In the night,
I decided too make a definite attempt to find it before I departed, and
in about five minutes back at the rim I succeeded.

With no need for haste, I now wandered around the edge of the Esplanade
above the mouth of Fossil Creek and inspected the chances for getting
down the Supai Formation another time. The hardest part of the route in
the rounded shallow bay near the mouth is right near the top. I'm sure I
could have proceeded by tip-toeing along a narrow ledge, but I saw a
route that is perhaps safer farther to the west. The Redwall didn't look
a bit inviting from the top of the Supai, but I can't call the Indians
liars until I have been down to the inner slit.

The only sign of previous human use of this area was about the largest
mescal pit that I have ever seen. Without digging, I didn't see any
charcoal, and besides, I couldn't see any firewood growing at all
nearby, but that doesn't seem to be much of a difficulty.

On the return, I kept a bit higher and was usually farther up the
ravines when I crossed them. It didn't seem to take so long to return,
and up on the rim road I made rather good progress and reached the car
by 4:45 p.m. There was only one small tick as I was getting to the top.

*Fossil Bay
[May 14, 1960 to May 15, 1960]*

This time the main objective was to go to the bottom of the Supai to see
whether one could get down the Redwall. Allyn Cureton and Dave Little
went along. Another difference this time was that I took our '55 Ford
because I wanted to drive out along road W2A and I thought the '50 would
never be able to pull the rough spots up the first ravine. It was tough
on the 160-hp motor, and I am sure that the 95 horses couldn't have made
it. There were some wicked bumps and often rocks would be against the
underside of the car. Allyn looked under to see whether we might be
losing oil several times, and I still don't see why we didn't ruin the
tires. It took us about 45 minutes to drive 6.3 miles. Several times the
boys got out to lighten the car to help it bang up some rocky ledges. It
is really a road for a four-wheel drive vehicle. When we finally parked,
there was a rocky place just ahead that we never would have been able to
surmount. On the return, I noticed that Pat had parked just short of us,
probably before he saw our car. In fact, I had parked .3 miles south at
first, and then had gone back to get the car. We must have walked about
four miles from the car before we came to the place to leave the rim. I
lost my reputation as a guide by announcing that we had come to the
right place about three times before we were really there, but of course
there was no question about its identity when we actually started down.
Later as I looked at the map, I became convinced that there is a wash
not shown on the map more important than one which is. We went down to
the north of the first big tributary coming in from the right, but this
is not shown at all on the map. The first blue line coming in from the
right is relatively minor, and it is to the north of our route down.

On the talus at the bottom of the Hermit, we headed to the left to get
the shortest way past the canyons coming from the head of Fossil and the
further one on the left. As we crossed the main branch, we noted some
water still standing in potholes, but we saw no more clear to our
campsite at the top of the Redwall. We didn't follow the ravines down as
far as we could have, but there was none left where I had camped two
weeks earlier. Then I had a pocket eight inches deep provided with a
small frog and not a single mosquito. On the return, we stopped for
lunch at a place in the main arm where the walls are beginning to get
high enough to make climbing out a bit hard. One pothole here was three
and a half feet deep ten days after our most recent storm in Flagstaff,
so I rather think it can be regarded as a permanent source. As Dave and
I rested and ate lunch on the return, Allyn went up the main arm to see
what appeared to be a spring at the bottom of the Coconino. It was a
dripping spring all right, and considerably below the top of the shale,
there was a pool about an inch and a half deep. Here he found a shovel
and a pick with the name J. Wright on the handle. (I had fondly imagined
that we might be the first whites to visit the profitless locality.)

In skirting the tributary canyons, we kept pretty well up without
getting onto the higher ridges of talus. In two of these canyons, we
dropped down and crossed when it meant only about 50 feet down and then
up again. I was guiding quite well through here and often came across my
own tracks from two weeks ago. We did not see the mescal pit I had seen
before without noting its location. It was lower than our present route.
We could cross from the main arm where we found water to my former
campsite located on the central blue line of the last tributary going
into Fossil Canyon in about one hour and 45 minutes. After that I goofed
in my guiding. I kept too far to the left and we saw the rim above the
river almost at the mouth of Fossil Creek before I realized why we were
taking so long to reach the bay where I knew we could get down. When we
swung around and headed a little north of west, we still came to the rim
of Fossil too far to the south and had to follow my former route
reaching the bay I knew was possible from the south. I led the boys down
the route I had studied before even though it meant crossing a rather
bad, narrow ledge. We handed our packs across this spot. We noted a
better place to go up on the return, a place that I had seen before,
about in the middle of the bay. It seemed like a long way down to the
bottom of the Supai, but the footing was never bad.

There was no water left on the gulch along the top of the Redwall. We
took about 20 minutes to go along the top of the Redwall to the next
tributary to the north. We were really beginning to worry about the
water situation although we could have made it back to the last water we
had seen, right at the foot of the first slope off the rim. I had
started down with two full gallons. There was another gallon and a half
in the party, but we would have been distinctly in trouble in that heat
with no more. Fortunately, there were two potholes in the Redwall still
holding water, and we dropped our packs in a hurry. Dave had wanted to
camp on top of the Esplanade so that he wouldn't have to tackle the 850
foot of Supai in the morning. I had said I didn't think we should split
the party, and that if he couldn't make it down with us, I was willing
to go back with him to camp by the water near the start of the trip.
That persuaded him to go on down. Now he elected to stay by the packs
and get an early supper while Allyn and I went on along the top of the
Redwall to see whether it's possible to go down if you begin in the main
bed. We found more water, and cleaner, in the next canyon to the north.
There were pools along the bed of the main gorge and even a trickle over
the falls, which incidentally make it possible to descend the main bed.
After seeing that there is no way through the Redwall here (I found out
later that one could go down here), we went up the main arm at the foot
of the Supai. We went as far as some fine cottonwoods, but there was no
surface water, however, there was a spring up higher. Since it was
getting late and we had a strenuous day, we went on back to camp. I had
felt weak from heat and exertion in the afternoon, but now Allyn seemed
to give out. He lay on his back without trying to fix up a meal until it
was pretty dark.

I found that I had goofed badly. I was without my usual Lipton's soup
and can of sardines for supper. Dave saved me by giving me a can of
vegetable beef soup he had brought. I lugged wheat chex and peanuts out
of the canyon the next day, but I would have been very unhappy without
that vegetable beef for supper. The sky was quite overcast, so Dave and
I slept under a good sheltering rock 30 yards away from the streambed. I
was too hot in my bag and I thrashed around most of the night. The tiny
mosquitoes were thick here too. We didn't notice any bites, but the
humming was a bother. I pulled a couple of ticks off at this campsite also.

One thing that I noticed as Allyn and I followed the top of the Redwall
north was another mescal pit. On the way down the Supai we had also seen
a partly burned juniper limb.

The return was fairly pleasant. We got to the top of the Supai before
the sun reached us and proceeded to the edge of the cliffs giving the
view of the Middle Granite Gorge, where we took several pictures. Allyn
waited a half hour here for better lighting while I returned to the
packs and read my Time magazine. We made the trip back to the rim
without undue strain. I almost stepped on a bull snake and wouldn't have
known a thing about it except that Dave said "Look out!" after I was
already by it.

It's not quite honest to say that we have ruled out the possibility of
getting down the Redwall in Fossil Bay. (Since then, several hikers have
gone down Fossil Bay all the way to the Colorado River. There is an
alcove directly opposite from where we came down the Supai which has a
peculiar pinnacle made of consolidated talus material. It stands away
from the wall near the top and the lower slopes of this pinnacle are too
steep to descend. The best possibility would be to come down between the
talus or breccia needle and the wall on the north side of the it. I
should try this before I say no one could get down here. It also appears
that there is a possibility of coming down the Supai on this west side
of the gorge. (I later found out that the best way down the Redwall is
down the bed with a bypass of the vertical fall on the left about 40
yards away. The chockstones and chutes are easy going down.)

*No bighorn sheep seen, but there were some very fresh droppings.

*Esplanade from Apache Point to Great Thumb Point
[June 4, 1960 to June 7, 1960]*

I mustn't forget the sinkhole near the end of Apache Point rather close
to the east rim which showed smoke stains on the ceiling where there is
a shallow cave.

In retrospect, I wish I had gone through with this whole project, but at
the time it didn't seem attractive. I left the car in good time, at 9:15
a.m. and at last used a compass to go more or less directly to Apache
Point. It was a good thing to have along for the day was quite overcast
and I couldn't steer by the sun. I was about an hour ahead of my
schedule when I found Royal Arch and ate lunch down on the Esplanade. At
this time I didn't feel that there was any hurry since I had two gallons
of water. I went out on a point and took a picture that I hope pans out.
It should show Elves Chasm right at the river. From this point I also
noted that one can go down the Supai where the trail first comes down
the Coconino and then follow the top of the Redwall to where it begins
and thus reach Royal Arch more easily than the way I did it last fall.
I'm pretty sure that the detours along the top of the Redwall are not as
extensive as they are up on the Esplanade.

Around on the west side of Apache Point, I noted three things. One was
that there is a distinct possibility for a man to climb down through the
Coconino. (I later found out that it was quite easy.) Talus material
covers the Toroweap and there is only a short stretch in the Coconino
that might be impossible. I didn't go up and check this, but I did take
a total of an hour and a half to go up to the base of the Coconino at
two different places. One I wanted to see how much of a cave there was
(it wasn't much) and again I wanted to know whether a lot of green
indicated a dripping spring (it didn't.). Several times I made short
detours to look into ravines for rain pockets. The only water I saw all
afternoon has me guessing. Judging by the manure and two burros that I
saw, the burros are thick along here. Right up where their trail crosses
the bare rocks were three pools. The two deeper ones had loads of manure
in and out of the dark fluid, which looked as much like urine as real
water. The shallow pool was only an inch deep and right in the sun. I
didn't try it, but I thought it was a promise of more along the way. The
only other water I found all the way to the head of Fossil was in a
little shallow pocket about one-third of the way from Forster to Fossil.
It was protected from the sun, but it tasted rather bitter. I also can't
explain how it had escaped evaporation when better pockets were dry.

Heading Forster Canyon was interesting. The burros had made a trail for
me until then, but at the head of Forster the clay and shale bank
becomes quite steep. My impression was that the inclination was about 45
degrees. Perhaps this discourages the burros from going any farther.
Whether this is the reason or not, none of them do. I followed bighorn
footprints when I crossed here. It had been sprinkling some in the late
afternoon but the clay had not softened. The slope continues this steep
for some distance beyond the head, and I was wondering where I was going
to sleep. I found a clean smooth rock bed of a ravine which was also
quite level for a few yards just above the rim of the gorge. I gave the
question a bit of thought as to what I would do if it began raining
hard, but rather than go on when I might get caught by darkness in a
worse place, I camped there.

After supper and breakfast, I had only two more quarts of water, and the
map made it appear that I had come only halfway or less from Apache
Point to the sure water at the head of Fossil. I was sufficiently
concerned about the situation to get going by 5:00 a.m. I was torn
between the ideas of keeping up the best pace possible and going into a
serious search for water. The short ravines along here don't have the
same sort of beds as Olo and Matkatamiba, and I finally decided to
concentrate on speed. I was afraid that food might make me thirstier so
I held off eating. In late forenoon, I felt rather weak and even
considered leaving my pack to pick up after I had gone for water.
Apparently, I was exaggerating my difficulty because I reached the
permanent rain pocket at the main branch of Fossil by 12:30 p.m. with my
pack on my back. Although my concern was to cover distance as fast as
possible, luck was with me and about two-thirds of the way from Forster
to Fossil I found two shovels and an axe under an overhang and a frying
pan out in the weather. On the rock wall behind was scratched the date
1943 and initials, I. D. Upon consulting the map, I would correct that
statement by calling it four-fifths of the way from the head of Forster
to the head of Fossil. About halfway from the old camp to the water in
the main branch of Fossil, down in one of the ravines, I ran onto a fine
mature bighorn ram. I would have missed him except for hearing him
leave. Before he had gone very far, however, he was curious and looked
me over carefully before he decided to leave for good. I knew I couldn't
get the camera out of the pack in time, so I just stood and enjoyed the
fine view from about 60 yards.

Sunday afternoon I lay around in the shade and caught up on some
reading. After 5:00 a.m. I went up to the dripping spring at the very
head of Fossil Canyon at the bottom of the Coconino and noted the animal
trails up there. I missed seeing the lower pool where Allyn had seen the
pick belonging to J. Wright. It started to rain before I got very far
down from here and I spent no time in protracted search. This new rain
made it unnecessary for me to dip again into the deep rain pocket which
is the permanent water supply here where the main branch cuts down into
the Supai. It was most welcome when I was getting desperate, but even a
cupful looked green and the surface was pretty thick with bugs.

The sky instead of clearing as it had the night before, became more
threatening as the night passed. About midnight, I retired to a prepared
position under a good overhang and up from the streambed. There was a
little shower, but that was all. I had carried two cotton blankets
instead of a regular sleeping bag so that I wouldn't repeat the mistake
of trying to sleep while too warm, but this time the difficulty was in
keeping warm enough. I did make out quite well, however.

For some reason, I didn't have the old fight and determination and
elected to work out of this station as a base camp instead of packing
the whole load. I was also leery of trying to go from the Esplanade at
140 Mile Canyon clear to the car south of Apache Point in one day, and I
didn't relish the thought of a cold night on the plateau above. On
Monday I followed the Esplanade towards Great Thumb Point. To shorten
the trip, this time I went up and over the long ridge of shale which
projects from below Stanton Point. I looked rather carefully at the rim
along Specter Chasm, and I couldn't even see a way to start down the
Supai, let along get down the Redwall at the bottom. Progress was easier
without the 30 pound pack I had been carrying the first day, or rather
40 pounds with the gallon canteen I had in my hand. I could keep up
quite a steady pace, but the going was tedious as it seems to be
everywhere along the Esplanade. You are forever having to decide whether
to climb ridges or walk the much longer contours. I noted that bighorn
sheep seem to prefer the climbing whereas burros set the trail along the
contours. A person with a pack is more like a burro while one without
can make like a bighorn. I did whichever seemed handy at the time. I had
started from the main branch of Fossil at 6:00 a.m. and by 11:30 a.m. I
had gone a bit farther than the point with the bench mark on top just
before you get to Great Thumb. Here the slope gets as steep as it is at
the head of Forster and presumably it is just as steep for a long way
between Great Thumb and Tahuta. I want to come in from the other side
and close this gap some time, but I certainly won't count on finding any
water anywhere along here. Also we can forget about the isolated mile of
trail shown on the map near Specter. I crossed its location repeatedly
and saw nothing unusual, just short stretches where bighorn had made a path.

My plan called for a real investigation of the last possibility of
getting to the river down the Redwall in Fossil. However, I began to get
homesick and also to think of McKee's predicament if he had been alone.
I had plenty of food, but a clincher was the short supply of tp. The
upshot was that I started home Tuesday morning, but I did have one more
thrill, three bighorn sheep high above me on the way out.

*Sinking Ship and Mesa Eremita
[July 15, 1960 to July 17, 1960]*

Marshall Scholing finally caught up with me after I had given up trying
to find him. We went out to the base of the Sinking Ship with the idea
of walking completely around it and trying to find a good, safe way to
the top. At different times we had both been along the east side, and we
found the metate still just where we had noticed it before. He showed me
where he and Dean Bruner had gone up a minor turret before you reach the
farthest north part. We climbed here this time and tried finding a way
up to the main top. I have seen lots of pictures of people going up just
as risky a place, but we gave up when there were perfectly good steps,
but the blocks would have forced us to lean out and trust to friction
holds. The rest of the trip around was interesting, especially since it
was about sundown. There was a very well established deer trail along
the west base which made for pleasant walking. We noted a crack on the
west side which might lead to the top. However, there wasn't time to
explore this possibility.

I showed some of my slides to the Hunts until about 11:00 p.m. and then
Marshall and I drove out to Hermit Rest. We spread our bedrolls on top
of a concrete platform which Marshall suggested was intended to help
dudes mount their mules. It was warm weather all night. That was the
reason I had changed my plan from going down Fossil to see whether I
could descend the Redwall. It will surely rain sometime, and also it
will be cooler in the fall. I'm beginning to lose confidence in my
resistance to heat.

We started down the Hermit Trail at 6:40 a.m. Now that I've become
conscious of bighorn sheep around the canyon, I'm practically sure I can
tell the difference between deer droppings and bighorn droppings. If
this is so, there are bighorn signs less than a mile from the head of
the trail. We made a left detour along the Waldron Trail to let me get a
picture of the peculiar fireplace which seems to go with a cabin that
was never built. It took us just under two hours to reach Dripping Springs.

Marshall was surprised to see how much trail construction still shows
where the Boucher Trail goes up the Coconino to the north. When we came
out above the Coconino, we left the trail and followed the talus below
the Kaibab around to the north. Most of the way along here there's a
well established deer trail. Still the walking isn't easy, because the
deer go up and down and also under projecting limbs. Marshall had to get
back to the village by 4:00 p.m. so he left me when we were getting a
view that almost took in Point Sublime.

He had been kidding me about the futility of hoping that we were the
first white men to be following any route in the canyon. I told him that
we would not see any old tin cans along our deer trail. I was correct
about this, but just beyond where he left me, I found a weather beaten
piece of cardboard with peculiar holes near the ends. Finally it dawned
on me that this is what the military fliers use as a reel for the
tinfoil they drop to simulating radar defense. We have found the tinfoil
in all sorts of unlikely places.

The day before it had reached 100 degrees in Grand Canyon Village, and
it was that warm again where I was hiking. I was carrying two gallons of
water, and between the load and the heat, I wasn't doing very well.
About 2:30 p.m. two-thirds of the way from Yuma Point to Cocopa Point, I
put my pack down because I knew I should camp at least that close to
Dripping Springs if I expected to get back to it the next day before I
ran out of water. I walked around under Cocopa Point about a third of
the way from the point to the end of the bay. Up ahead, it looked quite
possible to come down through the Kaibab Limestone. If I had carried my
pack with me, I would have proceeded here and trusted that I could climb
out and return to the spring across the plateau. As it was, I returned
and carried my pack to the projecting terrace just below Yuma Point. It
was already 6:00 p.m. so I called it a day. This is one of the few
places along this entire route where the ground is flat for several
yards and the view swung clear from Powell Saddle to Hermit Basin. I
could make out Hermit Rest very easily, but I assumed that no one could
see my small cooking fire. I got a new impression that Isis Temple has
quite a flat terrace around it, and the Coconino projects quite far
south from Wotan's Throne. Likewise, Vishnu Temple doesn't seem quite so
steep from this direction.

After a fairly comfortable night, and with most of my water gone, I made
better time and reached the Boucher Trail in an hour and 25 minutes. It
was still only 7:05 a.m. and I had had enough water left to take me
across Mesa Eremita to investigate the possibility of a way down. The
places I had been counting on didn't seem too good, but to the west
where the rim rises higher, there's a grass covered slope up nearly to
the top of the Kaibab. When I got over there, it was even better than it
looked. There is a clear and simple deer trail down here. I had been
telling Marshall that I would probably sleep on the saddle between Diana
Temple and the rim, but even if I had kept on going, I would have been
only about one-third of the way there by dark. If I use this break in
the rim at the head of Boucher Creek, I will have only half as far to go
to reach the Saddle by Diana Temple. The next time I try this, I'll go
out by the road along the park boundary and swing over to the rim
without having to drop down and then climb out of Hermit Basin.

I got back to Dripping Springs before 10:00 a.m. and had a leisurely
lunch. It was so comfortable in the shade near the cold water. There was
a greater concentration of birds around here than I had seen anywhere
else in the Park: swallows, doves, a flicker, and a couple that I think
were grossbeaks. When I left, the contrast was pretty bad until it
finally clouded over just about the time I was climbing from the basin
up to the rim. You won't have to be in very good shape to match me. It
took me 45 minutes to go up the last mile, the slowest time ever for me.

*Diana Temple
[July 30, 1960]*

907 W. Summit
Flagstaff, Arizona
July 30, 1960

Dear Pat,

Frank Wright was at the Museum last Sunday and I had a chance to meet
him. I guess it wasn't very tactful but, in the short time I had with
Roma and some others waiting for me, I broached the subject of looking
up Little Nankoweap Canyon for the Goldwater Bridge. He said he knew
that you didn't go up the main arm, but he didn't know about the north
branch. He said that they went up until they were sure that the
formation was wrong for a bridge. That took the forenoon. After lunch,
the others were for giving up, but he went up Big Nankoweap Canyon by
himself until he saw that he wouldn't have time to reach the Redwall.
Either Goldwater wasn't very clear with his directions, or they didn't
listen carefully. I believe though that it wasn't sabotage on Frank's
part. I a.m. willing to give him credit for really wanting to locate the
bridge. He seemed to be surprised that I thought a boat party should be
able to get to the bridge and back in one day.

You must have heard from Dock directly about the loss of one boat. He
finally wrote me at greater length than is usual for him and said that
the Wee Yellow was rather severely damaged at Deubendorf Rapid, but that
they were able to patch it up. It was in the lower part of Grapevine
Rapid that it got swamped and perhaps broken up. I have already replied
to Dock's letter and have asked about the usual sink-proofing and also
whether the occupants of the boat got a scare. He's a bit short on his
reporting of mishaps. He did mention that on the way downstream, a boy
suffered a compound fracture at Vulcan and was flown out by helicopter -
no details as to how it happened

I showed Bob your letter and he took down your address. When he read
your other letter, he asked what the difference is between windows,
arches, and bridges; so I believe you answered his question without
knowing that he had asked it. You are right that windows are not too
rare. Of course the best known example is at Cape Royal. The next best
known is undoubtedly the one you see from the South Kaibab Trail as you
are going up the Bright Angel Shale before you get to the white
switchbacks. One that not many people know about is right near the top
of the northwest ridge approach to the plateau north of Cheops Pyramid.
I suppose I have it in one of my logs, but since Clubb told me just how
to climb that, I never tried to tell anyone. It would be hard to see
from a plane because it is triangular about 15 feet each way.

The radio address about Dinosaur was interesting. I also enjoyed the
book, This is Dinosaur, It would take a lot of proof before I would
believe that a short mountain stream had worked back and cut through the
Unitas and then had started draining the whole basin north of there, but
in general the article was well done. Apparently no controversy in
science is ever completely over. Only a few years ago, perhaps 10, some
geologist came out with a study of Meteor Crater that claimed it was a
steam eruption instead of an impact crater.

You must have noticed the big play that the Polaris Missile and Lockheed
got in this week's time. Congratulations!

I got the itch to try my shorter approach to Diana Temple and went up
there Friday afternoon. After an evening of chess with Marshall
Scholing, I drove out there, a bit over seven miles along the park
boundary road, measuring from the turn-off at the Abyss between Mohave
and Pima Points. While I was going through the forest by guess using the
sunrise for direction, I was wishing I had brought my compass. I thought
I should hit the rim within 20 minutes. It took 35, but I was within 200
yards of the place I had found. I was able to keep on some sort of deer
trail about 90% of the time but the deer duck under brush and low limbs
as well as going up and down constantly, so that one still can't make
good time. Of course you have to watch your step constantly. (Which
reminds me. My friend Marshall Scholing tells me on the word of a new
ranger, Higgins, that Davis broke his leg on the Grandview Trail,
presumably this spring sometime. I would like to get a bit more dope on
that, because I thought I had looked up Dan so often that I would have
known about it.) I noted one thing about the location of the deer trail
down the Kaibab. It's not at the very head of Boucher Canyon but rather
to the east about a fourth of a mile. The walking along this talus was
slow but interesting. I saw bighorn sheep droppings as well as the ever
present deer sign, and at one place I noted a very distinct bighorn hoof
print. One thing that seemed pretty unusual to me was some copper ore
near the bottom of the Kaibab Limestone. I don't know enough about
mining to know whether that is really rare. The ore didn't seem to be
very rich, but there had been no signs of digging and mining around
there, so maybe I really a.m. getting to places where no white man has
been before. There were no old tin cans anywhere along my route
yesterday. I had the pleasure of watching three deer show their heels to
me over terrain that seemed dangerous at anything faster than a slow
walk. It took a bit more than two hours for me to get from the rim down
and along ovr to the saddle south of Diana. Merrel Clubb told me that he
and Kit Wing had tried to climb Diana, but that they couldn't locate a
way to get down the Kaibab cliff. He must not have worked on the problem
very long, because the break I used was within an hour's walk along the
rim east of Diana. You would have to go a lot farther to the west to
find a similar break, or that is the way it looked from the top of
Diana. [I found out later that this wasn't true. There's a break just
beyond Jicarilla Point and much closer by a rope route just west
(Clement and Tadje).] On a hunch I went along the west side of Diana and
was pleased to note that the deer trail was just as good along there as
it had been below the main rim. The last part of the west side began to
raise hopes that I would be able to make it to the top. Before that, I
had decided that the objective was to walk completely around Diana with
very little expectation of making the top. However, when the deer trail
began climbing in earnest, I did too. When it got to within 50 feet of
the top, it cut back to the south, around a couple bends and then to the
top with no difficulty at all. I almost had a let down feeling to find
it so easy, but as far as I can tell, I was the first one up it. I built
three cairns, one where the trail topped out and one at either end in
plain sight. It took me an even half hour to walk through the tangles of
juniper from the north end to the south. Merrel had picked out the north
end as the place to go up. It would be possible too if one would use a
good crack for the last 20 feet. The trail tops out about three-fourths
of the way from the south end to the north, on the west side.

There were some fascinating things to be seen from the top, especially a
couple of caves near the upper end of the Redwall in Slate Canyon. There
were also some caves near the top of the Redwall in Topaz Canyon, but
these looked a bit difficult to reach. The ones in Slate Canyon looked
like something the prehistoric Indians would have liked. Thus, my
backlog of projects lengthens as fast as I chalk one off. There were no
signs of Indian occupation on top of Diana that I could see in my rather
sketchy look-see. I did look at an overhang or two just below the rim.

I was warmer and more weary on the return and reached the car a little
before 6:00 p.m. On the return, I got to the road from the rim 10
minutes sooner than it took in the morning, but I didn't know which way
to walk to the car. Just a bit west was a gate that I hadn't passed the
night before, so I knew I should walk east. That gate presumably means
that a fence goes from there north to the rim. It would be a good
landmark to follow it I ever repeat this trip. Our paper has carried
articles about the two men who recently swam down the Colorado to
Phantom Ranch in five days. I have enough clippings to part with some.
You might try the telephone to get a bit more information from them. I
would be interested in hearing what shape their bundles were, and
whether they wore life jackets at all times. Apparently they weren't too
tactful with the rangers, but I rather agree with them that a
modification of their method might prove quite safe and practical. Of
course my suggested modification would be to get out and walk around the
rapids, and do the swimming with an air mattress under you.

Sincerely,
Harvey Butchart

*Through Marble Canyon
[August 24, 1960 to August 29, 1960]*

I got off to an awkward start by taking the bus to Page. Mack Andrus
saved me from having to wait until 4:30 a.m. Wednesday to get the bus
back to Bitter Springs and then to walk 14 miles just to get to Badger
Rapid. He saw me on the street shortly before supper time and put me up
in his trailer with slides and music for entertainment Tuesday evening.
He even drove me out to have a look at Waterhole Canyon where he had
heard you can get down to the riverbank. We didn't see just how to do
it, but it's several miles from the road to the river. On Wednesday
morning he drove me clear to Navaho Springs and I walked down to Badger
Canyon and got started on the trip about 8:15 a.m.

I could see that I wasn't going to make fast time on the trip as soon as
I saw that it had taken me almost three hours to go three miles from
Badger Canyon to Soap. I didn't explore Soap, and I stopped for lunch
about mile 12.5. A little ways above Soap I noticed and photographed a
peculiar rock sticking up on edge. Some water was flowing between it and
the shore, but it was so far towards the left that I don't think any
boat would be likely to strike it during high water. I don't remember
precise locations, but I saw ducks of two sizes scattered through Marble
Canyon and a few big herons. Twice I saw little catfish, and I would
insist that one of them drifted close to me just to look me over.

Sometime before I reached Sheerwall Canyon. I was pretty sure that the
Supai was becoming the dominant stream side formation. It was most
interesting to a person who recognizes the various kinds of rocks in the
Grand Canyon to notice which he is passing through. It seems a miracle
that one can descend through several hundred feet of cliff with never
more of a fall than the rapids that drop a few feet in a thousand
forward or sometimes three or four feet in a hundred forward. Of course
the secret is that the rocks come up much more than the river goes down.
The riffles and rapids seem to come on the average of about a half mile
apart, and at this stage of water, there is always a good way to walk
around them all through Marble Canyon.

About an hour after the lunch stop on Wednesday I could see and hear
that I was approaching a pronounced rapid, presumably Sheerwall, the
canyon coming from the left. There were a series of falls in the canyon
right close to the river, and I noted a trickle of water. It appeared
that both sides could be walked. I had in the back of my mind that at
some time, the current might swing against the outside of the bend
strongly below the boulder bar, and I might be in an awkward position to
proceed. Hence I worked over to the right on the inside of the bend
opposite the boulders brought down the side canyon. This was a mistake
as I could see when I got close. The rocks I had figured to get out on
were separated from the real bank by several feet of deep and fairly
swift water. There were now three courses of action as I stood on a flat
rock and assessed the situation. I could paddle like mad upstream along
the right bank and eventually be high enough to cross to the other side.
I could push off towards the middle and go right down through the waves
and trust that I would clear the rocks along the edge, or I could make a
lunge for the bank and hope that I could get a good grip on something
even if I couldn't get my feet on the bottom. The latter was what seemed
best at the time, but I couldn't grip anything and I went over the falls
next to the big rocks. I was hanging to the mattress with my feet down
in the deep water. There was no danger of dunking, but I did scrape my
shin on a rock. The pack was floating behind and was hanging by only one
shoulder strap when I got through. It shipped a bit of water. I guess I
must have felt a bit of strain at the surprise, because I soon felt a
thirst that was unusual. I interrupted the trip to treat some water with
Halazone before I continued, and about 4:30 p.m. I stopped for the day
to give my blanket and stuff time to dry out. All this accounts for the
short run of about eight miles the first day. It was luck that a few
minutes before this mishap, I had decided that my legs hadplenty of sun
for one day and had put on my trousers. I suppose the skin would have
been broken much worse if there had been no protection. I believe I
camped about Mile 16, at least before I came to House Rock Canyon. The
place was on sand at the top of a talus of broken rock. At this place
and the stop Thursday night, there were no ants or flies. I believe they
were entirely cutoff from the rest of the world by the cliff and the
water. This is truly the ideal kind of camping, cool all day from being
in and out of the river, and not much bedding needed at night to keep
warm. I was burdened by a heavy pack with food for 14 days, however, and
I was worried by the sad shape my knapsack was in. One strap appeared
that it might tear off at any time. The first night, the air mattress
held air properly, but by the second, it had to be blown up twice during
the night, rather a bother unless one is wanting relief from insomnia
anyway. At this very first stop, I decided to give up the river trip at
either Nankoweap or Tanner. Still I went on with the full supply of food
for two more days.

Rather early on Thursday morning I arrived at what I took to be House
Rock Canyon. At least it looked distinctly possible to climb out here. I
went up this canyon to the right for about 20 minutes. There were
rainwater holes in a number of places, and one of them looked so clean
that I took a good drink on the way up and another on the way back.
There were three places where it seemed a bit like luck that one could
climb around falls, but I reached a place where the wash was opening out
near the top of the Supai and decided that I had taken about enough time
for that study.

About a mile and six-tenths further on I was impressed by a house-sized
rock in the middle of the river and took a picture. I had Boulder
Narrows on my list, but apparently I didn't connect this rock with the
feature until Bob Euler told me so after I got home. I stopped at North
Canyon for lunch, and offhand I wouldn't have thought climbing out here
to be feasible although I didn't investigate the possibility. After
starting on, my next check point was Stanton's Marble Pier at Mile 23.
Somehow I had the idea that his pier might be a vertical column. When I
thought I might be getting close, I noticed a thumb sticking up from the
Supai cliff ahead and I stopped to take a picture. Before I started on,
I recognized the real thing, a projection of gray polished limestone on
the left bank (not Stanton's Marble Pier). (There is no milepost at mile
24.7 RW.) This is the top of the formation that gives Marble Canyon its
name and also its most distinctive views. The river is cutting into 500
feet of rock for the next 18 miles after which the greenish shale seems
to be definitely the water level formation.

The next check point I looked for was a broken down section in the left
wall at about Mile 25. This was obvious and striking through the Supai,
but I'm not sure how one would climb out as the Kaibab Limestone at the
top seemed rather continuous, not to mention the Coconino Sandstone. I
had heard terrible things about the rapids at Miles 24.5 and 25, but at
this stage they didn't seem particularly impressive. Of course I walked
around them, but I did that for all the riffles. I must have landed 25
times in the course of a day's travel. The horror stories about
navigation through both Marble and Grand Canyons always stress the fact
that the rapids are much more ferocious in the harder formations such as
the Redwall and granite. At this stage, there seemed to be long quiet
pools with very slack water, and then rapids, but not noticeably worse
than they are elsewhere. I would agree that there are fewer distinct
rapids and more current between President Harding and Nankoweap Rapids
than through the Redwall, but I wouldn't have picked out the Redwall
stretches as unusually dangerous. The quiet glassy pools running
straight for almost a mile with the walls rising 2000 feet and more
formed the finest views of the trip. Along some of these corridors the
face of the cliff would be honey-combed with large and small caves and
crannies. Now and then a side ravine would cut down with most intricate
carvings through the stone.

The canyon to the left with a trail in it at mile 29 (according to the
notes) eluded me completely, but somewhat before this I took a picture
of a deer or other trail coming down from the left. It seems to me that
it was in a region not too far below the broken walls at Mile 25. It
would be fun to come through here again with time to check out these
trails to the rim. There seemed to be a possible ford where this trail
came down from the left, and I think one could walk the talus from here
to Vasey's Paradise. (I found out later that you couldn't unless you
went above the Redwall.)

At Mile 25.5 is listed Cave Spring Rapid. If I know what this means, it
is a little spring coming down through the sand on the right bank, and
the cave is somewhat below in the side of the cliff on the right. There
is a big block of limestone resting on the lip of the cave, but in low
water it would be almost impossible. I believe that Art and Ray
succeeded in getting into it from their rubber boat, but it was a real
feat. I don't know which cave near Vasey's was the one where the split
twig figurines were found, but this might be it. (I found out later that
it wasn't, they were in Stanton's Cave.)

My Thursday night campsite was about a mile below Cave Springs. I can
visualize the first campsite clearly and also the third, but no special
features of the second stand out. It was on the left side on the sand
not as high above water level as the first site. I do remember that when
I started in the morning, I was able to walk quite a little distance
before it was necessary to get wet. No matter how cool it felt in the
night, a little struggling with the big pack and I would be warm enough
to appreciate a wetting even rather early, long before the sun struck
the water. Then if the wind blew, which wasn't often in the early
morning, I would soon be too cold again. After the third bivouac, I went
back to my old system of lying on two air mattresses. That was fine and
warm. I had been leery of difficulty in picking them up when I was about
to leave the water, but that was really no trouble either

Some of the time I didn't feel particularly sure of my location, and
when I started Friday morning, I hoped to get to Vasey's by lunch time.
I hit it with a bit to spare, for I had time to go up to see the Indian
ruin and the skeleton near the shallow caves just east of Paradise
Canyon and then move on to Vasey's before it was time to eat. I looked
rather carefully, but I couldn't see how Stanton led the party out of
Paradise Canyon. It seemed to me that they would have had to improvise
some sort of ladder to get up the wall right at the river. Maybe there
is a break somewhere upstream, for one can follow the bank along here
for several miles.

At Vasey's, for once, I didn't have to wait for the tablets to make the
river water safe. The food I brought wasn't very appetizing, but it
seemed to serve the purpose of nourishment. For breakfast there was
grapenuts (soaked in water) and dates. For lunch more grapenuts and
water, dates, and either cheese or peanuts. For supper there was
Lipton's tomatoe-vegetable soup, sardines, and dates with the
possibility of ginger snaps wherever they appealed to me. I hardly ever
was conscious of an appetite, which worried me, because I was surely
leading an active existence. I often thought of Nevills' remark that you
couldn't run the Colorado on hard tack and beans. In rebuttal, I thought
that Powell's first party would have been only too happy to have had
plenty of hard tack and beans.

One hears so much about the charm of the greenery at Vasey's that it's a
bit ironic to see that a great deal of this is the finest stand of
poison oak that I've seen anywhere.

On the way from Vasey's to Redwall Cavern, a bit over a mile farther,
the scenery is most impressive with the cliffs rising from the water
quite often on both sides. It's fortunate that rapids never occur with
nothing but the straight walls beside them. As I approached Redwall
Cavern, I didn't share the Kolb's feeling that it was too good a
campsite to pass up. It would be a fine place to spend a rainy night,
but there was a regular sand storm going on under the overhang which I
was most happy to avoid. There were a few windy hours while I was trying
to sleep on the sand bars, but in general I didn't have much trouble
compared to the mess of wind often kicked up in Glen Canyon. There
wasn't any rain while I was away from home for eight days, but not long
after I got back, it began trying to make up for the extra dry summer. I
was glad I was not cooped up under my plastic sheet. There are some
compensations to being through with a rough camping trip where you don't
even have a tent.

There were no good check points for the rest of Friday, but I found the
next morning that I had been making quite good time. I must have stopped
about Mile 38.5. Anyway, it was right near a fine alcove. There was a
narrow entrance at about high-water level. Inside you found yourself in
a huge stone kettle. The stream during a rain would pour out of a notch
almost into the middle of the pebble covered floor. The whole thing was
similar to Powell's Music Temple but on a grander scale. At this third
campsite, I finally decided to abandoned the food that would obviously
not be necessary since I had decided to climb out the Tanner Trail. I
was glad to get rid of three-fourths of the cheese I had brought, a mess
if there ever was one in all that heat. Oil soaked through the plastic
bag and messed up things generally.

Perhaps the lighter pack accounts for the fact that I would make better
mileage from now on, or perhaps the current just got better when I got
out of the Redwall. I thought it was too early to begin watching for
Loper's boat, but I stopped to take a picture of some fantastic
overhangs with a lot of swallow nests on the ceiling. Later on I learned
that these are well known features, the Royal Arches. When I was putting
the camera away I happened to notice the old boat pulled up by a
mesquite tree. President Harding's Rapid came along sooner than I had
expected it to. The formation near the river began to look like the
Nankoweap Area. As soon as I began to look at every bend with the idea
that it might be Nankoweap, of course it seemed rather long in coming,
but I reached Little Nankoweap before 4:00 p.m.

For two years I've said that I would like to go back up Little Nankoweap
Canyon and see how far up the north branch one can go. When I was
actually back there, it almost took some will power to make myself
start. I guess I was a bit overwhelmed by all the fine things I had
already passed and my curiosity was rather beaten down. There was also
the question of the feet. My new sneakers had shrunk when wet, which was
all day every day, and they had chafed blisters. I didn't know how
effective my adhesive tape patching was going to be, but I finally
summoned my resolution and started up. Very shortly I saw the first
human footprint I had seen during the entire trip. This time when I came
to the obstructions in the bed, I climbed way up at the very foot of the
Redwall cliff, but before I came to the north branch, I came back to the
stream level. I found that I could have gone on around the corner and
entered the arm higher up. I followed the deer up a talus around the
lower obstruction, but higher where the arm splits again, I was stopped
completely. I got back to my pack in about 45 minutes.

Sunday I started as usual around 7:00 a.m. and reached Kwagunt about
9:40 a.m. By the time I was ready to hike it was nearing 10:00 a.m. It
took about an hour to reach butte fault. There was no water running down
to the river, but I began to find more and more on the surface as I went
up. Nankoweap Creek was running clear to the river. The two springs in
Kwagunt are only about 40 minutes walk above the butte fault. I went on
up past the place where I had built a signal fire, past the place where
I reached the main bed down the break in the Tapeats, and went on to see
how the main arm gets through the Tapeats. There is a neat narrows here,
but the bed is well buried in pebbles and boulders, so there is no climb
needed. On the return, I used a bit of time looking for Indian ruins at
the base of the Tapeats on the north side of the wash, but without
success. A person could spend quite a bit of time going up all the
branches and combing the terraces in the open. When I returned to my
supplies, I moved down to the river and spent the night as usual on the
sand. While I was getting the soup started, a coyote stopped not so very
far away and stared. Finally I yelled to him and he jogged a little
farther away and they gave me his attention again. When he got ready, he
finally moved on.

On Monday I got off to the earliest start yet, about 6:20 a.m. I wanted
to see how much faster I could make it to Tanner than I had by way of
the butte fault two years ago. It was much more pleasant to get in the
water quite a bit and then walk along the beaches if I got impatient
with the slow water. I recognized the place where Boyd and I were swung
around and around. Now there was no difficulty to keep out of the back
eddy. In fact, I was never given an undesired ride upstream in a back
eddy on the entire trip. I also was never tipped over except in
Sheerwall, although there were times when I got into the race below a
rapid and was twisted around several times in the turbulent water. The
currents up beside me or diving under would sometimes make me balance
carefully to keep from spilling, but on the whole, there was not much
excitement. I ate an early lunch at the Hopi Salt Spring area, and I
reached Tanner by 3:20 p.m. a very pleasant and easy trip.

Here I loafed in the shade of a big rock and finished the Reader's
Digest for September. On Tuesday morning I started up the trail rather
early and made good time until the sun got warm. I had cut the water
supply rather short to avoid unnecessary weight, but towards the top I
was wishing I had been more willing to carry more. The last little
swallow was at the top of the Coconino, but I made the rim in under five
and a half hours, good time for me in hot weather. I still had to walk
to Desert View where I joined my friends Dave Keim and Marshall
Scholing. Marshall drove me back to Flagstaff.

*Eastern end of the North Rim
[October 1, 1960 to October 2, 1960]*

I left home before 6:00 a.m. but I made a few picture stops along the
way, especially on the way south from Jacob Lake since the aspens were
glorious at this time. I also saw a few bow hunters scattering across
the parks toward the forest. At a service station opposite Kaibab Lodge,
I learned that the road to Saddle Mountain is now being used by trucks
bringing out the fire killed timber before it deteriorates.

Jerry Foote had recommended the East Rim Scenic View, so I took that
detour. It was only about 3.5 miles over there. There is a forested
canyon below you, but the real view is the distant scene, Vermilion
cliffs, Navaho Mountain, etc. The slash in the plain formed by the
Colorado River is impressive and rather close, but one has no idea of
the depth and grandeur of the gorge through which the river flows. I met
a couple here who said that they regarded the aspens as more rewarding
than the Grand Canyon which they were just leaving. They felt frustrated
that they had not had a mule trip to the river, and they asked me
whether the South Rim was enough different to be worth a visit. I should
have told them that they would surely be able to find a mule on the
South Rim. From there I went and parked the car at the Y where the roads
to Point Imperial and Cape Royal fork.

I was rather sure that Dock's pictures were not taken up Neal Spring
Canyon from here, and I wanted to see what the canyon became lower down.
A short distance south of the picnic area where you see the sign warning
against overnight camping, I noticed a wooden water tank on the left up
a bit from the bottom land. A large pipe came up out of the ground and
dripped water constantly into the tank which had only six inch deep
water in the bottom. I couldn't find the spring from which the pipe
came. Thirty yards from here was a bridle path sign pointing the way to
Bright Angel Point in one direction and Point Imperial in the other. No
vestige of the path remained, and I would be rather surprised if there
is still a guide around who can follow these bridle paths from point
Sublime and even more remote places in the forest.

A good deer trail led south down the valley to another spring, probably
Greenland. Here there is a scaffold and leading down from the steep
eastern slope is another large pipe with some sections detached. I
couldn't account for the scaffold at the time, but now I think it was
built to support a tank. These developments were probably connected with
the cattle ranching on the North Rim before the Park Service took over.

A short distance beyond Greenland Spring, you come to the drop-off in
the Coconino Sandstone. The deer trail soon disappeared, but there was
no difficulty in continuing down. There were several spots in the Supai
which forced one to think twice, but there were always safe bypasses.
Schellbach had placed the pictures correctly if he meant the one of the
head of Neal Spring Canyon to be the head of Bright Angel Canyon in the
Coconino. There was absolutely no scrambling down through the Redwall.
It developed the full 500 feet of depth in only a few hundred yards. The
map is incorrect in showing permanent water right to the head of the
Redwall. The bed is dry until you get below the tributary from the east
which comes by the word Vista on the map. About 50 yards below this
junction, six four-foot jets of water cascade out from the west wall and
fall about eight or ten feet to the bed. These falls are only a few
yards apart, so that they virtually form Bright Angel Creek in one
sweep. The creek is very beautiful for the next quarter or half mile
with very little drop and the Redwall cliffs hemming it in on both
sides. I would like to go back and get right up the creek to the falls.
It took me 50 minutes of scrambling through the brush along the top of
the Redwall to the place where I got my view of the source, and then I
decided to proceed to the Old Bright Angel Trail up to the rim. This
turned out to be a good decision, because I reached the trail at Trough
Spring in only about 20 more minutes. There is still some telephone wire
along here, and I was able to find the overgrown trail up to the east
without too much trouble since I knew where to look. I well remembered
how I had to turn back here the time before since I didn't have a map
along and only found this trail when I came back the next day and looked
down from above. When I reached the rim, I studied the map and decided
to go along north through the woods until I could turn east and drop
down into the valley in the vicinity of Greenland Spring and return the
way I had come. I kept postponing the turn east, and when I thought I
had surely gone far enough, I ran into the blacktop pavement and knew I
had overshot. The present road follows the old single track wagon road,
which I could still see near the bottom of the canyon.

There was still some day left, and after I had eaten some cheese
crackers and drunk all the water I wanted, I left the canteen and pack
at the parking lot at Point Imperial and started to look for the break
in the Coconino which leads down from just north of the Point. I found
it so easily that I should have been leery of a change of luck later. I
knew I would have to hurry and I didn't note landmarks along the cliffs
as I should have. First I thought I would just get close enough to
photograph Hayden from below, but when I had done that about 5:45 p.m. I
decided to go up to the base of the butte. Then I decided to go on
around it as the Hunts had, even if I would have to climb the Coconino
by the light of the moon. I must have hurried still faster on the way
back, because I picked the wrong point to pass before I started looking
for the way up. When I began looking, it was dark, and I was frustrated
at two or three places by a straight wall. Finally it dawned on me that
I had passed the right place sometime before, but the progress was so
slow and difficult through the brush and thorns that I couldn't bring
myself to go back and find the right place to climb. I reached a break
in the Coconino that offered a chance and started up. Over halfway to
the top, the going got bad, and at one place I had to backtrack. Finally
I found that I would have to use both hands and hope that the rock would
hold. When I was past these spots, I sincerely hoped that I wouldn't
have to go down them in the dark. At last I was relieved to see that I
had the Coconino below me. I reached the rim in very poor condition from
lack of food and then walked for almost 15 minutes just to reach the
car. By that time I was ready to blow up the mattress, pile into my two
sleeping bags, and drop off without really eating more than a little
bread and a few raisins. The sleep was about the best I can remember out
on the ground and the sun was up before I was.

Next I tried finding the way down to Kibbey Butte, but apparently I
started too far to the south in the neighborhood of Brady Peak. I didn't
give the place Art had marked on my map (which was at home) a try. There
was no chance of getting down at the two places where I looked down. The
first one took me two-thirds of the way down, but that wasn't good
enough. I'll have to go back and try the place Art had indicated. This
was frustrating, and I also noticed that I was weaker than I usually
a.m. presumably from going to bed without supper.

To do something easy before the long drive back to Flagstaff, I went
down near Cape Royal and took the short walk down to the spring past the
Indian ruin (GC222). It's a nice walk and gives you some very
interesting views. I particularly noticed how it would be to go along
the talus from this canyon around below Cape Royal. This doesn't look a
bit easy and safe, but it looks better than trying to go from the east
along the ledge above the bottom of the limestone. (I discovered in
later trips that the bench east from Cliff Spring is the best way.) The
bottom of the limestone blends into the Coconino in a vertical drop. I
believe I remember now that Merrel told me you should go down right near
the end of Cape Royal itself. I should have looked at that when I was
right there.

Another thing I should have done when I was near the end of the cape was
to cross the ravine and climb up to look down into Clear Creek and
across to the three temples: Deva, Brahma, and Zoroaster. When I had
driven north some distance, I got the impulse to do this, and I walked
for 45 minutes due west without coming close to the rim. I did show
enough sense this time to leave the car at a place where the paving
changed so that I would know which way to walk when I got back to the
road, but I felt frustrated again and rather foolish as I consulted the
map and noted that where I was, 6.5 miles north of Cape Royal, I could
have walked for miles and come to Bright Angel Canyon without ever
seeing Clear Creek. I had shown bad management four times in two days,
rather a record for me. I did have the satisfaction of deciding where
all of Dock's pictures had been taken, and I had taken the only picture
I know of the source of Bright Angel Creek. However, if I can't show
better sense of direction and distance in the future, I had better quit
while I'm ahead.

*To the mouth of Epsom Creek
[October 15, 1960 to October 16, 1960]*

I had intended to make a serious try for the mouth of Fossil Creek this
time, but two and a half inches of rain made the road west from the
village impassible. It seemed like an opportune time to finish what
James, Dad, and John Waltenberg started on August 3, 1898 - to go to the
mouth of the second canyon west of Indian Gardens. This is still
nameless on the map, but I've called it Epsom Creek since last March
when I noted that the water in seeps along this bed are foul with Epsom
salts. In fact, the bed is crusted with the stuff.

The weather at 6:00 a.m. was so bad that I almost gave up the trip
entirely, and actually I didn't leave until after 8:00 a.m. when it
stopped snowing. On the way into the park, I met seasonal ranger Kaas
(not sure of the spelling). He said he's also interested in hiking and
exploring the canyon and that he hopes to get on as a maintenance man so
that he can do more of it. He said they won't let him officially do any
solo hiking, but he has done some anyway. The Bright Angel Trail seemed
sloppier than I had ever seen it before, and one had to walk in the
gutter as much as possible. The stream was flowing down through the
Supai, and one could hear a little fall over the edge of the Redwall. It
rained rather steadily until almost 5:00 p.m. but my trousers didn't get
really wet since the drizzle was so fine. I began to get a bit wet just
before it stopped.

It took me about an hour and 20 minutes to walk to Indian Gardens where
I ate an early lunch and read my new Time. The trip from there along the
Tonto to the head of Horn took one hour and the rest of the way to the
head of Epsom took an hour and a quarter. I made the same mistake that
the James party did and went over to investigate the edge of the east
arm of Epsom where one can't descend. This did not take long, and when I
came to the branch where I had come out last March, I kept to the right
and found a good overhanging ledge not far down. There was enough dry
ground under it for me to sleep out of the wet and I left my pack here.
I should have found my firewood then and put it out of the rain before
going on about 2:40 p.m. I hadn't been carrying a full canteen of water
because I had thought I would camp near a supply, but now shelter from
the rain seemed more important than lots of water, and I even decided to
leave the half full canteen with the pack and merely drink plenty when I
found some in rain pockets. I knew I would be rock climbing, and I
wanted both hands free if possible.

The route along the base of the Tapeats on the east side of Epsom wasn't
level or real easy, but neither was it particularly hard. There were
frequent burro droppings but only a few places did they actually form a
trail. I chose to keep along the top of the granite even when it meant a
detour around a shallow bay. At the last angle before I came into the
bay where the chute goes down into Epsom below the obstructing fall,
there is a pinnacle you have to detour around. A notch between it and
the main Tapeats seems inviting, but the drop on the east side convinced
me that I shouldn't try this short cut. On the east side, when you do go
down and around, there is a tricky place where a steep ravine in the
granite cuts out the talus. It would probably stop the burros, but I
found numerous bighorn sheep droppings beyond here.

The main branch of the chute looked rather passable, but there seemed to
be sudden drops lower down. I could look across and see that the ridge
dividing this bay from the next one east was well broken and only about
45 degrees with the horizontal. I was pretty sure that I could descend
there and then come back to the main chute. This worked out very well
and I got a bonus in the view to the east. I saw that there was another
chute going clear to the river over there, but I kept to my purpose of
going down Epsom.

At the bottom of the chute, there were some good rain pools where I had
all the water that I could drink. I was below the main fall that stopped
me in March, but right in front was another minor fall of about 15 feet
with a chockblock to complicate things. The right wall didn't look
inviting, but the left wall was made of a most peculiar brick-red rock,
probably granite. It was crumbling and eroding in odd pits between veins
of limey material, and these pits were my salvation. I was able to climb
past the obstruction on the left. The bed was all gravel and boulders
sloping gradually to the river below, and I was pleased to see that I
had not greatly exceeded my time limit of four hours in reaching the
Colorado River. The flow seemed to be quite a bit higher than it had
been in late August, and the water was a deeper red than I could
remember on any other occasion.

The return was up the main branch of the chute and this turned out to be
easy enough. When I came to the notch, I was tempted to take a shortcut
and avoid going around the outside of the pinnacle. This turned out to
be a bad decision. I could go up several yards to the east of the notch,
but it seemed very unsafe to try to get around the corner into the
notch. I kept going higher until I was six or eight feet above the
bottom of the notch. I had already come up past a couple spots that
might give me a bit of trouble going back the same way, but mostly I was
just stubborn about throwing away the work I had already put into the
project. The corner into the notch was what gave me fits. I had to hold
to the rough sandstone mostly by friction and step with my left foot
around the corner where I was slightly off balance. Then I had to reach
my right foot across the notch just a little farther than seemed safe.
With a slight lunge I made it. When my foot was across the gap, I easily
shifted into a push and soon was standing on the other side with an easy
descent. Just before getting around this corner, I had kicked a loose
stone out of my way to prepare the footing, and the smashing and falling
far below had worked on my nerves. I was both relieved and a little
shaken when I got back to safe travel, and I resolved not to try any
more short cuts, especially when I was alone.

Using rather more paper than usual, I was able to get wet catclaw
burning and had my usual soup, sardines, raisins, and bread. There
wasn't much water left, but I had breakfast with it too. The night was
no longer rainy, but I was glad to be in my cozy niche. The Dacron bag
was precisely warm enough. On the way back to Indian Gardens on Sunday
morning, I didn't go out of my way looking for water, but there were
some good rain pools in the east branch of Horn just below where the
trail crosses it. I ate a second breakfast at Indian Gardens, but I
still felt famished just as I reached the last switchback at the top.
The chill seemed to take more energy than the climbing.

My criticism of James' account would be that there are no blocks in the
bed of Epsom of any great size and that they went down the bed to the
obstruction more like one mile than three. I a.m. surprised that they
decided to climb around on the granite between Epsom and Salt instead of
going up and following the base of the Tapeats on the east. If they had
used better sense, they could have reached the river in the same time
they spent getting stopped.

*Rainbow Bridge
[November 11, 1960 to November 13, 1960]*

Allyn was about the last student to show up for the start, but he had to
call Dr. Abler who had overslept. My car got off around 7:00 a.m. but we
stopped to take pictures of the Elephant's Feet and again at Inscription
House Trading Post where the gas pump was not working immediately.
Before we got our gas, Dr. Abler came along in the Fiat. He said he had
been driving over 75 on the good road.

I drove my gang down to Navaho Mountain Trading Post. We had been noting
that the road was somewhat better than it had been six years ago, but
there are still some steep grades both on the bedrock and in the sand.
We talked to Mr. Cameron who tried to discourage us from walking at all.
He said all the hikers say they can make it all right, but lots of them
get into trouble. He told us that we could drive out on the road about
four miles before we came to a grade that was too steep for an ordinary
car to come back up. His directions about finding the road made us think
that it was right at the turn into the Indian school. When we didn't
find it there, rather than hold up the other three who were going back
around to Rainbow Lodge; Jim David, and I started out on foot from there.

As it turned out, the hikers didn't get started from Rainbow Lodge until
2:00 p.m. With darkness expected about 6:00 p.m. they were caught coming
down the Cliff Canyon hill in the dark at the end and they camped before
they came to the spring. Allyn had forgotten what I had said about the
spring being in Cliff Canyon. He found some water in a pocket near where
they stopped and they had supper without dying of thirst. In the morning
when they started on, they moved camp to the exact site where I had
camped before with Jim Butchart, Jim McGaffin, John Wilson, and Dick
Kern. They got down to the bridge before noon.

Jim, David, and I weren't sorry that we had cut cross country without
staying on the road because we ran into a fine Indian ruin with the
notation PE7 painted on the wall. We did strike the road shortly before
we came to the steep hill about two hours after we started or about 2:00
p.m. Instead of following the road to the east and around to the west on
the grade, we cut downhill to the west and had a bit of a climb or
scramble near the bottom. The scenery was already fine as we looked
towards the north wall of Navaho Mountain and Navaho Begay. The
foreground is still flat with scrubby brush, but the mountain is
protected by a whole palisade of white towers.

Before the Jeep trail gave out, we decided on the basis of the map that
we should take a sheep trail off towards a break between two low mesas.
The pass was the place where the regular trail began, and we agreed that
Mr. Cameron had done some good work to keep it up that well. Four
canyons had running streams: Cha, Bald Rock, Nasja, and Oak besides the
tributary of Bridge where the trail comes down. There were many places
where it was hard to see any way for a trail to proceed through the
wilderness of rock. The drop down into Bald Rock was especially
picturesque since the trail turned abruptly to the south and followed a
ledge right across the face of the sheer drop. The part of the canyon
south of the place where the trail comes down soon goes up to a sheer
wall. The cottonwoods and junipers along the bottom are especially fine
and the bed of the creek is clean rock which often leaves flat surfaces.
Jim and I chose to camp at 5:00 pm so that we would have this beautiful
place to spend the night. The air was quiet, but it came down from the
snowfields on the mountain almost 6000 feet higher, and I got
uncomfortably cold at night, but by 5:30 a.m. I was lighting the fire
and getting back in the sack to enjoy it. Saturday dawned fine and
frosty, and we had high spirits as we started on. My hands were a long
time warming.

I believe we decided that Nasja Canyon is about the place which is known
as Surprise Valley, or else this name should be applied to the region
hemmed in by the cliffs a little farther on. There were quite a few
footprints along this entire trail. Some were evidently made by hikers
with special boots, but there were many that we identified as belonging
to Navaho sheepherders. Many long stretches were densely marked by sheep
hooves. One thing that particularly intrigued us were the tracks of the
tote gotes. They got along quite well on this trail, but they left many
spots of red paint on projecting rocks along the rougher trail on the
west side of the mountain. We called it tote gote blood. Considering the
fact that the riders were at Rainbow Bridge on September 12, we thought
the tracks lasted rather long. We noticed one arch to the south of the
trail, only about 30 feet in span and not much for shape either. If this
is Owl, they seemed rather hard up for arches. The one I noticed in the
tributary to Cliff Canyon is far more impressive.

A short distance beyond Oak Canyon, the trail curves to the south and
then back before it enters a long straight fault crack. We looked
casually down the fault and remarked to each other that we could see
clearly that no trail could be in it. However, when we went on up to the
northwest, our trail seemed to disappear. As we went back to
investigate, we met a Navaho woman on a horse. We couldn't make her
understand our English, but she gestured forming a bridge with her thumb
and fore finger and pointed down the fault crack. We were within a few
feet of the main trail and hadn't noticed it. We knew that we could have
located it without her help, but we had been careless not to have
already investigated down there. When we were through with this fault,
which was better than Redbud Pass, we came down to another running
stream, and this time we knew there would be no more climbing to reach
Rainbow. At the fork with the other trail, we put our bags out to air
and ate our lunch. By noon, we were ready to go on, and judging by the
total elapsed time for the trip on the two days, we decided that strong
walkers could make the north trail to Rainbow in one day, especially if
they took advantage of the easy part of the road and drove four miles
farther than we did.

There were fixed ropes at the harder parts of the climb to the top of
the bridge, and Bruce Baldwin, Jim David, and Susanne Osborn went to the
top of the bridge using them. Allyn was careful to do it without
touching the rope except to push it out of the way. Mrs. Presson and
Larry Abler started back before the rest. I went down through the
narrows to the junction of Bridge and Forbidden Canyons. Allyn walked
with Jim and me back to the rest who already had potatoes baking in
aluminum foil. I was rather weary when we hit camp about 4:45 p.m. I
guess I hadn't eaten enough of the right things.

The night was windy, but we slept warmer and got off to a fairly early
start about 7:00 a.m. Most of the party were out before 11:00 a.m. I
carried the sleeping bag Mrs. Presson had used, and then I returned
along the trail and carried the rest of her pack the last hour of her
trip. My car left the lodge shortly after 1:00 p.m. and we were at the
campus before 5:20 p.m. I noticed that we took two hours only getting
from the lodge to the blacktop highway, although at one place in the
sand on a steep grade, the passengers had to jump out and push the car.

*Apache Point to the Redwall above Elves Chasm
[November 23, 1960 to November 24, 1960]*

The start on Tuesday was slowed by a broken fan belt and the need for
more stop-leak in the radiator before I could go up on the Topocoba road
Wednesday morning. I left the car shortly before 10:00 a.m. near the
park boundary south of Apache Point. Following the compass, I reached
the point in 85 minutes, noting the pit with the shallow cave to one
side at the bottom. This is near the east rim and is about eight minutes
walk from the point. I recall that it took two hours from the car to the
place below the Kaibab where the trail starts down through the Toroweap
and Coconino.

From the slope down the Coconino and Hermit formations, I thought that
the route down the Supai would be easy. It would be to follow along the
Esplanade past two or three minor ravines to the first big promontory
reaching east, the one that points just south of the name Elves on the
map. It was about 15 minutes walk from the bottom of the steep trail
along the contour over to this promontory, and the easy way down it is
right at the end. Several of the platforms are easy to descend, but when
you are about halfway to the bottom of the Supai, they get harder. I
made the mistake of trying to go south into the next ravine, but the
cliffs become impassable in this direction. I thought I checked
adequately to the northwest also, but I missed a good crack a bit to the
northwest of the end. I did check over this way, but apparently I didn't
go far enough or look carefully. It was getting so late by this time
that I figured there was no use in going back to the top of the
Esplanade and following my former route down into Royal Arch Creek as
there would be no time to do anything new, like going along the talus
out to the terrace just east of the bridge. I had agreed to meet Allyn
Thursday night on the Topocoba road, and I had only food enough for two
meals on Thursday. If I had known what I would decide in the end, I
would have gone after water in a serious way and stayed down there.

As it was, I retraced my steps to the top of Apache Point. I had enough
water left for supper and breakfast, so I stopped at the cave in the pit
eight minutes south of Apache Point quite close to the east rim. It was
easy to throw down enough firewood for three nights, and I spent the
warmest, most comfortable night of the trip here with a fire going all
night. The only mishap was a hole burned in the sleeping bag cover by a
spark. In the morning, I went back to the car for more water and
immediately returned to Apache Point. On both trips from the car to the
point, the compass worked fine and I hit it just right, but on both
trips back, I angled much too far to the west and had to walk more than
a mile along the road to the car. At least I knew which way I had to
walk, which was more than I knew for sure the time I hit the road too
far east. I should take time out and mark a trail across here from the
nearest approach by road to Apache Point.

When I went down below Apache Point on Thursday, I tried going into the
ravine just north of the promontory. This was a mistake as the progress
along the slope below the top was much slower than it had been on top
the day before. However, I did get a good view of the way ahead and
down. I could see burro trails on all levels below including right along
the top of the Redwall, so I knew there had to be a weak place in the
cliffs. I finally found it and marked the most crucial break with a rock
pile. Along the top of the Redwall there was only time to take some
pictures. I noticed Royal Arch from directly above, but I couldn't see
the opening. There was a cave across the gorge just below the top of the
Redwall east of the bridge which had a deep notch just above it. I
suspect it is another keyhole bridge, about 15 feet wide and 40 feet
high at the mouth of the cave. Another observation from here was the
seven foot rock pile the surveyors had left at the bench mark on the
terrace east of Elves. The talus leading to it is steep, but I saw a
deer trail going along it. The return was uneventful, except that I saw
an old rock house ruin south of the point, probably about 15 minutes walk.

*Above Royal Arch
[November 23, 1960 to November 24, 1960]*

I had intended to sleep by the car out by Apache Point Tuesday night,
but a broken fan belt and the need for some stop-leak fluid in the
radiator kept me in the village and I didn't start walking away from the
car at the park boundary until nearly 10:00 a.m. Following the compass,
I made good time to the point. When I first saw the rim, things looked
peculiar and I climbed a dead tree to see my directions. They were all
right, and I reached the point in 85 minutes from the car. It took 35
more to go down around the point to the break in the Coconino where I
sat down to eat lunch. I was down on the Esplanade in about a half hour
after I started. I got to the right promontory, the one that points
towards the line of the Redwall paralleling the river. It was rather
simple to find breaks in the various small cliffs near the farthest east
points, but about two-thirds of the way down the Supai, there was a 30
foot cliff which seemed to have no breaks. I gave up looking about 2:00
pm and started back up. It seemed that there would be no time to find
anything down Royal Arch Creek and return to the car Thursday evening
according to plan, so I headed for the car rather than trying to find
water and stay down there. As I reached the top of the Esplanade and
looked back, I was still convinced that there should be a way to get
down to the top of the Redwall where I had been looking for a route. I
decided to try again on Thursday after getting some water at the car.

Wednesday night I held up at the bottom of a limestone pit about eight
minutes walk south from the point and quite close to the east rim. It
didn't take very long to throw down enough wood to keep a fire going for
three nights instead of the one I was originally intending to be there.
I used only one sleeping bag that night and it was the warmest of the
five of the entire trip. In the morning, I went to the car being careful
to hit the road west of the park boundary so that I would know which way
to walk, but I did such a good job of veering that it took me an extra
mile of walking. After refilling the canteen, I turned back to the point
and Aztec Amphitheater.

This time I studied the promontory from a distance, but I went down into
the ravine on the north side and had to walk over south going to get
back where I had been so easily the day before. However, I did find the
crucial crack that led me down to the burro trail along the top of the
Redwall. I wish I had time to go on down into Royal Arch Creek, but I
had given my word to Allyn to be back at the Great Thumb turn-off
Thursday night. I did get an interesting look right down on the top of
Royal Arch, and I noted a game trail along the talus leading out to the
terrace above Elves on the east. I could see quite clearly the rock pile
built at the bench mark which is shown on the map. There is also an
interesting looking cave up near the top of the Redwall to the east of
the creek. It might be a miniature keyhole arch, because there is a
notch coming down part way above it. Perhaps there is a small hole clear
through, but I couldn't see any light.

The only thing worth noting on the return to the car was that I swung
too far west again and had an even longer walk to the car than I had
that morning. I should learn to get back to the car better than this
before many more trips.

*Fossil Bay
[November 25, 1960 to November 26, 1960]*

After a cold and uncomfortable night doubled up in the back seat of the
car, I got away by 7:15 a.m. After walking about an hour, I became
uncertain about the weather. Allyn hadn't shown up, and I didn't want to
run into a real blizzard, but I finally made up my mind that it wasn't
going to get bad for a while at least. It took about the usual four
hours to reach the break in the rim. This time I marked it with a three
rock cairn. The footing down to the Esplanade seemed as bad as ever, and
I was rather surprised at my own persistence when I decided that this
route was feasible.

There was plenty of water in the rain pockets at this time of year, and
if I had better sleeping equipment, it would have been ideal for a trip
along the Esplanade. I ate lunch at the water where the main arm first
meets the Supai bedrock. Progress along the west side of the inner gorge
of Fossil seems easier than along the east side, and I was starting down
into the fifth ravine along the west about one and a half hours after I
had left the water pocket. This was not the one I had picked out from
the rim above, but I thought that since I could make it easily below the
highest cliff here, I should use the chance.

This proved to be as far down as this ravine would let me go, and I had
to take the precarious route around the point to the next ravine south.
Here I could go down another notch, but then I had to cross the wash and
get around another ridge before I could finish the trip down to the
bottom of the Supai. There has been a big slip of the Supai along here,
and acres of rock are crushed and lying every which way. The very edge
of the Redwall supports a steeper slope than the region a little higher,
so I kept up here to go on south to the semicircular bay in the Redwall
where there might have been a route to the river.

It was just as we had suspected from the other side. The short descent
to the top of the inner talus was too difficult, and then the last part
of the talus below was eroded into a practically vertical wall. I
believe that this part would be feasible with two ropes for assistance.
Possibly the whole thing was easier 50 or 80 years ago. The sleeping was
pleasant down at this level and I found a little patch of horizontal
sand in the steep stream bed. In the morning, I walked around to the
south side of the bay and got a good view of the river. From here it
looked easy to go up the slope and walk out at the ravine south of the
one I had started down the day before.

When I went out, I inspected the possibility, and all but one place of
about 15 feet, which might be done by a nervy climber without the
encumbrance of a pack, would have gone all right. This would have been a
real saving of effort in getting out, but as it was, I used discretion
and went back along my previous route. As it was, I had already slipped
three or four times and had skinned my hands in several places as well
as hurting one shin. There were still plenty of bighorn sheep tracks and
droppings, but I didn't see any sheep this time.

By the time I reached the rim at 1:40 p.m. the sky was beginning to
threaten again. Having chilly walking gave me more pep than I had ever
had along here, and I covered the 10 miles in three and a half hours. By
evening, the sun was out and the moon was bright for several hours. I
finished my magazine by candle light and then tried sleeping on the
ground. The wind came up and I got into the car. Then I decided to drive
home or at least start. When I was about 20 miles out from the village,
it began to snow, and by the time I had reached the checking station,
the air was so thick, I had to park. I drove on about 6:00 p.m. and
reached home on icy roads at almost 10:00 p.m.

*Fossil Bay
[November 25, 1960 to November 26, 1960]*

I spent an uncomfortable and cold night in the back seat of the car
where the Great Thumb road leaves the Topocoba road and got a fairly
early start on Friday morning. I hesitated for a while after I reached
the high ground along the rim because the weather began to look
threatening. It took about four hours to reach the break in the rim.
Allyn hadn't showed up, so I went on figuring that he wasn't going to
try to join me. There were some fresh bighorn droppings, but I saw no
sheep either day.

The water in the deep pothole was only a few inches down from the rim,
and there was cleaner water in the shallow pockets. I ate lunch here and
went on along the southwest rim of the inner gorge afterwards. I stayed
rather near the rim with the idea of not missing any good descent, and
as a result, I had to cross several ravines where they were awkwardly
deep. Once I tried to push up and get my knee on a ledge but my knee
slipped back and I came down in disorder where I had been standing on a
shelf only a couple of feet wide. At this time and about two other
times, I skinned places on my hands. I finally found a good way to get
below the first cliff, along the side of a ravine, the second blue line
counting from the north that goes directly into the Redwall gorge on the
map. Then I had to follow the contour around to the south into the next
and when I reached the bed of this gully, I still had to go along the
level around the next small ridge to another arm of the same drainage.
From here one can go just about anywhere. The talus is steeper at the
very top of the Redwall than it is high, so I kept up away from the rim
and went on south to the big semicircular bay in the Redwall which has
the talus within it. It seemed hopeless to go down here without two
lengths of rope, a short one at the top, and one about 50 feet long for
the steep cut away part of the talus lower down. It didn't look a bit
inviting when I was there by myself, but now, a month later, I wish I
had the ropes and had gone down to the river. Maybe I'll get the expert
climber, Bob Eger, to go with me and make sure I'm doing it right. The
night down here at the edge of the Redwall was fairly comfortable. From
beyond this bay, it looked as if the departure from the Supai gorge
could be made very easily by going up and out at the ravine south of the
one where I had entered. It may be a safe route for the bighorn sheep,
but I was frustrated by only 15 feet of cliff that had some breaks where
a daring climber might have gone out. I thought the spills I had already
taken were enough, however, and backed down and went out the way I had
come in. I saw another mescal pit in one of the ravines through the
Esplanade, but I can't pinpoint its location now. I walked fast when I
arrived at the rim and got to the car in three and a half hours counting
the time it took me to get food out of the pack and eat as I walked. I
should have started for home when I got to the car at 5:00 p.m. but
instead I tried camping there and wound up spending most of the night
trying to get home in a blizzard.

Letter to Dock Marston


[November 27, 1960]

907 W. Summit
Flagstaff, Arizona

November 27, 1960

Canyoneer Dock,

I'm getting behind with my replies. Thank you for all the information
about the longer trail to Rainbow. I should have asked for material such
as that concerning Owl and White Crag before hand. We got Owl for sure
with pictures of our own, but we didn't see White Crag. The one I saw
off Cliff Canyon is practically invisible from the trail itself. I
stayed on the trail this last trip, and I wouldn't have known it went
through. The time I spotted it, I must have been going along the bottom
of the wash. I don't fancy my discovery as anything special, because
someone else I mentioned it to had noticed it on his only trip to Rainbow.

Likewise, thank you for the account of the second ascent of Zoroaster
Temple. That surely makes my type of climbing seem pretty tame. There is
a German mechanic working at the local VW garage who wants to get a
partner to do some rope and piton climbing with him. I'm not sure
whether I want to start on that sort of thing at this time. I know of
two college students who might be more interested.

I have just come back from four days in the canyon by myself, and my
interest in such jaunts is not at a very high pitch. My projects went a
bit askew and I seem to get more lonesome than I used to. I may as well
give you a summary. Tuesday I got off almost an hour later than I had
hoped to, and the fan belt in the car broke on the way up there. I was
lucky it didn't break on the Rainbow trip. I drove 30 miles as it was
with the water much too hot, and the pressure forced some small openings
in the radiator. A can of stop-leak fixed that, but it was around 8:30
a.m.Wednesday before I got away from the village. I had planned to spend
the night at the car out near Apache Point, but it was around 10:00 a.m.
when I finally started walking towards Apache Point from the place where
the road crossed the park boundary. There is a sign along the road at
the place which makes it a good jump-off. I used a compass through the
junipers, and I reached the point in an hour and 20 minutes. My goal was
to get down the Supai by a new and easier (I hoped) route along a
promontory that points right towards Royal Arch. It looked like a sure
thing last May when I was heading the other way. By 2:00 p.m. on
Wednesday, I thought I was stopped completely after getting down
two-thirds of the Supai. My food was just planned to take me back to the
car the next day and I had already taken so long that I would not have
time to reach the bench mark above Elves, so I turned back. By 4:30 p.m.
I was up on the rim about eight minutes walk south of the point where I
had previously noted a shallow cave at the bottom of a pit in the
limestone. I had enough water for the night, so I gathered a lot of wood
and kept a fire going near my bed all night. This was not the first time
this pit had ever been used, because there was some smoke black on the
ceiling. It was by far the most comfortable night I had on the trip, but
a spark sometime in the night burned a hole in my sleeping bag cover. On
Thursday I went back to the car to get a refill for my canteenand then
turned around to see whether I could try a bit harder and find the way
clear to the bottom of the Supai. The solution was only a few yards from
where I had been on Wednesday, and actually I bungled the approach
through the top layers worse the second try, but this time I got to the
edge of the Redwall and took a picture of Royal Arch from directly above
it. I did settle a couple of points that had been bothering Pat. From
the air he thought that the talus below the Redwall on the east side of
the creek was too steep for a surveyor to reach the bench mark on foot,
but I saw a game or burro trail quite clearly along there. I could also
see a well built rock pile about three or four feet high where the bench
mark is located. Another observation was a cave or bridge just below the
top of the Redwall to the east of Royal Arch. I believe it's a miniature
keyhole because there is a well defined notch right above this black
slot. There was no light showing, but this may be because the hole down
from above is quite small. I would estimate the mouth of the cave or
slot as being 15 feet wide and about 40 feet in the vertical direction.
It would be interesting to look down on it from the air to check whether
it goes clear through. It may be a job for expert rope climbers to reach
the rim above this formation on foot.

Going back to the car through the woods from Apache Point seems to be a
jinx for me. The first time I did it, I hit the road over a mile to the
southeast, and the two times I did it recently, I went more than a mile
to the northwest even when I was using the compass. Perhaps I had better
take the trouble to blaze the trees. It is surely disconcerting to get
from the car to the point in 85 minutes and take 120 to get back.

I had given Allyn the plan for the five days, and only two were
allocated to the Royal Arch area. If it hadn't been for that, I would
have carried food down for several days and really visited the bridge
and the bench mark. There was a real easy burro trail along the top of
the Redwall and now I think I could reach Royal Arch from the car in
less than the eight and a half hours it took the first time. I left a
cairn to mark the trickiest place to find in the Supai. Allyn had
thought he would like to join me Friday morning to go down into Fossil
Bay for the rest of the time, but he didn't show up. Our agreement was
that I was not to expect him until he showed, so I didn't wait to get
started walking Friday morning. This time I built a cairn at the break
in the rim where you can start down into Fossil. The footing is so
precarious here that I'm still surprised that I call this a route.
Between the scree here and lower down in the Supai, I didn't fare very
well on this trip. I slipped three times and in checking myself, I
skinned various spots on my hands. I'll have to be more careful or give
this kind of thing up. Right now I'm in the mood to swear I'll do my
walking along the Muir Trail or something as well defined.

The nights were mostly unpleasantly cold even though I was taking two
sleeping bags, but the days certainly gave me more vigor than I had last
May. Allyn and I both thought that there should be a shorter way down
the Supai on the west side, but I had luck to find it at all, and
trouble in locating it. The ravine I had picked out before from below
and from the rim turned out to be impossible unless one wanted to take a
chance of a fatal fall, but a neighboring ravine to the north gave one a
chance to get below the first almost continuous cliff. Then I had to
follow a rough talus around the point into the next one to the south.
Here I could make it down another fourth of the way, but I had to follow
the talus still farther to the south before I could go the rest of the
way to the horseshoe indentation in the Redwall where we thought the
Indians might have been able to get down. A short rope or a ladder would
land on a steep slope of consolidated clay and rocks. Erosion has cut
away the bottom of this to vertical walls, so I feel pretty sure that
the Indians couldn't get down there now without two ropes, and the lower
one would have to be fairly long. I just took a picture or two and came
away. My night down there on top of the Redwall was quite comfortable
and I found water in potholes other than the one where the main arm
reaches the Supai, the place I have camped before. This time I spotted
another sign that whites had been here, an old rusty can which would
hold more than a gallon. It was quite near the main pothole. I also ran
into another mescal pit, but no bighorn sheep.

Saturday night was so cold by the car that I finally decided to drive
home or at least into the village. It was a good thing I did, because
the bright moon turned into a snowstorm and I just made it to the
pavement when it began to come so that I had to stop the car and wait
for quite a while. I don't think I'll attempt anything as remote as this
for a good long time.

Sincerely,

Harvey Butchart

*Boucher Camp and Slate Canyon
[January 1, 1961 to January 3, 1961]*

I stopped for Allyn Cureton without giving him advance warning. By the
time we were heading down the Hermit Trail, it was 11:30 a.m. We were
rather surprised to see quite a few tracks of hikers who had pretty well
packed down the snow for us.They all went towards Dripping Springs
instead of on down the Hermit Trail. When we were eating a late lunch
north of the drainage below Dripping Springs, we waved to a couple of
women hikers who were returning from Dripping Springs. The trail along
the Hermit slope was quite easy to find and follow almost all of the
time. There was no snow along here, but we got into it when we had
passed Yuma Point.

There were deer tracks all the way along here through the snow. I began
to wonder whether we were going too far, but I was correct in my
recollection of the place where we should turn down through the Supai,
it seems that the level trail comes to a natural end, at a shallow
ravine. I saw the rocks I had placed on the end of a stump, and I saw
for the first time a fairly large cairn on a large rock just beyond the
turn in the trail as it starts down through the Supai. Deer tracks led
down a little way to the overhanging rock, but we didn't see any lower.
I tried again to photograph the place where steel bolts in the rock are
all that is left of the trail construction. Below this first cliff, I
couldn't remember whether we should keep up at a fairly high elevation
or scramble down lower. The snow here obliterated direct evidence of any
trail. We went lower almost immediately and later learned that we should
have stayed up near the base of the top cliff. We did recognize quite a
bit of the trail over to the west rather close to the main ravine. The
going was simple when we finally came down to the top of the Redwall,
and we thought there was time to climb Whites Butte. We left the packs
near the break in the Redwall as the trail starts down into Boucher
Canyon and went to the top of the butte and back in 37 minutes. There
were no signs of previous climbers. We left a very small cairn at the
top. I estimated that it would take us about an hour to go down the
Redwall and the other formations to the mine shaft. I was only about
three minutes too optimistic, but darkness hindered us at the end. We
had to do some guessing and scrambling without feeling sure that we were
near the official trail. When we hit the Tonto we recognized it, but I
wasn't sure which way to follow it. After a few steps in the right
directions, and a few in the wrong, we turned around and went in the
right direction. I remembered pretty well where to look for the shaft,
and we were soon busy with our fires.

Boucher Creek was running above ground just a few yards away although
only a few yards below the bend in the creekbed it went underground.
There was more debris lying around the mine than I had remembered, a
shovel, a number of large bottles, some pans, and a big can.
Unfortunately, for warmth inside the shaft, it slants slightly
downwards, and when the air is colder outside, a draft goes in along the
floor and out along the ceiling. I used both sleeping bags before
morning and they were more than adequate.

On Monday, after inspecting the rock cabin and the smaller structure to
the southwest on the edge of the creek, we got started walking towards
Slate about 8:30 a.m. It was cold until we got started up the Tapeats
from Topaz in the only sunshine we saw all day. Incidentally, the roast
turkey I brought along kept fine. During the warmer time of the day, I
kept snow in the plastic bag with it. The trail was quite easy to follow
along here. We saw about eight burros over toward Slate. It took about
two hours to walk from the mine to where the trail crosses Slate. We
noticed that there is a break in the Tapeats near the river that would
let one get down into Slate on the west side. We figured that one could
also make it down through the schist. Allyn called my attention to a
mescal pit just southwest of where the trail crosses Slate.

Within about 15 minutes of our start up Slate, we began to find water.
Most of it was ice which made it very pretty and different appearing
from that of the usual dry streambed. There were quite a few seep
springs with some water actually flowing. We reckon that they would give
a year round supply. The most water seemed to be from about the middle
of the Bright Angel Shale, but higher there was another section that had
pools and ice.

There were a couple of places where chock-blocks in the narrow bed
forced us to do a bit of climbing. There was still burro manure above
the harder one of these. I don't think the burros could have gone up
right where we did, but maybe they have a longer way to do it. Finally,
just after we passed the fork where one branch goes toward Jicarilla
Point, we came to the real dead end. We figured we were already above
half of the Redwall.

There were four holes that seemed like possible caves. We began checking
the southern ones first. The two in the promontory between the two arms
were duds. Allyn went to check the western one of these. He wasn't sure,
but he thought there might be a way to the top of the Redwall here.
There were deer signs along the approach.There were a couple more cave
possibilities that we thought were inaccessible. This area shows a lot
of fracturing which may explain why there are so many holes around. Our
third inspection likewise turned out to be nothing, but we went on
around a spur then up (downstream from the fork) and found two more
caves. The lower one was just a good shelter from rain, about 20 feet
deep and without even a level floor big enough to sleep on. However, I
thought the roof was smoke stained and there was a piece of charred
juniper at the entrance. Only a few yards higher was the payoff, a fine
cave. You go right into a chamber with a level floor thickly covered
with fine dust. It is about 100 feet by 40 feet by 12 feet high. There
are no big rockfalls to mar the even floor, and there are a number of
good stalactites but more fine stalagmites. The cave seems perfectly dry
at the present time. We noticed a piece of wood well back in the cave
with no signs of having been burnt. Behind this room, there were about
80 more feet of passage ways. This part of the cave had many rockfalls
in it, and a rather wide but low passage led down and outside. One could
scramble back to the mouth of the cave along the slope outside this
exit, but we preferred to go back by the interior route. A hole in the
ceiling might go up quite a bit farther than we could see.

We went back to Topaz Canyon without further incident. Since it was
still only 5:00 p.m. we hurried down to see the river. It was
surprisingly clear. From above, all the quiet stretches were a deep
green, and the white caps in the rapids were really white. One could see
a dirty stick a foot under water, and I think one could have seen
something that was shiny and twice that deep.

After another comfortable night in the mine, we returned by the Tonto
and Hermit Trails. I hadn't remembered how rugged this part of the Tonto
Trail was, especially in heading Travertine Canyon and going out around
the point just east of Travertine where it follows a rather steep and
rocky surface. The location of large deposits of travertine quite far
away from the present streambed seemed odd. There are some very fine
views along this route. One can look down out Hermit Rapids and also
have a clear view of Boucher by turning the other way. It took us just
under three hours to go from the Boucher Mine to Hermit Creek where we
ate an early lunch. The walking over the snow covered rock slides in the
Supai sections of the Hermit Trail was pretty discouraging. We had snow
for miles along here, and we concluded that we could have returned
faster by the Boucher Trail. In fact it took four and a half hours for
us to go from Hermit Creek to the car.

In Slate Canyon, I collected a fossil that Dr. Allen thinks is coral.

*Redwall north of 75 Mile Canyon and Escalante Butte
[February 18, 1961]*

I just missed the take-off of the college hikers because I couldn't get
the old car to start. I couldn't make up my mind how to spend the day,
but about 8:00 a.m. I invited Jay Hunt and John to go with me to the
canyon. We stopped to call and arrange for someone to take John's paper
route, and we also inspected the Little Colorado River Gorge at the two
viewpoints.

It was about 10:15 a.m. when we finally started down the Tanner Trail.
Jay and John were plenty fast going down the trail, and they were also
very good on the talus where there was no trail. Jay couldn't find his
regular hiking and climbing shoes so he had to go in a pair of very
heavy shoes shod with tricouni nails. They were fine on gravel, but he
slipped on the solid slabs of limestone.

We found the going along the southwest side of Escalante butte just
difficult enough to be interesting. There were no bad spots but we had
to watch our footing. Across the saddle on the Redwall ridge there is a
small butte of Supai rock which for obvious reasons we call the Wedding
Cake. There didn't seem to be any easy way up it, and I probably would
have passed up the chance to do a first ascent, but Jay was more
optimistic. He insisted that we could do it all right, so I went ahead
at the place he had picked for a route. It was about as difficult as
anything I have ever done, except for Courthouse Butte below Sedona, but
I made it all right ahead of Jay and John who were helping each other.
We built a small monument on top of the Wedding Cake. We used two belts
fastened together on the descent, or at least Jay and John did. One of
the belts broke when I was trying to give support to Jay, but he was
almost down to the ledge when it happened, and the consequence was
nothing serious. On the way up to the end of the Redwall promontory, we
came to a place where the limestone had left only eight inches of width
of level rock. If one lost his balance here, he would probably not catch
it again in falling to either side. Jay and John walked easily across
here, but I got down and walked along the side holding to the fin of
level limestone. I could see that they are not as cautious as I am. On
the way back, I walked across here but I really put one foot forward and
then took a sort of jump to clear the bad place. There were several
places where the top of this fin is only eight to ten feet wide. The
view from the end is really something. Unkar Rapids is in full view as
well as all the wide part of the canyon upstream. You can see a short
piece of the river at 75 Mile Rapids and you can just see the beginning
of Hance Rapids. On the way back we went to the south of the Wedding
Cake where there seems to be a regular deer trail. When we were nearing
the Tanner Trail, about 15 minutes scramble, I would say, I noted two
rathe large cairns at the top of the Redwall.

It was 2:30 p.m. when we were ready to start up Escalante butte. John
stayed below to fix a blister that was just beginning to form. Jay had
shown at the end of the climb back to the trail that he wasn't going to
be a very fast climber to the top of Escalante Butte, and when we were
about a fourth of the way up it, he got a cramp just above his knee and
had to drop out for 10 minutes to massage it. He then continued up a
climber's route to use his arms rather than his legs. When I had reached
the top, I was frustrated by not being able to get to the top of the
summit rock where someone had built a fine cairn. I might have made it
if I had been willing to jump across a five foot span from a companion
rock to the summit block. Instead I gave it up and started down. When I
saw Jay coming up, I waited for him and he let me climb from his
shoulders to the top block.

The return was uneventful. We found that John and I could keep up a much
faster pace on the long grade than Jay could.

*Soap Creek
[March 4, 1961]*

I arrived at Soap Creek in time to drive out to the rim and take a
picture from above the rapid. About 10:50 a.m., I had my pack on my back
and was looking for a way to go down the creek. I purposely didn't
inquire for directions as I thought it was more interesting to do my own
exploring. I went down the draw that is seen just east of Cliff
Dweller's Lodge, not realizing that there are two major arms of Soap
Creek. There were numerous places where the bottom was rather muddy and
what surprised me most were long stretches of soggy ice at this low
elevation. At one place, about 100 feet below the rim, it was touch and
go as to whether I could get down from a ledge and safely count on
getting back. I saw a place where someone had been piling rocks for a
step. Only a little farther I came to a great cliff, possible 200 feet
high. Just before the stream reached the cliff, it starts cutting deep
into the sandstone making some fine falls in the narrow cleft. There is
a good chockblock across the last narrows above the cliff which a person
can walk across as on a bridge. From here I could see that there was
another major arm coming from the west and I judged that it must offer
the promised way down to the river. I wasn't sorry for this delay, for
as it turned out, the falls in the clefts and the abrupt cliff were the
most interested features that I saw the entire day.

After I'd retreated a bit and climbed out to the west, I went southwest
until I came to a tributary of the main, but dry, arm. There was a spot
or two near its end where the climbing required both hands, but I found
a small rock pile in the main bed which indicated that someone liked
this route. There were quite a few places lower down at the bottom of
the Kaibab Limestone which called for two hands, and I found a fixed
rope fastened around a smaller rock wedged between two big ones. One
could have bypassed this place in the bed if he were willing to go quite
high on the right side and climb a talus, but the rope is a real help.
The walk from the rope to Soap Creek Rapids on the river takes abut 70
minutes.

It was sprinkling more or less steadily all the time I was getting to
the river, but as it was beginning to rain harder, I decided to head
back to the car. In fact, when I came to a fine overhanging rock, I
ducked under it and read the Readers Digest for a while to let it stop.
The next day promised fine weather, but still I drove back to Flagstaff
Saturday night.

I saw some peculiar fossils, some that resembled white rings arranged
like vertebrae. There were many rocks of quite a green color and many
slabs of limestone that weathered with a knobby surface. I would allow
about two and a half hours to go from the highway to the river and about
the same time to return. It's an interesting trip, but I like Jackass
Canyon better, the one to Badger Rapids from the left side of the river.

*Desert View to Cardenas Butte
[March 25, 1961]*

Dan Davis had told me that you can get down the ravine which slants down
west of the promontory at Desert View, but I had put off trying it
myself. The hiking club decided to go with me, but we had the usual
troubles getting off when we had intended. We made it away from town
about 7:00 a.m. One thing that I was not too happy about was that a new
hiker showed up to go along, a man who was definitely on the heavy side,
but by his own account, he was experienced. We took a little time to see
the Little Colorado River Gorge at the scenic view. The wind was blowing
so hard here that some of us thought that we should steer away from the
rock climb until later in the day when I thought, according to the
weather man, it would be better. We compromised by saying we would look
it over from the top and decide whether to go ahead with the scramble
down the ravine at the start of the day. The ravine was protected from
the wind, and we decided to go ahead. There were minor delays such as
getting one of the boys away from the curio counter at Desert View, but
we finally started the scramble at 9:15 a.m.

There were at least two ropes along as well as food for two meals. At
the top of the ravine, we encountered about the hardest problem in route
choosing. However, there was no need for using a rope. I had misjudged
the difficulty from my view of the ravine from the top of Escalante
Butte. This was somewhat of a let down for the boys who were recent
graduates of Bill Buck's technical rock climbing school. One of his
students was frustrated even before we started. On the very day before
the hike, Sid Wilson had tried to fall to see how it feels to have the
belayer stop you and had sprained his ankle quite badly doing it.

The heavy man and one other member of the club who hadn't done much
hiking that I knew about, soon showed that they weren't going to be able
to keep a good pace. We had a bit of a pow wow and decided to escort
them back to the top. There was no resistance to this idea on their
part. The heavy man said he had donated a pint of blood the day before
and that might have affected his strength. He had quite a time following
Allyn back up to the trail. I had thought Allyn was going to show them
the top of the Tanner Trail, but the two preferred to stick around
Desert View or do a bit of driving in the car.

There was quite a bit of trouble with loose rocks. One person could go
up or down here with never a care, but shouts of warning to the ones
below about rolling rocks were quite frequent. Most of the rocks didn't
pick up much speed, but a time or two, the misses were too close for
comfort. On the whole, this is a practical route rather than just a good
stunt. I believe I'll use it for future trips to the river. It seems
shorter, but I suppose it isn't actually any faster than the Tanner
Trail. One very real advantage is that it leads one right by the only
good water hole in the entire area. I remembered where it was from my
trip down the Old Tanner Trail which comes down from the rim nearest
Cedar Mountain and across below Desert View along the top of the
Redwall. The water hole is in the Redwall near where the wash makes the
big dive. The water was rather black when I was there in early October,
1959, but now it is quite clear. However, it was only about a foot deep,
and I wouldn't guarantee that it's permanent. I hadn't remembered the
soil and gravel that partially fill it. Possibly this silt had been lift
since I was her before. I've considered the possibility that the hole I
saw before was a bit farther down the wash, for there was room for
another hole before you reach the drop-off. However, I rather think that
this was the same place I saw before.

We ate an early lunch by the big rock where the trail curves into the
bay between Escalante and Cardenas Buttes. Allyn had walked around this
and had found the good overhang, a snug shelter from rain, and we sat
here to eat our lunch. I remember that when we stopped, the sun was
shining, but before we went on in about 40 minutes, the pellet snow
which had been starting and stopping most of the morning began again in
earnest. Several of us found bits of pottery here, some of it painted. I
also found a bit of obsidian. This made us think that it was a favorite
camp of the Indians and not just a place where white men had gotten
tired of carrying pottery fragments from across the river.

Our second main objective was Cardenas Butte, but by the time we were
ready to start on, it was really snowing. I had already picked the
route, so we had no real trouble on account of poor visibility. I
probably took them to the top by a little more strenuous route than
would have been necessary. At a couple of places we had to use our
hands, and once we had to go around a corner on a narrow ledge. There
was no view from the top but we had glimpses of the ridge from time to
time, and we were reasonably sure that we had reached the real summit.
There was no rock pile in evidence so we built a small one ourselves.

We had thought we would climb Escalante too, but the weather continued
quite bad. Finding the trail with two inches of snow over everything was
a bit of an experience. For once I could see the use of the cairns.
Places where the trail had been obscured by slides of shale didn't show
at all, but we knew that the walking would have been much slower if we
had lost the trail for good. Just about the time our clothes were
beginning to feel rather wet, the snow stopped. In fact, we got a fine
view down the canyon from the ridge of Supai at the head of 75 Mile
Canyon. There was no doubt about following the trail from here on to the
rim. I led the procession at my fastest comfortable pace and did the
last steep part in 52 minutes, par for me I imagine. Besides the three
inches of new snow, at the top there were still banks of snow filling in
the trail.

*Rider Canyon
[April 3, 1961 to April 4, 1961]*

The map seemed to indicate that it would be about the same distance from
the highway to the place where Rider Canyon begins to have straight
walls as it would be from the Cram Ranch. I elected to go in and park
the car at the ranch because that would let me see what sort of affair
the ranch is in. A car was turning off the highway just before me, and I
met Sherman Jensen, the present owner of the Cram Ranch who lives in
Fredonia. He led me into the ranch, and we had a little visit. I
mentioned the Finicums and he fold me about a place along the rim above
the Colorado River where a piece of the rim has split off. He thought
you could go down to the river there, and he also told me about the rock
piles at regular intervals along the rim.

When I got out of sight of the Jensens, I stripped to my underwear
because the weather was already rather warm. I followed the wash down to
the first big swing to the north. Here I got out on the south side and
tried to follow the most nearly level ground. The plateau along here has
no troublesome bushes on it, and the walking is quite easy. I seemed to
drift farther south than I had intended, and I came to the end of a car
track at an empty cattle tank. When I went south across here, I came out
on the rim with a fine view of a side canyon which my map told me was
North Canyon. There was a little water in it, and the part I could see
before the last bend near the river, made me think that one cannot go
down it from the rim to the river. I had come out to the rim above the
Colorado on purpose with the idea that it might be easier to go down
where Jensen thought one could. As I turned left along the rim to go
towards Rider Point, I passed a fine view of Boulder Narrows. The place
where one can get off the rim is just a little north of the direct line
of the river as it goes past Boulder Narrows. I had very little trouble
getting down to the last 20 feet of the Coconino Sandstone, and the rest
of this would have been easy with a rope, but as it was I had to climb
back up really feeling both the heat and grade.

The series of rock piles were farther along quite close to Rider Point.
There seemed to be nothing comparable to the place I had started down
near here, so I believe the place I tried was the one Mr. Jensen had
told me about. The views down to the river and into Rider Canyon were
really something. As I followed the rim of Rider to the west, I could
see the canyon become much narrower although it retained most of its
depth. Close to the gooseneck, the canyon is terrific, like something
out of Dante. Finally, I was able to get down to the bottom about a
quarter of a mile south of the place where Emmett Wash joins Rider
Canyon. There was good water here in rain pockets, so I had a good
night. I slept under a shallow overhang to avoid accumulating dew on my bag.

I started down the canyon quite early the following morning. There were
tracks of more than one person in the sandy places. The canyon is an
interesting one with many overhangs and huge blocks which have fallen
down leaving the route only a tunnel under them. After two or three
quite steep drops where one has to look a little for the route, I came
to the beginning of the gooseneck where the canyon deepens sharply. Very
shortly I was stopped by a chockblock. The most feasible route was down
a hole behind this block, but the ledges didn't seem inviting. If I had
gotten down, I might have had a time getting back. I tried the talus
along the left, but it seemed to stay at one level while the canyon was
getting deeper all the time. I didn't check the talus on the right, but
it seemed to offer no better luck. I should have had a rope with me.
There was a two by eight board about five feet long nearby, and I could
have put this across the hole to tie the rope to. The tracks in the sand
seemed to turn back here too. There were songbirds about, and quite a
few flowers were blooming. It was a good trip, although I was a bit too
cool in bed and a bit too warm hiking in the day.

Mrs. Baker at Cliff Dweller's Lodge told me a lot of things about the
area, such as a prospector named Haines was working up and down the
cliffs with ropes and a boatswain's chair. She told about a cavern near
the rim on the left bank somewhat upstream from Tanner Wash that could
be entered from above and offered an access to the river from the second
entrance. (I later found out that this was false. The cave is called
Piate Cave and is at Mile 22.7 and there is no lower entrance.) She also
mentioned a Yugoslavian who had come down the river to Lee's Ferry in a
one man rubber boat and bought a few provisions before attempting to go
on to Bright Angel Creek. He was never heard from again. She also told
about the man with Elmer Purtymun who drowned in Glen Canyon. His wife
wasn't satisfied with the amount of money he left her and suspected that
he had survived and was living in Mexico under another name. Also about
a family who went fishing at the mouth of Soap Creek and lost a
youngster when he slipped into the river. She also told about a man
named Red Wolf who had lived in a shack at Lee's Ferry. He said he had
walked over the Grand Canyon from one end to the other. She also
reported that Paul DeRoss had spent the summer after the plane wreck in
grave robbery, although he had never been caught at it.

*Right Bank descent into Marble Canyon at Mile 19
[May 7, 1961]*

We saw the Reilly party leave in their plane for home about 10:00 a.m. A
few minutes later I was on my way to try to finish finding the hoped for
route down into Marble Canyon a couple of miles below Rider Canyon. This
time I drove to the Cram Ranch and then turned southwest along the road
which soon swings east on the level ground between Rider and North
Canyons. It was only seven and a half miles along this road to its end
at the dry cattle tank. From the parked car, it was about a 20 minute
walk to the break in the rim. After leaving the valley with the tank in
it, one crosses another draw which shows on the map before he comes to
the break. It is about one-fourth mile south of the angle where the rim
starts curving east and north towards Rider Point. This angle is at Mile
19 of the river and the ravine cuts down through the Supai to the river.
It's the first one below Rider.

I went off the rim just as I had before, slanting down the broken part
of the Kaibab to the south. Below this on the talus, without thinking it
out, I went farther to the north than I had the other time. In fact, I
passed the big almost cubical block which seems to be perched so
precariously near the bottom of the talus where the Toroweap Formation
begins a new cliff. After just a bit of trail seeking in this region, I
not only got as low as I had before, but I found two breaks in the
lowest part of the Coconino, the part that had stopped me before. I was
carrying the rope, but there was no occasion to use it.

Below this you want to work down the talus with some traversing to the
north so as to get into the ravine which cuts through the Supai. In fact
the entire 1500 feet of the canyon divides very well into thirds:
getting down below the Coconino, then down to the top of the Supai, and
then down the ravine through the Supai. It took about 67 minutes to get
from the rim to the river with a few minutes used in route finding.
Going back up took 68. On the way back, I was not too sure of the right
place to hit the Coconino, but I concluded that I should keep to the
north of the steep place where the Hermit Shale is showing so well, and
I was right. If there were any deer or other animal tracks up and down
this route, I didn't see them.

When I got to the river, it was still quite early and I decided to walk
upstream at least as far as Boulder Narrows. The day was cool even at
the bottom of the canyon, and the only disagreeable feature was the wind
which lifted the sand into my eyes. It seemed to me that the river bank
was easier to follow than it had been from Deer Creek to Kanab. I had to
do a bit of crawling through holes under the big rocks at Boulder
Narrows and in one place I had to let myself down while holding with
just my hands, but even while I was taking pictures, I needed only 75
minutes to cover two miles along the river, and 60 minutes was all it
took to get back. There were birds and rabbits as well as a sea of
flowers in bloom up on the Marble Platform, but I saw no life down along
the river. My progress along the bank here makes it seem not too hard to
walk down from Soap to this route then up to the rim. I would still like
to study the possibility of getting up and down Rider itself. This
occasion was the third time I had missed a good break in the cliffs the
first time only to discover it on the second attempt. I have had this
experience before in the Supai above Royal Arch, on Picacho Peak, and
here at Mile 19. Allyn Cureton and I stopped at Cliff Dwellers for gas.
I also hoped to get a little more of a line on Ralph Haynes' activities.
I had the good fortune to meet the man himself. He seems to be quite
outspoken and intelligent. He did not bear out the report that he
casually gets a boat now and then and goes down through the entire Grand
Canyon to Lake Mead. He says he knows the river only as far as Nankoweap
Creek. He has gone past Saddle Mountain and down the Nankoweap Trail and
has made a complete circuit of Chuar Butte (this in itself is a very
difficult trip). He did this to look for minerals along the
Hermit-Coconino contact just 10 days before the great plane collision.
Haynes bore out my conclusion that you can't travel down Rider to reach
the open part. He also says that there is nothing to the idea that a
corral was ever built on the bottom, down near the river. He pointed to
a place near the junction of Rider Canyon with Emmett Wash as the
location of such a corral. However, he said it's possible to climb down
into Rider and checked the place on my map, just a bit west of the place
where the line one mile west of the east edge of the quad map meets the
south rim of Rider. A number of fins of limestone have been split away
from the rim. I noticed this place when I was here during Easter
vacation, but I didn't spend any time checking the lower ends of these
cracks.

We parked the car at the end of the same road I used when I went down to
the river at Mile 19. We got to the rim of Rider by heading a bit west
of north and then following along the rim. We could see one of Haynes'
100 foot dry falls at the end of the narrows where the canyon starts to
widen out. We soon noticed the great blocks split away from the south
rim. Some of the cracks thus formed ends where the wall is still high
and steep, but the last one to the northeast looked like a promising one
to go down. Near where it opened on the canyon wall, there were two
chockblocks where the only good route was through holes under them. The
second of these was so small that a big man might have trouble. Allyn
was feeling the worse for the Spanish dinner we had the evening before
so he lay down in the shade while I headed for the river.

There was one obstruction in the part I had not reached from the river
last August. It's near the top of the Supai. I could have jumped the
seven or eight foot drop in the middle of the wash, but I knew I should
find a way to return before I did that. The ledge on the left looked
inviting, but there was no way down. During my trip along the left side,
I saw a way to get down from the ledge on the right and went back to
proceed with that route. The three or so other places in the narrows
near the river where one has to bypass falls required no study. You do
the only thing possible and that is the right way to pass them.

The river was high enough to back water into the sandy channel. Only a
few boulders were uncovered below the mouth. I saw at a glance that I
probably could not go back down to Mile 19 along the beach as I had just
three weeks earlier. One would have trouble landing to bypass rapids at
this stage of water flow. I hope that the two faculty men thought better
of their idea to go from Havasu downriver in a two-man rubber boat.
Houserock Rapids itself shouldn't give an experienced boatman too bad a
time at this stage. The big water was really roaring, but it was all
over at the left wall and there was quite a bit of swift but almost
smooth water to the right.

On the way from the bed of the wash to the rim, Allyn threw up and
naturally took far longer to get out than he normally would have. If we
had been walking steadily, I believe it would have taken me about two
and a quarter hours to get from the river to the rim. This fits rather
well with Dock's information about men leaving the river and coming out
in three hours when they were preparing to bring Nims away from the
river. The figure of eight hours to locate the route is also consistent,
so we should go back to Rider as the Nims evacuation route. Ropes would
have to be used to raise a stretcher along this route to get it up the
outside of the chockblocks and also down near the river where a climber
needs both hands for a few yards. Along the route at Mile 19, I feel
that the stretcher bearers could carry it better without ropes.

Just as we were ready to enter the crack where the rim was shattered,
Allyn showed me something he had noticed on the way down, a couple of
vertical cracks from a few inches to a foot wide. Air which seemed a
good 10 degrees colder than the rest was blowing out of these cracks at
what seemed to be about 10 miles per hour. A rain was coming the next
day, and I presumed the barometric pressure was falling. The cold wind
was just as strong at 5:00 p.m. as it had been at 1:00 p.m., so there
may be a whale of a cavern underneath.

We camped beside the main gravel road just south of North Canyon Wash.
We had intended to study the possibility of getting to the river at Mile
30.4 next, but we had passed the road to Buffalo Tanks without seeing
it. Instead we arrived at Buffalo Ranch in time to talk to a group of
men who were putting up a new fence. The young boss said that an
observer from the air who thought that one could go down from the rim
along the north side of South Canyon must be wrong. He said that the
only place to go down was about 1.2 miles due east of the ranch and that
the best way to reach it would be to drive to their dump about two
tenths of a mile north of here across a small drainage. He insisted that
we would need a 50 foot rope to do it even here. We thanked him and
drove to the dump. We could see what he was talking about, but when we
got there we found a nice crack between the rocks where we could walk
down. From here we angled north into the bed of the wash, a minor ravine
which hardly shows on the map. From here to the beginning of the Supai,
there was nothing to report except that we found a seep rather close to
the place where we hit the bed of the wash. Reilly's report that there
was more water at various places was absolutely correct. We also
observed places where the north rim was broken. This seemed to be true
of the rim for about a fourth of a mile, but we couldn't tell from below
where the best climbing would most likely be. We also noticed a place
where one could climb through the Coconino and Toroweap in Bedrock
Canyon where it comes into South Canyon. We couldn't see how to complete
the trip up to the rim, but now I can see how it could be done. One
could go along the top of the Supai, or even higher, until he reached
the break in the rim where the 30.4 Mile Fault reaches the rim.

The Supai and Redwall in lower South Canyon presented of number of
puzzles. The bypasses sometimes required a bit of thought and guesswork
as to which side would allow a decent that was not visible from the fall
in the middle of the wash. At one place in the Redwall, one had to go
along a not very level ledge by friction alone and come down when a
break occurred, but the last two obstacles were the real worries. They
were chockblocks where there was no chance of going up and around. With
just a bit of slipping and jumping, we managed the first one with the
assurance that if one of us braced the other, we would be able to climb
back up. At the second, I fastened the rope with knots tied in it to
help my grip on the way back. Allyn was able to climb up both sides of
the block without the rope, although I would have been unable to do it.
We saw sneaker tracks of someone who had come up this far from the
river. It was only about 300 yards from the beach, and Allyn noticed
that the block is visible from the cliff near the skeleton. On the way
back, I had to take off my shoes and wade through a pool which I had
jumped across on the way down. Allyn showed me a wrinkle he had either
just thought of or possibly had learned in his climbing course this
spring. He arched his back and kept his hands on one wall and his feet
on the other with his face down and was able to side-step his way across
the 20 feet of this difficulty. His extra height helped. I probably
would have fallen on my face in the water when I was halfway over it.

At the river, we first explored the Stanton Cave by the light of matches
because we had forgotten the flashlight . We tried to get clear across
to Vasey's fall, but the rock was too slick and the water was fast below
it. We ate at the first greenery with a little trickle coming from the
corner of a rock where we could fill our canteens. I'm sure I didn't
touch the poison oak, but I contracted a mean case of poisoning just
when I thought I was through with some I had gotten previously in Oak
Creek Canyon. Before starting back, I showed Allyn the ruin and the
skeleton.

On the return, we took the way out to the north side of South Canyon
coming out about by the number 30 on the quad map. There was much bad
footing both of loose rock and places where the grips were poor. Right
at the top we did some climbing that was about as precarious as I ever
want to tackle, but we saw a much better place around another point.
With more experience here, we could come up quite handily. The total
time from the car was nine and a half hours.

The 30.4 Mile Fault:

We had a bit of trouble locating the road leading toward the rim for the
inspection of the 30.4 Mile Fault route, and we ended by driving through
the wild flowers and low brush at 10 miles per hour until we came right
out on the rim. We were northeast across some ledges from the slump
block. It was not clear from a distance whether there was a good route
off the rim, but when we got there after a short search, we found one
that required both hands for only a few feet and then was a simple walk
down to the Supai. One has to go right at first below the top cliff to
get down the Coconino and then turn toward the fault which shows so well
on the map. The complete breakdown of the Redwall at the river is
striking on both sides of the water, but try as we might, we couldn't
locate a route through the Supai. We checked out about five ravines in
the zone of fracture, but each time after we had descended 100 feet or
so, there would be a series of impossible cliffs. Our failure was
especially mysterious when Allyn found a bit of broken pottery and a not
very old can near each other just below the top cliff. As I said above,
this may have been an old Indian route down to water in South Canyon
rather than a route across the river at mile 30.4. (It's possible to get
through the Supai farther north of the main fault, however Jensen says
that one of the ravines we gave up on is better.)

One observation that was most impressive from the top of the Supai was
the trail leading down to the water on the left bank of the Colorado,
and we could see very clear trails along the bench at the top of the
Redwall going both up and downstream. Climbing the Supai on the left
side of the river looked perfectly possible, but it didn't seem possible
to get through the top cliffs anywhere near the cave. We gave up the
search for a route down through the Supai after an hour and a half and
had lunch back at the car.

*Wotan's Throne and Kibbey Butte
[May 30, 1961 to May 31, 1961]*

After our frustration at Mile 30.4, there was time to go to the north
rim and do a bit of scouting for Clubb's route to Wotan's Throne. We
found a way off the top, right near the seats in the naturalist's
lecture area. When we couldn't go any lower at this place, we turned to
the left and Allyn unnerved me by proceeding out on a narrow shelf
looking for a break. Just as I was about to give him strict orders to
come back, he yelled to me that he had it made. When I followed, I had
to crawl on my hands and knees for a couple yards to get under an
overhang where the ledge only made an open tunnel less than a yard high.
Just as the ledge was giving out completely, there were some holds and a
groove that allows one to descend. Then we angled down and to the right
until we were near the top of the Coconino. This ledge continues, with a
convenient window at one place to walk through and around to the head of
Clubb's chute.This is just east of the fin that points toward Wotan's
Throne. We came back in the morning with two ropes and water and food
for a long day's climb. There was an immense chockblock at the very top
of the chute. Allyn scouted for a bypass while I prepared a rope to let
us down a hole behind the block. When I had finished tying the knots for
stirrups and hand grips, we started down. I discovered that one could do
this without the rope by bracing his back against one wall with his feet
against the other. I had thought that this was the place Clubb had used
the only rope in his entire descent, but I was in for a big surprise.
The going was easy until near the bottom of the Coconino where there
were two big steps left, each of them about 50 feet straight down. We
decided how Clubb did this. We could get down a few feet farther by
going out of the chute to the left. There is a pinyon pine on the rim of
the rock here, but I didn't have either the experience nor the guts to
take on the climb back up a vertical 100 feet even with the prussic
slings we had brought. Allyn's 120 feet of nylon rope went unused. Mabe
I'll practice going up a wall like that and come back for another crack,
but my respect for Clubb and the Walter Wood party, who climbed Wotan
first in 1937, went up 100%. I wish I had asked Merrel how he goes up a
rope.

It was still early when we reached the car, so after lunch we went back
for another crack at what I had bungled last fall, finding Art's way
down through the Coconino near Kibbey Butte. The afternoon before, we
had decided which way it should be from Point Imperial, but it was easy
to think that every ravine through the brush should go clear down. I had
to restrain Allyn's desire to go down before I thought we had reached
the right place. When we came to the one I thought was right, there was
a good deer trail down it. Below the Coconino it was easy to proceed to
the top of Kibbey. One wonders why such a minor point has a name at all.
However, the view from here is fine and I was impelled to take pictures
in four directions. We could see that we had come down the only feasible
way through the Coconino. It's interesting to speculate on why the north
sides of these promontories are the only places where the Coconino is
broken through. (The route goes down the Supai and R-W south of Kibbey.)
the route at Point Imperial and here are twins, both are out near the
end of a point and facing north. The one which can be used to go below
Point Atoka is back near the angle but also facing north. I suppose the
explanation has to do with the decreased evaporation and more abundant
plant growth with the roots splitting the rock. The only snow patches we
saw in this part of the park were down here in the woods and the largest
were at the very base of the Coconino.

Art had reported unmistakable signs of trail construction here, and I
was about ready to admit that we were not going to verify that
observation. However, on the return I tried to follow the best
established deer trail I could find. At one place near the base of the
Coconino, the trail seemed to disappear when I noticed that it went up a
ramp separating two small cliffs. As it rounded the outward pointing
corner, there was a small but definite retaining wall. I believe the
explanation is connected with the big wooden gate we noticed lying
across the old wagon road along the rim here. There was a lot of rusty
iron nearby which evidently had been a cook stove. I figured that a toll
gate keeper lived here and constructed a burro trail down to a seep
somewhere below the Coconino. (I found out latter that this was not 100%
true.)

*Down the South Bass Trail then along the Colorado River to Fossil Bay
[June 7, 1961 to June 10, 1961]*

On my way to Bass Camp, I stopped and had quite a good visit with Lynn
Coffin at Park Headquarters. He told me two points of interest. First,
Doug Schwartz was going into Nankoweap Basin by Helicopter and was going
from there to Hance Rapids by rubber boat, looking for ruins along the
way. The other point was that Dan Davis had broken the narrow bone in
his lower leg on the Grandview Trail but had walked out with only help
from a stick he used as a cane. Coffin was interested to learn from me
that one can walk the bank from Nankoweap to the mouth of the Little
Colorado River.

They have been doing something at the head of the South Bass Trail.
There is now a register for hikers, and down the trail a short distance
is a sign saying that hikers should consult the rangers before going
down. I wonder why they don't have that information at the register
itself. As I went down, I noticed the usual points of interest: the old
dams in the bed just above the top of the Coconino and the old granary a
little farther on.

While I was skirting the head of Bass Canyon, I got the impulse to start
down through the Supai directly instead of taking the big detour formed
by the horse trail. The best descent seems not to be at the most
southerly arm but rather directly above where the trail crosses over and
starts down the last half of the Supai. The hardest place to get down is
almost at the top, a ledge about eight or ten feet high. I noticed that
deer seemed to go to the east and almost at the end of the ledge there
is an angle where the drop is not much and where a couple juniper logs
have been placed. On the way back, I noticed that they used to form a
ladder as they still have large nails in them, although the rungs are
gone. Down below where you join the regular trail, there are some good
shady overhangs just off the trail to the east. A scoop is lying here also.

My pack wasn't very well planned. I had too many gingersnaps and even my
lightweight sleeping bag was much too warm. I shouldn't have been
starting with 28 pounds not counting my gallon of water. However, I made
good enough progress and reached the copper mine before 4:00 p.m. after
having started down about 10:00 a.m. I was gratified to see that I still
remembered where the trail leaves the rim and gets down into Copper
Canyon. Allyn found that place for me on our first trip to Elves Chasm.
I had the feeling that I was making considerably better time than I had
on that occasion. For one thing, I already had the pictures of this
trail and area. There was no water in the pockets in the creek but there
was still plenty in the vertical mine shaft. I used the string I had
brought to lower the saucepan for water. After filling the canteen, I
carried the pack on to a place near the bench mark below Hakatai Rapids.
Hakatai Rapids seemed a bit unusual in that the major waves occurred
above the mouth of the incoming creek. They seem to bear out Pat's idea
about the cause of the rapids: the deepening by rocks brought down the
side canyon rather than those rocks forming a dam.

By the time I had finished breakfast on Wednesday morning, I was a
little dismayed at the small amount of water left in my canteen. I
thought a bit about going down to the river near the Hakatai Cable for
more, but I decided that I ought to be able to reach more in Garnet
Canyon before there would be any dire situation for lack of water.
Actually, I reached Garnet a little after 8:00 a.m. from a start around
5:50 a.m. Again, I felt that I was making better progress since I was by
myself. I had looked at the scenery and taken pictures on the previous
trip. One major difference this time was that the barrel cactus were
starting to bloom. We had noted at Christmas vacation that the barrel
type was more common along here than it is at any other part of the
Grand Canyon that we knew about. Possibly the burros migrate to this
plateau at this season. I heard a few bray, but I only saw one during
the entire trip and that was up on the Esplanade near the top of the
Bass Trail.

When I got to Garnet Canyon, I missed the way down to the bottom. It's
easy to do it when you're on the higher version of the Tonto Trail.
There's a lower version that leads to the rim and then shows trail
construction over the edge and down to the bottom. I should have
remembered this place where the canyon is quite broad and open. When I
began looking over the edge, it was higher upstream and was quite
narrow. I must have walked a quarter of a mile beyond the right place to
get to the bottom before I found another way down. From here there were
some impediments in the bed that made the walk a bit difficult, but I
came to rain pools, or perhaps they were pools formed in the night from
a seep. I filled the canteen at 1:00 p.m., using Halazone of course, and
then I took a bath and shaved. Just below was another slightly deeper
pool that held something I had never seen before, a dead frog floating
in the water. Lower down the bed there are some quite clear pools with a
bit of permanent water trickling through them, but to judge by the
incrustation of minerals around them, the water may be bad for drinking.

When the statement is made that one cannot go down Garnet to the river,
one is thinking of the direct drop in the bed at the lower part of the
Archean. There is an impassible fall, but a marked trail takes off to
the south along the upper part of the Archean and within a mile or so,
there must be places to reach the river. I would estimate that the
marked trail dwindles out to about nothing one-third of the way from
Garnet to Elves, and the last burro manure seems to be about halfway
between them. From here on you'll be on bighorn trails if you are on any
trail at all.

When I came within sight of the slump block, I got excited. From my
angle the place looked like a simple walk-up. I left the pack at the
river and climbed up to look at it closely. Even with no pack, this
climb made me realize how much the heat had taken out of me. It was a
real effort to go up there. In fact, it took me a bit more than an hour
to go up for a close look and return to my pack. When I was only 30
yards from the possible place, I could see what Pat meant by calling it
impossible. (We have done this coming down with a rope. Gary Stiles went
up here without a rope and then fixed a rope for others on July 7,
1979.) I agreed that with my climbing ability and by myself, it was not
for me. Still, the bighorn trail I had been following went right ahead
to the most nearly possible place for a climb. I wonder whether the
critters come down there in great leaps checking themselves on the
ledges too narrow for a real resting place. If they do, I would surely
like to witness the fact. I would still like to come back in cool
weather and bring a rope to make the descent safe. There may be some
connection between the hazard of this descent and the bighorn skeleton I
found down rather close to the river. Possibly the ewe broke a limb and
then couldn't make it to water.

Even with this detour of over an hour, and in spite of my general state
of near exhaustion, I reached Elves Chasm shortly after 3:00 p.m. I feel
more certain than before that if one got an early start down the South
Bass Trail and had cool weather and good shoes, he could get to Elves in
one long day. Before I had a chance to get into the cool water for a
good soak in the nude, Don Harris came along with his power boats. I was
surely glad to meet him. The heat and the solitude had me in a rather
dismal frame of mind. He showed us the best way to climb up to the
swimming pool below the ferny falls. I noticed how one could climb
around and get above this level, but I didn't attempt it. Don also told
me where to find the register. Staveley and Georgie White have parked
under the overhang, up against the cliff on the southwest side rather
than under the big rock. The boat party stayed about 40 minutes and then
went on to reach their campsite at the mouth of Tapeats Creek. I was a
bit surprised to learn that some boaters don't regard watertight
compartments necessary. If one of the Harris boats should capsize, it
would fill with water and be rather hard to manage.

Beyond Elves, the walking was easy for a short distance and then it
became discouragingly difficult. After I had climbed up and down a
couple of times with a full pack, I began to look ahead to see if there
might be a way down to the river coming up shortly. A few hundred yards
beyond two large travertine crags, I saw a chance to go down to a small
beach and decided to call it a day at about Mile 117.5. The first night
I was there, a bighorn sheep came down to drink. I didn't see the
animal, but I saw fresh droppings.

By this time my feet were getting sore and the going was obviously
difficult the rest of the way along Stephen Aisle. I practically decided
to retract my objective for the trip and settle for a view along
Conquistador Aisle. In fact, when I started on without my pack on
Thursday, I had resolved to turn back either at 9:00 a.m. or when I got
a view along Conquistador, whichever came first. The view down
Conquistador came first, but then I thought I would proceed until 9:00
a.m. anyway. By then I could see that the way was smoothing out for me
and that I might get to Forster Canyon by going ahead. In fact, I
reached Forster before 11:00 a.m., and in another hour and a half I was
at the mouth of Fossil Canyon. I had seen two things that had been put
there by men, some tanks of heavy metal, each about a yard long, that
had obviously been dropped from a plane at about Mile 120.5 and a rock
pile just below high water level a couple hundred yards upstream from
the mouth of Fossil. There was also the Kodachrome can and the note left
by Bob Euler at the rock shelter under the overhang of the cliff facing
the streambed on the left bank of Fossil Creek. I had taken about six
hours to come to Fossil and I wouldn't get started back until after
lunch about 1:00 p.m., so I decided to give up the main project of
exploring Fossil. Of course now I wish I had taken the chance of getting
caught overnight without food or a bedroll. The bedroll would hardly
have been missed as I regularly had been lying on top of it until after
midnight, and I could have done without food a little longer than usual.
Now I'll have to go back for another trip to Fossil. It will probably be
a descent by rope. Incidentally, I noticed another possible route
through the Redwall at about Mile 124. There's a good chute cutting
through the lower part of the Redwall where the top also appears rather
broken. It might be awkward to bypass the cliff below the Redwall, but I
think it should be possible. I'll have to go back in cooler weather and
investigate it.

The walk back to my pack took a half hour less than the trip away and I
had plenty of daylight. On Friday, I got back to the copper mine about
2:30 p.m. and loafed in the coolness of the shaft on one of the cots
reading while my feet got a chance to recover. On Saturday, I was out to
the car a bit after noon.

Both Wednesday and Thursday evenings, I found ticks starting to bite me.

*Toltec, Chemehuevi, Piute, and Jicarilla Points
[July 15, 1961 to July 16, 1961]*

I got away from town by 1:45 p.m. and reached Bass Camp by about 5:00
p.m. For a wonder, I found a young couple prepared to camp right near
the center of the grounds. After a few minutes of conversation with the
young man, I started on towards Toltec Point. However, I learned from
him that an airplane had been sent out to look for a hiker who was
overdue on the South Bass Trail a few days before. I supposed that the
hiker would have been Merrel Clubb who was two days overdue when he came
out. I had a compass in my pocket but the sun was shining so I used it
for direction. This time I had left my map at home, but I remembered the
angles in the rim and hit the rim about where I was supposed to have,
halfway from Chemehuevi Point to the angel east of Toltec. It took me 80
minutes to walk to Toltec from Bass Camp.

The ruin was all that Clubb had led me to expect. It was separated from
the rim by a notch several yards deep. There were about three distinct
lines of breastwork on this spectacular platform whose only approach was
about a yard wide. Bob Euler isn't convinced by this ruin that there was
much actual warfare involved. He thinks that these defensive measures
were carried out against a threat that failed to materialize. I slept in
an ideal setting on the needles dropped by a juniper quite close to the
rim where I could stand in bare feet and look at the brilliant sunset.
From the same angle, I could watch the sun come above the horizon in the
morning.

After as good a sleep as I have ever had in bed at home (my bag was just
right for this summer night on the rim), I got off at 5:40 a.m. for a
memorable day. First I wanted to investigate a possible descent to the
seep spring. A talus covered half the Coconino just west of Chemehuevi
Point, and there is an obvious descent down to the top of the Coconino.
Getting through the Toroweap was interesting but the solution was just
around an angle facing Huethawali Point. Just below the Toroweap
promontory there is a deep notch in the Coconino. I had to inspect it at
close range before I could tell what it was like. A bighorn sheep could
have jumped a few yards, and a man could make it feasible by propping a
pole at the critical place, but I gave it up. I also inspected some
cracks just north and decided that the route would be possible if one
were determined to take a chance, but again I gave it up. (Both Packard
and Walters have done this route.)

It was still early when I reached the car at Bass Camp so I decided to
pick up another named point, Fossil Mountain. I left the car one mile
east of the junction connecting the Signal Hill Lookout with Bass Camp.
On the return, I arrived at the fork just north of the Lookout where the
road branches from the Havasupai Point road, and I decided that this
would be a better starting point. There are fewer valleys to cross and
one should be able to walk it in less than an hour. The route up Fossil
Hill is simple, but the outside face is spectacular and the view is at
least as good as that from Havasupai Point. The latter is one of the
prime attractions from Fossil Mountain. There was an old cairn at the
very top of Fossil Mountain.

From the map I estimated that I should drive from three and a half to
four miles east along the telephone line road to reach the head of
Turquoise Canyon and proceed from there around Piute Point. I believe I
walked a bit east of north after stopping four miles east of the Pasture
Wash Ranger Station. I hit the rim at the base of Piute Point. The walls
below the rim all along the extent of Turquoise seemed unscalable. I
could see game trails either at the top of the Coconino or below that.
One sure way to reach this area would be to start from the South Bass
Trail and keep coming around. If that is the only way to reach the bases
of Pollux and Castor Temples, I would predict that it will be a while
before they are climbed, but the ascent of both temples doesn't look
impossible. (Al Doty found a route off Walapai Point and Jim Ohlman got
all the way down through the Redwall and said there were Moki steps in
the Coconino.)

I was expecting a break in the walls of Piute on the Sapphire side, but
the most hopeful place was around the bay just south of Jicarilla Point
where a talus covers most of the Kaibab. There's a small ravine breaking
the rim for a few yards down near the base of Piute. A good burro trail
goes below the rim here and comes back on top about 50 yards further
along. I was about to conclude that only burros ever found this spot
attractive when I noticed about the best preserved granary I had ever
seen. The construction is rather neat and thin with clay covering all
the rocks. The door is precisely outlined by long thin rocks. The whole
thing is no bigger than a card table.

From here I made good time around the rim and investigated the place
near Jicarilla Point where I thought you might get down below the
Kaibab. At one place I could go down easily for 50 feet and then I had
to crawl along a narrow place using hand and toeholds above that made
side stepping possible. (Some of the college boys later went down a
rough place without using the crack.) From there one could go down a
jamb crack, but the step at the bottom seemed a bit high for comfort,
and I didn't make it. A juniper pole or a couple of flat rocks at the
bottom would have made it quite easy. I may go back and do this sometime
and then study the possibility of getting down the Coconino. The best
possibility seems to be on the east side of the fin that sticks out from
below Jicarilla Point. (I found out that it goes.) If this can be done,
I feel almost sure that one can get down through the Supai and about
sure that this must be the route used by the shipwrecked rivermen to
reach the rim between Boucher and Bass Canyons; the climb that W. W.
Bass called impossible. (I found out that this was indeed the route.)
About 100 yards north of this break in the rim, but still at least that
far south of the point itself, there is a shallow draw. Fifteen feet out
from the lip of the dry fall is a previously unrecorded natural bridge.
The opening inside it is roughly 25 feet long by 15 feet wide and the
span under the bridge itself is something like 40 feet. The drop below
is the spectacular feature, probably between 100 and 150 feet. The
bridge is about as interesting as the one near the head of the Redwall
in White Canyon. There is a juniper stub propped up by rocks at the end
of Piute, but I didn't notice any marker at the end of Jicarilla. It
surprised me slightly to find axe hewn trees and limbs in the
featureless woods both on the way to Toltec and also south of Turquoise
and Sapphire Canyons. I even found a surveyor's stake where there seemed
no reason for one.

I had been cagy when I parked the car at the place where the road
switched from going along the south of the telephone line to going north
of the line. I came back to the road as I had expected, east of the car.
There was one more thrill, unmistakable bear tracks in the dust of the
road. I hope my black and white pictures show the tracks.

After I had driven more than three miles east I noticed the temperature
of the coolant going up and then I noticed that the oil gage showed
zero. I had cracked the oil pan. I was glad it was still early, only
2:45 p.m. I decided to walk to Hermit's Rest rather than back to Pasture
Wash to phone because if I were at Hermit's Rest it would be easier for
a car to get me. The Ken Todds took care of me with a good meal and
about four glasses of lemonade and four of water before I got over my
dehydration. The Gibsons brought Roma up to the canyon since Jim and
Cynthia had our other car. After three more cups of soup near midnight,
I still weighed only 122 pounds, the lightest I have been for years.
However, I felt fine by then. We got the car by driving up with the '55
and a gallon of oil and a piece of soap on Monday afternoon. The soap
finally held the leak to a very slow drip. It was a day to remember - a
rope route below the Coconino at Chemehuevi, Fossil Mountain, a fine
granary, a route down the Kaibab at Jicarilla, a natural bridge, bear
tracks, and finally a broken oil pan.

*Coronado Butte, Red Canyon, and Papago Canyon
[August 5, 1961 to August 6, 1961]*

After another good visit at park headquarters, I got going down the Red
Canyon Trail about 10:30 a.m. David Hunt had told me about going up to
the base of Coronado Butte, so I decided to do likewise. The butte had
been climbed before 1900 (see my logs for April 4, 1971), but it looks
plenty tough. I checked the crack that faces southeast and separates the
south tower from the central one. I stopped at a place where the step is
about 10 feet high. There is a dead log leaning against a live tree
which projects almost horizontally higher up. It was wet and slippery
from the intermittent rain and I decided that I would turn back. I also
climbed around near the crack that faces south and poked a bit up
several other places, but the one with the dead tree seemed to offer the
best chance of getting into a high notch. From the flats near the bottom
of Red Canyon, the wall leading up from this notch seems rather smooth,
and I would guess that the climb would need hardware.

After a late lunch where I had left the pack near the saddle connecting
Coronado with the rim, I started on down through the Supai. Some people
do follow this trail, because I'm sure that there are more cairns along
it than there were in say 1954. Some of these were put up by misguided
people and they succeeded in misguiding me. I tried Davis' route down
the Redwall nearer the end of the valley through the Supai. I came down
a slightly different route than the one I had used in going up about two
years ago, and this time it was harder and slower. Walking along the
stream at the bottom also seemed worse than I had remembered it, and I
decided to use the historic route up the trail on my return. I might
note here that the walk along the top of the Redwall on the return was
rougher than I had remembered it with more of the trail obliterated by
slides, so now I'm not sure what I really favor. I believe I would vote
in favor of working out the best way down Davis' route.

My impression that you can find permanent water in the Muav below the
Redwall in the creek was born out by the flowing springs. There were
also rain pools that were obviously temporary. In fact there were rain
pools lower down than I had seen before, just about anywhere that the
bedrock showed. The only part of the bed I had to bypass was right at
the top of the Tapeats. A little north of here is where the Tapeats, the
Shinumo Quartzite, and the Hakatai Shale come together at an interesting
angle.

There were fresh burro signs along the wash, and I saw two on the
return. Even though the Supai Indians rounded up and removed a couple
hundred during recent years, there are still enough to keep up the
population.

Any ambition I had to cross the river and sleep in Asbestos Canyon was
put aside by my late arrival at the river, 6:00 p.m., and I was wearier
than I had expected. I did take a cooling dip and looked around at the
larger rocks to see whether I could find a nearby shelter from rain in
the night. While doing this I found the canned food cache that Dock had
invited me to raid. On Sunday before starting back I got a can of
tomatoes and one of tamales. The tomatoes were fine but the can of
tamales was bulging at the ends, so I didn't dare to eat any. The labels
were off the cans and the cans themselves were mostly rust. I'll
probably eat some span the next time I come down here. I still intend to
cross the river and try climbing Sheba and Solomon Temples and the
Tabernacle. The latter should be no problem but it will add to my
collection of named buttes. Sheba and Solomon seem as if they might or
might not stop me. About 8:00 p.m. it started raining and I finally had
a chance to test my substitute for a tent, my plastic sheet. I was on
sand where rain didn't run underneath me, and the sheet shed water and
kept me dry. The noise on the sheet right above my ear was enough to
keep me awake during the rain, but it was over in less than the time it
often takes to fall asleep, and the few ounces of plastic sheet was
certainly less of a burden than the lightest tent. Warmth was no
problem. A light cotton blanket was not even necessary for several
hours. Then I used the blanket, and finally for about three hours before
daylight, I put on a nylon jacket which was entirely adequate. There was
no more rain and I enjoyed a fine night.

The main project I had in mind was to go upriver to test the idea that
one could get from Hance Rapids to 75 Mile Rapids at the low stage.
Owens had evidently done this in his bare feet two summers ago. The
walking was mostly very easy. Mostly in sand, but there are stretches
where boulders and pebbles would have been pretty bad, and there were a
few places where it was necessary to go behind thickets of willows and
clamber over some rather uneven rocks. just west of the mouth of Papago
Creek, the cliff comes right into the water. I climbed the talus just
west of here far enough to see that it ended 40 feet away. I went in
without clothes or camera prepared to swim if necessary. It was only hip
deep so I carried my stuff across and continued easily to 75 Mile
Canyon. This is where Owens was finally picked up on the last pass of
the helicopter. If the water had been as low for him as it was for me,
and if he had tried it before he became too weak, he could have swum
past the next cliff. I tried this with no trouble. It meant about 200
yards in the water, but a slow sidestroke was all I needed to carry me
past the rocks. There were many handholds in the cliff where I could
have rested if it had been necessary, and I broke the swim by walking
along a sandbar. This time I landed without shoes or clothes, so I
merely visited my former campsite where I found the two rocks I had used
for a cooking fire and a pile of wood that I had left. I feel sure that
there would be little trouble in going upriver with an air mattress
along here. If there is no slack water on one side of the river, there
is on the other. One would walk wherever possible in going upstream. I
noticed the large pole still upright where 75 Mile Wash comes out on the
beach. There were three mooring poles in the sand near the quiet water
below 75 Mile Rapids and I saw a couple of cairns perched above the
first bluff above the beach between 75 Mile and Papago Canyons. The
principal objective of this jaunt was to get into Papago Canyon. Access
from above had seemed impossible when I had skirted the rim in going
from Tanner Rapids to Red Canyon. (Later students from NAU were able to
get down at three different places.) I assumed that it would be simple
to enter it at river level, but it is almost another Mystery Canyon. You
can enter it from the east as I did by going up on a bench and around
the corner into it. There appears to be only one way down from the bench
to the bottom of the wash just before the ledge cliffs out. On the west
you can climb straight up a few yards with lots of holds to bypass the
dry falls in the very end of the bed. High water in the river might put
a boat above these falls. After only about a five minute walk up the
bed, you come around several sharp turns and face an immense chockblock.
There seems to be only two ways to climb past this obstacle, both on the
west side. Above here you can walk without obstruction up to the fork in
the canyon. The map makes the west arm look slightly the more
impressive, but from below the east arm looks longer. The west arm would
stop a walker in short order (however, later Ken Walters got out here),
but I got around a drop into the east arm and continued for more than
five minutes until the bed narrows to a slit and you meet more dry
falls. There seemed to be no break in the lofty rim of Papago, and I
don't think a burro could ever get into it. I would nominate it as the
side canyon of the Grand with the fewest visitors over the years. Ives
words "lonely and majestic" apply with special force here. (Later, Jim
Sears and others have climbed south in the east arm.)

*Hartman Natural Bridge, Lava and Unkar Creeks
[August 20, 1961 to August 22, 1961]*

After visiting with Merrel Clubb all Sunday morning, I drove along the
Cape Royal road south of the Two Rivers Viewpoint and parked the car at
the first chance on the east side of the road after I had passed the low
place 1.3 miles south of the viewpoint. It was already 2:00 p.m. and I
had my doubts as to the possibility of getting down by the Hartman
Bridge before time to make camp. Going a bit east of north, I came right
to the bay where a deer trail goes through the Coconino, but I checked
by going out on the spur of sandstone to the left of the ravine before
starting the long descent. I knew from experience that there are many
places that go more than halfway down the Coconino. At the bottom, I
checked to see whether the little spring a few yards to the west was
still flowing. It was.

Following the Hermit Shale to the east means bucking locust thickets,
other thick brush and alternating between picking your way through all
sizes of tumbled rocks and trying to step safely along the shale slopes.
The latter is the easiest place to progress. Pushing through the dense
prickly locust is about the worst, and there are other sorts of brush
that were more effective in tearing my shirt and trousers. I was
gratified when I got from the spring to the saddle between Kwagunt and
Lava in two and a half hours instead of the three and a half I had
needed in 1958. On the return, however, I used three and three-quarters
for the same leg, possibly because I was more intent on following deer
trails in the hope that they would show me how to avoid the thickets.

My previous impression had been that the Supai below this saddle down
into Lava should offer no real difficulty, but I was very unsure of the
feasibility of the Redwall. I started gaily down the streambed from the
lowest part of the saddle, but about 200 feet down into the Supai, there
was a 30 foot wall that seemed to be continuous. After going along the
ledge to the east, I saw a good prospect around to the west. A talus
came far up on the wall. When I got over there, the highest part of the
talus was seen to lack about eight feet of being enough. Still farther
to the west, about 20 yards, there was a break in the ledge which led
down to a shelf connecting with the talus. This seemed to be the neatest
problem encountered in the whole two and a half days. The talus and
another slope across one ravine to the east solved the problem of
getting down the rest of the Supai.

My impression obtained when I had been at the Hartman Bridge in 1958 was
that the hope for getting through the Redwall lay to the east of the
center of the draw. As I circled in this direction, I found ways to drop
lower and I got to the bottom of the draw before I had intended. There
were deer trail bypasses for several impossible drops in the bed. I
could see that I was already below a lot of the Redwall and I began to
hope that the relatively level bed was going to lead right out of the
Redwall. Just as I remembered, however, there was one more cliff, the
biggest drop of all. My first impulse was to go to the left, but there
were no deer signs in that direction, and I couldn't see whether the
narrow ledge went on around the corner. (As it was, I returned on this
east side.) When I was out on this shelf, I could see that there was
rather certainly a way to go through an overgrown bench on the right and
descend, perhaps a bit beyond the bridge. Since I wanted to go up under
the bridge anyway and get some more pictures, I elected to camp where I
was and proceed in the morning when there would be more light.

The night was clear so I didn't regret not being at the Indian ruin
overhang where I had planned to spend the night. I was a little afraid
that my one cotton blanket wouldn't be warm enough at the higher
altitude so I pulled a big drift log into place and got enough small
wood together to light it. The blanket, augmented by a nylon jacket
towards morning, was just right.

The route through the woods to the right was somewhat rough and
overgrown, but I had the encouragement of a well established deer trail.
At one draw, I was pausing to decide whether it would pay to start going
lower when I happened to glance up. There, only 50 yards away, was the
Hartman Natural Bridge. It looks better at close range, more shapely
than the Kolb Bridge, but only about two-thirds as wide. The space
behind is roughly as far to the wall as the bridge is long. My way of
measuring the span was to pitch a rock a bit bigger than my fist under
the span of the bridge. As yet I haven't calibrated this measurement. I
also checked to see how easily I could climb to the top of the bridge.
The north end would be the better one to try, but it would involve some
risk for one who is not an expert and I passed up the chance. A spring
makes a series of small pools just below and a bit south of the bridge,
so that a trip from the rim to the bridge would form an easy two day
backpack. (One day using the route from the rim above Hartman Bridge.)
To bring burros down the route I used would require considerable trail
construction, and I found no such signs. I don't believe this is the
answer to the question as to how McDonald reached his mines with pack
animals. However, this route is not only more direct but it is probably
easier than my other way up near Hubbell Butte. No wonder I found no
signs of a deer trail on that climb. McDonald must have used this route
to the rim when he was traveling with his animals, so we can safely
conclude that Hartman was not the first white man to see the bridge.

There is one seep above the mouth of the side canyon which comes down
from Hubbell Butte and a good shower-bath spring is only a short walk
below. There's another good seep a little below the short western arm of
Lava. You can go from here right up to the north against the overhang to
the ruin. A hundred yards or so downstream is the big spring that keeps
Lava Creek flowing for several miles.

The ruin was about as I had remembered it. The intact ruin was only
about three-fourths standing. There were more signs of other rooms than
I had thought, about six in all. Before I left, I happened to glance up
and saw what appears to be the only petroglyph around. The artist must
have stood on the roof of a hut that has since fallen down, because it
would now take a scaffold to reach the place. The marking looks like an
H but with two crossbars instead of one, or you might call it a square
with curved handles. The evening and some of the night was slightly
rainy so I was glad of the shelter. Other things liked it too and my
sleep was marred by rodents scampering around, and I seem to have a few
chigger bites from my night there. My light blanket was actually on the
warm side, so I didn't sleep as well the second night as I had the first.

As I previously implied, I reached this spot in the middle of the
forenoon and after some food and rest I was ready to move on by 9:30
a.m. I had assumed that the logical route would be up the streambed in
the south arm of Lava.The time spent in going over to enter it was
wasted.The Tapeats forms a 100 foot fall, but it is easy to go up a
slope directly opposite the ruin. I dropped down into the wash upstream
from the tributary that leads to the Lava-Unkar pass and had to fight
more brush than I should have when I discovered where I was. There was a
good talus of assorted blocks on the lower and middle parts of the
Redwall, and towards the top I came on a well established deer trail.
Clubb feels that he can distinguish a pure deer trail from an aboriginal
trail that is now deer maintained. I feel that this trail up to the top
of the pass and also the part where the steeper slope into Unkar begins
should qualify as a man improved trail. It took over two hours to get
from the ruin to the top of the pass and only a few minutes over an hour
to come down by the best route.

After lunch I faced the decision as to whether I would rather climb Juno
Temple or go down Unkar and connect with my other trip up Unkar. I
elected the latter although the way up Juno looked plain enough. The
Supai cliffs are uniformly small ones and I was rather sure I saw the
route. On the way off the pass to the south, I was amazed not to find a
very sharp line between the slope of the pass and the Redwall. It just
gets a bit steeper. The faulting that makes a descent into Kwagunt and
the north arm of Lava possible is more pronounced here. This was the
part of the trip which held the most mystery for me. I know I couldn't
see this from the top of the Tapeats when I had came up Unkar, and I
don't believe I could see it from the rim near Cape Final. The climb out
of Lava had turned out to be quite straight forward where it had seemed
barely possible from a distance. However, the descent into Unkar beat
about anything I've seen in the entire Grand Canyon. You could almost
say that there was no limestone to be seen. Even the high Redwall
exposed under Cape Final is sloping and rounded like a dome in Yosemite.
I believe one could walk up this 45 degree slope. I want to come back
and try another approach. There is a deep notch in the Coconino that
left me only about 60 feet from the bottom, situated a short distance
north of Cape Final. If I roped down this vertical section, I believe I
could be down to the Lava-Unkar pass in about three hours from the rim.

There were no more problems for the day. I had been wondering what had
happened to my rattlesnake average, about one sighting per year. It had
been over two years since I had seen one. Near the old Indian trail down
from the pass, I saw another one, rather close but not where I might
have stepped on it. The rest of the trip was rather a study in timing
and scenery than a study in route finding. It took me about an hour and
a half to walk from the divide above Lava to the Tapeats in Unkar. Going
from the ruins in Lava to the mouth of Unkar to other aboriginal sites
would take about six hours. I believe I would now use this route in
going from Nankoweap to Bright Angel Creek. I think I would also prefer
going from Kwagunt into Lava Canyon over the pass right under Point
Atoka rather than along the Butte Fault Route near the river.

Most of the time on this trip I was studying the view with an eye to
route finding, but especially on the way out it occurred to me that this
is certainly an outstanding area for scenic values. There are more
towers both up along the rim and also down in the Redwall than you
usually see. There are also numerous caves, however, all that I noticed
were inaccessible. I also noted a possible Keyhole Begay, a place where
a large pothole seemed to connect with a vertical slot below. There was
another larger feature, a thin roof of limestone over a vertical hollow.
There are water stains on the back of this hollow, so I believe that
there is already a start for another bridge. The Hartman Bridge and the
numerous water holes would make this a popular place for a visit, but it
appears to be well guarded for some time to come by the difficult
approaches. The shortest way here is down from the rim just above
Hartman Natural Bridge, but the easiest way is from the river, about a
five hour walk up the bed. However, there aren't too many river tourists
with even that much ambition.

The way out of Lava to the north needs more study. I didn't do it as
well as I did on the way in, although I had to finish in the same way,
the only route. The Hermit Shale below Atoka also gave me more trouble
than when I was coming in, possibly because I tried following deer
trails slavishly instead of my own judgment. When the deer come up to a
mass of locust, they seem to follow Abe Lincoln's maneuver when he was
in charge of some volunteers on the march -- Break ranks and fall in on
the other side.

*The Tabernacle; Unkar, Asbestos, and Lava Canyons; and Juno Temple
[September 1, 1961 to September 4, 1961]*

There was nothing unusual about the trip down the Tanner Trail after a
leisurely start at 9:45 a.m. Without trying to hurry, I made it from the
rim to the river in a little over three hours. I wanted to see Reilly's
old copper camp on the south side of the river just below the Basalt
Creek delta, so I branched to the left and went down into Tanner Wash. I
got too close to the water too soon, and in order not to detour back and
up, I blew up my mattress and floated a few yards past an outcrop of
consolidated rubble. I guessed that the camp would be well back in the
mesquite but still on the sand, and I had the good luck of walking right
into it. There was a wide plank supported by rock piles at the ends for
a bench with a five gallon kerosene can nearby. About 50 yards west was
a long ridge pole supported by four uprights which might have supported
a tent or tarp. Its age was shown by a big mesquite which had grown
under one end of the pole.

The river seemed a bit swift for this time of year but I was able to
cross with room to spare above the next riffle. By this time I had
decided to do my climb of the Tabernacle the next day. It seemed like a
good idea to go downstream from the mouth of Unkar Creek and camp where
I had two years ago in late September, but this time I couldn't make it
along the bank. With the higher stage, I had the choice of pushing off
into some big swirls eight feet across and a foot deep or going back and
trying another route. I felt sure that these whirls would not have
carried my mattress and me down, but I like to have things under better
control than that and I turned back and went up the bed of Unkar to the
nearest spring, about 50 minutes walk from the delta.

I left all but my lunch and canteen at that campsite on Saturday and
went upstream almost to the large tributary coming from between Jupiter
and Venus Temples. From here I could see a good route up through the
Tapeats. Walking towards the Tabernacle from here was direct but slow in
spots. It took about two hours to get from the bottom of Unkar to the
base of the Tabernacle, a much more direct route than the one I used in
the afternoon for the return. Climbing the Tabernacle was a simple walk
from the west except that I used my knee on a ledge at the very top.
What complicated things was the strongest wind I've ever felt under a
clear sky. I had to crouch most of the way up, and on top I didn't stand
at all. I built the summit cairn while sitting down. I decided not to
tackle Solomon or Sheba Temple in that gale. I did go over to the north
end of the saddle north of Sheba and inspect the ravine which seemed to
lead to the top of the Redwall. It's a perfectly simple route to the
north of Rama and Vishnu Temples. One might approach Wotan's Throne from
here, but the distances would be discouraging. From here I went and
looked down in the upper part of Asbestos Canyon which is cut off from
the lower by an impasse in the Tapeats. (I found out latter that an old
trail bypasses to the west.) I couldn't get down near where I was
standing, but one could on the west side, and I believe there is also a
way farther to the south on the east side. The map shows a spring
beneath where I was, but I couldn't see any signs from my distance. (The
spring is shown incorrectly, it is actually southeast of here.) The
return was by way of the north end of Sheba, between the Tabernacle and
Solomon. You must go down the Tapeats at my spot from two years ago, far
down into the valley and over the shale hills to the lower part of Unkar.

Saturday evening I lay under my plastic sheet through two hours of
gentle rain. Then it got clear and cold and finally about midnight I had
to build a fire. Four hours of fitful sleep didn't seem to hold me back
on Sunday, however, and I made it up Unkar past the Tapeats fall on the
right and on to the pass between Unkar and Lava Canyons. By 12:30 p.m. I
was ready to attempt Juno Temple. The way up didn't seem as obvious now
as it had two weeks earlier when I had just thought about going up.
There were three almost continuous walls in the Supai, and I may have
found the only non-technical routes through them. The lowest was about
the hardest, over a bit to the right of the depression leading down to
the south end of the pass. Then I angled to the north for the next wall
and found a break that is pretty obvious. The highest wall is only a
little above the second, and the route behind a huge block that is
leaning out is simple when you finally find it. The air was crystal
clear and Navaho Mountain looked green rather than blue. I noticed that
the top of the Coconino on Vishnu Temple was exactly projected onto the
top of the south rim. I built the first cairn near the highest part of
Juno, a fairly broad flat place. There were no deer signs that I could
see on the top. At the very south end, there were a number of good
depressions several inches deep in the flat rocks. Quite a few held four
or five inches of water from the recent rains.

Jupiter Temple would have to be approached from below the three walls
and it would have to be regarded as a separate climb. It took me two
hours to get from the pass to the top of Juno and back to my pack, so I
would allow at least four for Jupiter. The Supai and Redwall to the west
above the pass are well broken down. There is a notch northwest of Cape
Final where I could get to within 60 feet of the base of the Coconino,
so now I would like to tackle Jupiter by prusiking down a rope at the
base of this notch and see whether I could make the top of Jupiter in
one day from a car parked on the Cape Final fire road.

In dropping off the pass into Lava, I had to guard against a tendency to
start down before I had gone far enough to the left. The deer trail
should be followed to the head of the talus. I slept in a clearing
across the wash from the Indian ruin so as not to pick up more chiggers,
but I was prepared to reach it in the night if there was more rain.
There was plenty of dead cottonwood where I stopped and I was glad to
keep a fire going all night. In the morning I was scattering the coals
to put them out and I must have flipped one onto my blanket. Before I
noticed it, there were two big holes in it, and in getting the coal off,
I singed my air mattress. If I had burnt a hole in it, I would have had
to walk out to the north rim, a long way from home. I had planned to
check a possible route up through the Tapeats and the Redwall right
behind the ruin to reach Poston Butte, but now I figured I'd had enough
solitude for a while and headed for home down Lava Creek. When I was
well out of the narrows to the forks under Naji Point, the terrace to
the south looked as though it would be a welcome change from walking the
wet creek bottom. At the edge of the first terrace about on a line from
the nearest projection of Redwall below Juno to the south profile of
Chuar Butte, I ran into an interesting two room ruin. I brought out
sherds from the ruin near the forks of upper Lava and also from this
ruin. Dr. Colton and Dr. Euler identified these as being Walnut Canyon
and Black Mesa black-on-white, respectively. They date from about 1170
ad and 100 or more years earlier. These terraces extend for miles
sloping uniformly to the east matching the slope of the stream. Water
worn boulders and pebbles cover the shale hills many yards deep offering
quite a contrast to the bare shale hills to the north of the creek. If
the climate was once moist enough to allow farming on these flat
terraces, the Indians must have had hundreds of acres of arable soil, by
far the largest farming area in the present Grand Canyon. A few men with
simple tools could clear a landing strip for light planes and the whole
area is one big heliport without further preparation. A few deep arroyos
spoil this succession of terraces as a perfect route for foot travel,
but even as it is, this is much faster than following the bed all the
way. I reached the river from the upper forks in about three hours,
going downhill of course. Lava Creek Rapids looked a bit different from
my previous low water recollection. There were about four large rocks
showing at the beginning in a line about at right angles with the river,
and towards the bottom, there was a still larger rock well out of water
with about two-thirds of the river flowing to the west of it. The waves
were quite choppy although they were only about three feet high. This is
not the stage I remember when the water shot through with only smooth
swells, an impression I had acquired another year at the low stage.
There was no difficulty in crossing below the rough water and above the
next riffle.

That the present stage was low was clear from the fact that the big
island was connected with the left bank both at the top and at the
bottom with a lagoon of almost clear water between them. This island is
subject to flooding since there are drift logs clear across it, but at
the very lowest end a clump of mesquites are holding their own.

The bars seem to be changed slightly at the angle just before you come
to Tanner Wash and the travel is easy over the sand. I was able to go
along the base of the bluff except at the very end and here I needed
only a short climb to get around the place where the river comes to the
cliff. The trip up the Tanner Trail was routine with the weather cooler
than usual for this time of year. I tied my best time of five hours and
ten minutes.

The principal accomplishments on this trip were the identification of
Reilly's mining camp, climbing two buttes, checking another route up the
Redwall (to Rama Temple), and locating an Indian ruin. From a distance
the ravine from the north up between Freya and Vishnu Temples seemed
worth investigating, but I have a feeling that the lower fourth of the
Redwall is impassable. (Latter I found out that the west branch goes
through.)

*Cape Royal Area
[September 10th and 16th, 1961]*

Roma and I took the Stevens for their for their first visit to the north
rim of the Grand Canyon on Sunday, September 10, 1961. We looked out at
the usual places: Bright Angel Point and the viewpoints along the Cape
Royal Road. I noticed something from Vista Encantada that I didn't
remember having observed before: a large window through the Redwall. Ray
Stevens agreed with me that it was actual rather than an optical effect
caused by overlapping overhangs. I wanted to get down closer to take a
picture. It must have been seen by many people, but apparently the light
must be just right for the background to be distinct, The hole is lens
shaped with the vertical dimension the longer one.

At Point Imperial, I looked for the mouth of Silent River Cave which
Clubb told me is visible at the head of the arm of Nankoweap just north
of Kibbey Butte. I'm pretty sure that I recognized it, but I was a bit
surprised that it seemed rather accessible. I'm not sure that it was the
same thing Art Lange had in his color slide. The thing I saw would be
worth a closer inspection .

Another project I thought would fit with our trip with non-hiking guests
was to take a little time to inspect the Indian ruins which Clubb had
told me was on the promontory about a mile north of Angel's Window. The
Hunts had also visited this, and now there is a big parking lot right
near the place where you can begin the walk. Ray went over with me, or
rather he started over. We noted a deer trail starting down on the north
side of this promontory. According to one report, you were supposed to
climb a tree to get on top of the Butte, but there was also supposed to
be a way to climb up the rocks. I preferred to look for the route up the
rocks. In fact, I didn't see any real good tree to go up. (Later we went
up the tree.) You work your way up on a ledge on the north side of the
island which is still 20 feet below the top. There are several equally
difficult places to do this, but there is little danger. Then you go out
to a place on the east end where there are some fairly good holds to
make it to the top. The catch is that the exposure is impressive. A fall
would take you at least to the bottom of the Kaibab Limestone. The ruin
is back near the west end of the top, about a dozen rooms still easily
recognizable. There is still quite a bit of broken pottery lying around.
I'm glad the display case at the parking lot says nothing about this
ruin. It's an interesting one for those in the know, and there would be
repercussions from frustrated tourists if many tried to climb to the top
of this interesting butte. This would be a fine temporary citadel in the
ravine west of Cape Royal and if the raiders knew about the spring, they
would have no trouble conquering by siege.

On the night of the 15th, I slept by the car prepared to get an early
start down the cliffs at the same place to try to go to Wotan's Throne
and back in a single day. Clubb had pointed out the two breaks in the
Coconino southwest of this same promontory and said that one of the them
could be negotiated without the use of a rope. He had used this route on
his first ascent of Wotan, but he thought the work of traversing the
Hermit Shale to get around below Cape Royal was discouraging. Since I'm
interested in ropeless routes, I wanted to do it this way. He couldn't
pinpoint his exact route through the Kaibab after so many years, but he
did say that he thought the rope could have been left behind.

I tried starting down the Kaibab in a ravine very close to the
promontory. I succeeded in getting down possibly a fourth of the way but
then there was a continuous cliff. This convinced me that I should try
the deer trail on the north side of the butte in the hope that I could
go around the base to the west and reach the ravines through the
Coconino. This worked perfectly and I was pleasantly surprised at the
safety of this route. From Angel's Window, it had seemed dubious that
you could get clear around here. There are three parallel breaks in the
sandstone, but the first one is so abrupt that I dismissed the
possibility of getting down there. The second looked good. There was one
place in the middle of the gully where the safest way down was through a
chimney for a few yards. There was no difficulty except that my rucksack
tended to jam in the crack. If it had been larger, I would have needed a
short rope to lower the pack. There were no real difficulties except for
the need to be alert for loose rocks. Now and then one had to go to one
side of the gully or the other to find the best way down. When I seemed
to be four-fifths of the way to the bottom, I was dismayed to discover
an almost sheer drop of about 50 feet.

Next, I tried the ravine farther to the west parallel to the first. If
there was any difference, it was in favor of this last route. Near the
lowest part, I needed to get over to the left and out of the ravine
itself to get farther down, but still when there was about 50 feet of
vertical descent left, I was stopped again. Maybe Clubb thinks that the
Indians could get up and down at one of these places, but I doubt that
it could be done without using ropes. I would like to see him do it
without a rope, but with a rope it ought to be quite simple. The drop
appears to be much less here than it is below Cape Royal in Clubb's trough.

When I was on my way back, I ran into a wrecked car (actually two cars)
at the bottom of the Kaibab Limestone. It was remarkably scrambled and
yet it was almost all in one place. The license plate seemed to be NJ
for New Jersey #VO 352, 1952. I seem to recall a newspaper story about a
car rolling off near Cape Royal with no one in it. I got the impression
from the article that it had gone farther down and was completely
inaccessible. I went back up the way I had come down, by the deer trail.
From the railing guarded point at the parking lot, I thought I saw a way
to go lower than I had succeeded in doing by getting out of the east
ravine higher up and then going down to the east of the bottom. This
time I tried going down through the Kaibab directly to the wrecked car.
There were no sudden drops in the gully, and it makes a much more
convenient route than the deer trail detour. However, when I tried the
slope to the east of the bottom, I couldn't even go as low as I had been
before.

All this reconnaissance had taken the morning. In my frustration, I
decided against using the rest of the day for some minor objective and
got in the car to go home in time for an evening of bridge.

*Below Jicarilla Point
[October 1, 1961]*

We had a social engagement Saturday evening which kept me from a two day
weekend in the canyon at this ideal time of year. For a time I had been
thinking that there were no more interesting one day trips for me on the
south rim, but Marshall Scholing has recently pointed out a couple, the
Crystal Forest Cave below the west side of Horseshoe Mesa, and the
unusual approach to the east arm of Cremation canyon along the top of
the Redwall from the Kaibab Trail. I also wanted to follow up on my
discovery of a route through the Kaibab Limestone just west of Jicarilla
Point. I decided to take a chance on another accident to the oil pan and
find out what was possible below Jicarilla.

From the map it seemed that driving four miles west of the drift fence
across the Telephone Line road would be about the right distance.
Actually, I turned the car around and parked about 0.1 mile east of this
position to place the car at the top of a rise so that it would be
visible from some distance along the road. I knew from experience that
the most annoying feature of a day is not being able to locate the car.
I started away from the car at right angles to the road and hit the bay
between Piute and Jicarilla Points a bit far to the west, so that I
concluded it would have been better to stop the car about three and a
half miles west of the drift fence.

The natural bridge was easy to locate. The draw leading down to it
impressed me as being deeper than I had remembered, and the hole behind
it seemed bigger this time, probably 50 feet long by about 20 feet wide.
The break in the rim is just past one angle to the southwest. I
scrambled down to the narrow ledge and tiptoed over to the crack where I
soon fastened the rope and easily climbed down the ten feet using the
crack for my toes and the knots in the rope for grips. From a distance
it had seemed possible to climb on down to the bottom of the Kaibab
Limestone directly below this first break, but I soon discovered a small
cliff that would be nasty. It was easy to go around the corner below the
natural bridge and go on down with no trouble. Also the view up at the
bridge was quite interesting.

The walk to the ridge below the point was simple, but I was disappointed
in thinking that I would be able to walk out along the projection
towards Pollux Temple. There is a deep drop down to the top of the
Coconino and no way to climb up beyond. (The ridge toward Pollux Temple
is a route down on the east side, through the Coconino.) It was quite
easy to get down into this notch to investigate the possibility of
descending the Coconino either to the west or east of the notch itself.
The west side appeared to be more promising. After careful study, I was
able to go halfway down the Coconino here, starting down a bit to the
north of the center of the ravine. However this promising start ended in
a sheer cliff with about half the Coconino still to go. (However, the
east side goes all the way.)

Just before I started down this ravine, I found something that was the
high point of the day, some fine petroglyphs. They are pecked in a
nearly horizontal section of reddish rock which appeared to be at the
bottom of the Toroweap Formation. There are two main types, scrolls, and
lizards. They're also a few other minor designs. I looked in vain for
any sign of ruins in the neighborhood. Bob Euler tells me that it is
quite common to find petroglyphs clear away from any habitation. From
what I learned in a negative sense during the rest of the day, I would
also say that these are away from any logical route to anything of
importance. The ravine to the east of this notch became abrupt almost at
once, although it is just barely possible. However, a clear deer and
bighorn trail leads in both directions along this bench below the
Kaibab. It was mostly relatively easy walking to the east. I wanted to
investigate the possibility of getting through the Coconino in the
ravine west from the notch between Diana Temple and the rim. There were
a few places along here where the brush was a problem, but it was not
nearly the nuisance it can be in the shady places below the north rim.
Before you go very far to the east, you have to decide whether to stay
up on the main talus slope or whether you want to follow the narrow
bench separated from the upper by a low but nearly continuous cliff. The
lower bench seemed to be more free of vegetation, but the lower trail
did not seem to be so well established. I kept to the upper.

I had left the car about 9:50 a.m., and it took about an hour to get to
the point at the bottom of the Kaibab below Jicarilla Point. I reached
the rim from the road in only 15 minutes, but I had spent a bit of time
looking at the bridge again, and naturally using the rope delayed me
some. I did not begrudge the time it took to investigate the ravine to
the west, especially since this led to the discovery of the petroglyphs,
the first good ones I had found for myself. By noon, I was below the
first bay to the east of Jicarilla. As I was looking for a suitable
place to sit and eat, I noticed a peculiar chamber near the top of the
Kaibab in the cliff to the east of this indentation. The mouth of this
chamber is in an overhang, and is completely inaccessible. The hole
widens as it deepens and I would guess its mouth to be about 15 feet
across while the interior is about 25 feet across and 35 feet vertically.

Something else noticeable from where I stopped for lunch was a window
not far below the rim near the deepest part of the indentation in the
rim. I thought it might be another bridge until I went over to it at the
end of the day. It was only a window through a projecting fin of
limestone. The hole was about 10 feet in the horizontal direction by
five vertical.

From a distance I could see that a talus covered most of the Coconino
west of the notch separating Diana from the rim, but when I got there, I
found that the steps near the top were too high for comfort, more than
ten-feet high. I was about to run out of time, but I wouldn't attempt
the climb down here without a rope. Perhaps if I were coming up and knew
that my life depended on finding a way, I could climb this, but I intend
to take a rope back there and see what the descent is like. (Allyn
Cureton has done this climb without a rope.)

The return was by the same route except that I followed the lower bench
near the top of the Coconino for about a fifth of the way. My time was
less for the return from Diana to Jicarilla, a little less than two
hours. When I was ready to leave the rim near the window east of
Jicarilla, I used the map for orientation and the sun for a compass. I
wanted to be sure to hit the road east of the car and know which way to
walk. It took 22 minutes for me to reach the park boundary road and
another 20 to reach the car. My speedometer told me that I had covered
just a mile on the road. The only break in the monotony of the junipers
was a porcupine a few feet away.

*Below Jicarilla and Mescalero Points
[October 14, 1961]*

I cooperated with the hiking club by taking a load of hikers up to the
head of the South Kaibab Trail. Jerry Bortle was eager to go with me and
I was glad to have someone along with his experience in rough hiking.
The trip was over the same ground I had covered two weeks ago, but this
time I would photograph the points of interest, and I also hoped to get
down through the Coconino with my long rope by the Prusik knot method.

As usual, I was careful not to speed on the bad road. In fact I almost
never shifted into high gear. This time I parked three and a half miles
west of the gate and we reached the rim quite near the natural bridge.
We looked at it and I took a picture and then we proceeded down the
route in the notch to the southwest. The bridge definitely looks more
impressive from below. Jerry waited for me on the ridge directly under
Jicarilla Point while I went down to the petroglyphs. To get down, you
have to stay just west of the ridge because there is a vertical droop to
the bottom of the notch, but it's easy in the ravine. The petroglyphs
are just across the saddle and to the west. Three shots got about all
the good designs.

I was able to follow the deer and sheep trail more efficiently this
time. We started away from Jicarilla at 11:10 a.m. and got to the ravine
below Mescalero at 1:00 p.m. We had eaten our lunches precisely where I
did on the other trip, about one-fourth of the way over.

Jerry wasn't much interested in trying any Prusiking, so he went up the
Kaibab cliff to see whether he could find a way to the rim. He didn't
think much of the walking along the deer trail, and he thought he could
find an easier way to the car. I thought he would soon strike an
impossible place and I asked him not to go on anything that he couldn't
descend, but I told him that if he did get stranded on a ledge to shout
for help and I would see what I could do about it.

When I got down to the top of the Coconino, the way down the middle of
the ravine looked bad from above, and as the talus seemed to reach up
quite a bit higher at the base of the perpendicular cliff a bit to the
north, I hitched my rope around a live pinyon tree and started down.
There was quite a bit of difficulty in getting the Prusik slings over
the edge of the rock. On the return, I avoided this trouble by getting
my feet out of the slings and pulling myself over the edge. The process
worked all right although it was slow. The process was slow for me, but
in less than a half hour I was down 40 feet to a ledge. After stepping
out of the slings, I went down another 12 feet with a few toe holds
gripping the half-inch rope for support. It was easy to go on down
through the Coconino on the talus and a bit of bedrock. There were
unmistakable signs that deer and bighorn sheep use this route. On the
way back, I tried going up the broken ledges near the middle. If I had
been willing to take a bit of a chance, I believe I could have gone up
here without a rope. There were some narrow, outward sloping ledges that
weren't very comfortable, but I believe that Clement and Tadje could
have done it. (Allyn did it.)

In the meantime, although I shouted to Jerry that the way ahead of him
was clearly impossible, he went ahead to see it at close range. He found
the going quite difficult, but he kept going up until he finished
climbing clear to the rim using a chimney climb. This agrees so
precisely with the story of Clement and Tadje that I feel we can
conclude that this is the place. They found water in the canyon below
and were able to get up the Redwall without too much difficulty. They
went up a crack at the very top for the most difficult climbing of the
day. Furthermore, they took the stock back to the boat down the Boucher
Trail in preference to the South Bass Trail, which would indicate that
the boat was not farther downstream than Agate at the most.

When Jerry suggested that we go out his route with the rope to pull up
the packs, I had qualms about the safety of the method. I might go back
by myself and study that route, but I thought we had taken enough
chances for one day. Jerry reported that he had been on a worse rock
climb than that at two places above Supai, but I would rather not be
responsible for a student on this route a bit west of Mescalero Point.
However, I thought it odd that Clubb and Wing had decided that there was
no feasible route to get off the rim to climb Diana Temple. This place
is certainly near enough to be an obvious approach for expert rock climbers.

On the return, I was able to follow the bighorn trail back to Jicarilla
Point more continuously than before, and instead of taking an hour and
50 minutes, it took us only an hour and 25. It was odd that Jerry felt
that we were in greater danger of hurting ourselves on the loose rocks
of the trail than he had been when he was inching up the cliff on narrow
ledges and chimney climbing. On the return, I detoured directly under
the natural bridge to get what I hope will be an impressive shot of the
sky through the hole. We came out to the road about 10 minutes walk east
of the car but still made it in two and a half hours from below
Mescalero Point.

*Caves in Cottonwood Canyon
[October 21, 1961]*

Marshall Scholing had told me about visiting Crystal Forest Cave. He had
told me that you follow a trail at the base of the Redwall for about a
half mile north of the trail coming off the west side of the neck to
Horseshoe Mesa, and then you climb up a simple scramble to the caves.
Pete Huntoon wanted to locate all the caves in this area, and I figured
that after we had located the lower caves that would be new for me, I
would leave him and a caving companion to study the big cave just below
the rim of the mesa while I took the other two guests off the east side
of the mesa and up the climb to the west side of the saddle connecting
Sinking Ship to the rim.

To begin the day, I figured that we would all go down the bed of
Cottonwood through the Redwall where Allyn Cureton had come up by
himself. I remembered that he had needed a tree trunk to help him up a
step of over six feet, but I figured that we would be able to go down
everything fairly well, especially since Pete brought along his climbing
rope. Almost at once in the Redwall we ran into a chock block. We used
the rope to go to the east side of this block. I figured that this must
have been the place where Allyn used the pole, and we gaily pulled the
rope down after us. Then we thought about the method of going up if we
ever would want to. Jim McCann, the other caver, almost showed us that
he could climb to the west side of the chockblock, and Pete did enough
on the broken rocks of the west wall to assure us that a route went up
there. Only a short distance to the north, we saw a possible cave to the
east and found that the climb to it might be possible but it would have
involved some risk. George Miller went to the top of the talus opposite
and came to the conclusion that there was small likelihood of it being
50 or 60 feet. Pete soon found a possible descent over to the east, but
at least the first four or five feet at the top were very uncomfortable.
I called off the attempt to go down the rest of the Redwall. When we
retraced our steps, we climbed out by the west wall about 20 yards below
the chockblock. Jim McCann and Gary Taylor seemed to feel rather
insecure at one stage here and Jim asked Pete for a belay before they
came up.

Scrambling back to the trail was rather time consuming and Jim showed
that his overweight was going to be a drawback to our progress. He
slowed us down again as we were going along the slope below the Redwall
north of the trail off Horseshoe Mesa. The main trail seems to go along
the bottom of the Redwall here and I didn't discover until later that we
missed the trace of a trail leading to the caves. We went around the
first bulge in the wall and noticed a couple holes above the first cliff
to our right. It looked improbable that we could reach them, and
Marshall had said that the cave mouth was invisible from the trail
below, so I considered this to be not far enough. I had a mental picture
of a talus in a fairly narrow ravine, and nothing seemed to match this.
We went at least three times as far as those first holes, and I finally
concluded that we must have gone too far. A ravine ahead seemed to offer
some interesting climbing so I went up it while the party rested below.
I could see some chockblocks in the narrow upper part of this ravine,
but when I got to them, it was not too hard to get by with good holds
and no loose rock. I went up on the mesa far enough to determine the
position of this route, about 200 yards south of the dip in the prong of
the horseshoe. I knew that the main cave was south of here. When I had
come down, Pete told me that Jim and he would like to give up the search
for Crystal Forest Cave and go up my route to visit the big cave above.
I thought I had made myself clear as to how to find it, and we parted.

As Gary, George, and I retraced our route along the base of the Redwall,
we went up the talus at two or three spots so as not to miss the caves.
From a south facing projection, all of us saw the mouth of a possible
cave in the bay that turned out to be the one we had suspected and given
up in the first place. When we got to the entrance, we found that there
was a good trail along the ledge to the two cave entrances we had seen
from below. We spent about 15 minutes in Crystal Forest Cave without
exhausting its possibilities and only a few minutes in the next one
which is apparently interesting only to pack rats, to judge from the
prevalence of droppings. However, someone built a wooden door to this
cave like the others at Crystal Forest and White Cave above, and the
1904 sign was still tacked to the door saying that this area had been
withdrawn from development by private interests.

It was already rather beyond a normal lunch time, but we were short of
water and I wanted to get the boys to a good supply before we stopped.
They balked at the thought of dropping clear down to the spring in
Cottonwood, and I had suggested that the spring below the Redwall east
of the mesa neck would be on our way. However, by the time we got up to
the mine buildings on the neck, we could see that they were in no shape
to attempt the entire route I had set for myself. I went down the
Redwall to the spring and brought them a gallon of water which was
supposed to last for the rest of the trip out. Pete had agreed to bring
water for himself and a friend, and I was to furnish the water for Gary
and George. However, Pete brought only one quart, and both Pete and Jim
used water from my gallon on the way down until they parted from us. By
the time I had come back with the full canteen, Pete and Jim had joined
Gary and George. Pete had failed to find White Cave, which was just as
well, because it was now 2:45 p.m. I took Pete back on a 45 minute
detour just to show him where White Cave is while the others started up
to the rim. Pete and I overtook Jim near the start of the steep
switchbacks near the top of the Supai. Jim was in bad shape. He and Pete
had shared one can of beans for their lunch, and Jim had thrown up. The
other boys had my pack up ahead, and all the food I was carrying was one
individual portion of raisins, which I gave to Jim. There was still some
water in the quart canteen which Pete had refilled from my gallon, and
we gave this to Jim.

I went on ahead and overtook the other two rather near the top. George
and I reached the car about 5:00 p.m. and I got a refill there to take
back to Pete and Jim. Pete was walking out ahead of Jim and he had not
thought to relieve Jim of the climbing hardware and piton hammer. After
Jim had eaten some bread and quite a few pieces of taffy and had all the
water he could use, he recovered some strength and we were all in the
car by 6:00 p.m.

The moral of this mismanagement is that just because a boy talks about a
lot of trail accomplishments, Thunder river, etc., I shouldn't assume
that he knows how much water and food to carry. Jim had supposedly had
plenty of hiking experience in the Chiracahua Mountains in Southeastern
Arizona, but I could guess right away that he would have trouble on the
Grand Canyon Trails.

We did learn a little from this day's work -- how difficult the Redwall
is at the head of Cottonwood Canyon, where the lower caves are located,
and a possibly new route up the Redwall to the top of Horseshoe Mesa.

*From Mescalero Point into Slate Canyon
[October 28, 1961]*

After two previous trips below Mescalero Point from Jicarilla, I figured
we were ready to go down below the Redwall into Slate Canyon and back in
one day. Jerry Bortle had shown that one could climb up and down the
Kaibab Limestone and I had seen deer and bighorn tracks leading to a
break in the Coconino. I decided that with ropes, these two hard places
could be negotiated with plenty of safety. I was glad that Allyn Cureton
had agreed to come since he had a long nylon rope, and also because we
know each other's ideas about hiking.

This time we parked the car 1.9 miles west of the drift fence gate (pole
355), and steering by the sun, went almost at right angles with the
road. Our hunch in direction finding was unbeatable, for we came to the
rim less than 50 yards from the top of Bortle's Cairn route down the
Kaibab. I don't blame Clubb and Wing for overlooking this place. You
have to get down below the top 30 feet or so before you can even inspect
the rest of the way, a vertical fall everywhere except here. The place
you go down looks different from the other places, but you still
wouldn't bet a nickel that it would be possible all the way. After
you've climbed down the second rim from the top through a notch, you are
on a slope back in a small bay that supports some vegetation including a
well placed pinyon tree. (I should point out that this bay is several
hundred yards west of Mescalero Point and is just east of an angle in
the rim where the rim takes a turn to the south.) Jerry insisted that we
go around the angle to the west and then climb down over about the worst
place I could imagine a person going who cared for his life. I declined
and was willing to hurry over to Jicarilla Point and come back below,
but Allyn pointed out that we could rappel down from the pinyon without
taking Jerry's risky route. Actually, there was no reason to follow
Jerry anyway. The way down directly below the pine was better anyway.
There is an angle here with the limestone broken into a lot of very
small steps. The uncomfortable part is that there are no good finger
grips, but a person with rubber soled shoes should be able to go down
and up. The rappel was easy with most of the weight being carried by
one's toes almost everywhere. It gets quite steep just above a lower
ledge, but here there is a crack a little more than a foot wide so that
chimney climbing is easy. About 12 feet above the talus below, there is
a vertical drop, but one can go over to the east and climb down a
detour. All of this climbing would call for the greatest care and plenty
of nerve,but it could be done by men coming up without a rope. Jerry had
used the harder way when he did it. We left the rope in place and came
up hand over hand with our feet in the minute steps. I had a hard time
up the 12 foot vertical near the bottom. In getting over the upper edge,
I had to tie loops in the rope for steps.

On the slope below this steepest part, I found old bones too big to be
from deer. They looked like horse or cow bones.

We were able to go down and to the east to get below one definite drop.
This was easy when you wait for the best place.The next drop required
more searching. Evidently, Jerry had either not found a good place
before, or he had forgotten what he had done. He and Allyn tried going
down a place that both of them finally gave up on. They came farther
east to where I had found a break that required some agility but was
quite safe. There seemed to be a deer or bighorn trail at the foot of
the steep, long descent, but I lost it down here. It would be an amazing
sight to find a bighorn coming up or down this break in the Kaibab.

We fastened my long Manila rope to a juniper tree a little to the north
of the bottom of the ravine through the top of the Coconino. We used the
rope for a grip and walked backwards down the steps of the Coconino.
Coming up and down here without a rope would be difficult and dangerous,
but all three of us agreed that it would be quite possible. The going
became quite simple through the upper part of the Supai, but when we had
reached the lower Supai, we saw about three quite persistent cliffs. We
passed the first bad spot in the bed of the ravine in two different
ways. Allyn jumped down several feet after I had fastened a rope to a
small redbud tree and saw that we could get back up that way. Jerry also
came down using the rope for a slightly long step. When we went around
to the south where we saw we could go on down, we discovered that we had
missed the easy way, a broken slope that the deer use. A bit lower, we
came to more of a problem. Two sandstone cliffs continued as far as we
could see them. I elected to go around on the ledge to the south. We ate
our lunches on a point before we could see any good way to go down.

A bit after 1:00 p.m., when we had finished eating, Jerry decided
against trying to go lower as he thought he would have a harder time on
the climb out than Allyn or I. He volunteered to pick up the rope I had
left tied to the redbud tree. Just as he was climbing over the edge of
the rock, holding to the rope, the little tree came out and he was
dropped six feet. Fortunately, he landed on his feet in a balanced
position, or he might have fallen 30 more feet. Allyn and I didn't know
about this until we joined him at the car, but we did notice the tree
lying on the lower ledge.

Allyn and I decided to go farther to the southwest and try to find a way
down to the Redwall. A perfectly easy route was just around the corner
in the next ravine. At the bottom of the Supai, on our return, we
noticed two overlapping mescal pits. The old time Indians got around.
There were no cairns anywhere in this region, so the prospectors may not
have been here. When we reached the edge of the Redwall gorge, we first
went to the north side of the tributary we had been descending, and from
there we could see both entrances to the cave we had explored last
winter, right across from where we stood. We could also pick out the
break in the Redwall where we had almost finished climbing last
December. It would be quite a detour to go around the head of the set of
canyons from the east side to the west, but even though we saw that we
would probably run over our allotted time, we decided it was too
interesting to miss.

On our way around, only a couple hundred yards south of the descent, we
found a small cave beneath the top layers of Redwall. The mouth was low
and it had retained a lot of warmth, but we thought we had it about
explored after going back about 50 feet. The descent is on the west side
of a promontory which separates the main (south) arm from the arm coming
down from the notch north of Jicarilla Point. I remembered just where it
should be and went right to it while Allyn went out on the point for a
look. The way down the Redwall was neat, although quite steep with
perfect holds. After only about 30 feet of this, we reached the broken
ramp which both of us had come up to check a possible cave last winter.
I feel sure that this must have been the route followed by Clement and
Tadje, but I'm still amazed that they were smart enough or lucky enough
to head for the only possible break in the Coconino after they got above
the Redwall. I think they probably climbed up a short distance on the
west side of the bowl in this amphitheater and from there they saw the
possibility of going out near Diana. (I found out that it is also
possible to climb out towards Jicarilla Point.)

Our return was uneventful. We were at the top of the Coconino by 3:45
p.m. and on the rim by 5:07 p.m. I determined what I thought was the
best direction in relation to the setting sun, but whenever Allyn got
ahead, he shifted us to the east. Before long we were getting our
direction only from a bright part of the sky in the south, and it was a
relief to find the road before it got totally dark. We had the
foresight, due to the suggestion of both Jerry and Allyn, to look for
numbers on the telephone poles, and we came to the road 13 poles east of
the car, much to Allyn's surprise. Jerry had made the same mistake as
Allyn, and he reached the road 28 poles east of the car.

With two fixed ropes, one near the top and the other in the Coconino,
about 120 and 75 feet long, respectively, this route is both safe and
most interesting. On the return, I had to tie loops in the rope for
steps up the first ten feet of the steep part of the Kaibab, but Jerry
and Allyn were strong enough to pull themselves over this edge. I want
to go down here again with more time.

*Above the mouth of Havasu Creek
[November 11, 1961 to November 12, 1961]*

The attraction of this project for me, in addition to fine views of
Havasu, Mooney, and Beaver Falls from the Redwall rim; was that it would
be closing the next to the last link in a project I have been working on
for quite a few years -- going from the northeast boundary of Grand
Canyon National Park to the southwest boundary altogether below the rims
of the canyon. My other goal is a three mile stretch below Great Thumb
and Tahuta Points, which would also require a two day period as long as
I can't get closer than the Topocoba road.

We left the campus about 3:30 p.m. with a party of five adults from the
staff and about 15 students. I stopped at Williams to see Allyn Cureton
and discovered that he was just waiting to be asked to go. He assembled
his gear in a little over 30 minutes and we were off, changing from the
first car in the train to the last. The others were waiting for me at
the turnoff from Highway 66 and invited me to lead along this road in
the dark. I had the idea that a better place to sleep Friday night would
be near the old warehouse before the road goes out along the side of the
canyon to the exposed parking at the end. We had counted on the sleeping
being rather cool and we were not disappointed. My new down bag was just
about right.

In the morning, Allyn and I got off quite a bit earlier than the rest.
One feature of the trail that seemed different this time was a pool of
water at least a foot deep. The easiest bypass was to stop and go under
a leaning rock. I noted the usual landmarks: an overhang in the Coconino
where there is always shade on a hot summer day, another sheltering
projection near the top of the Supai, shade under small trees where we
had rested on my first trip down here in 1947, the mining machine that
was abandoned, the tall rock with the telephone line support out in the
middle of the canyon, and the place where the bed drops sharply and the
trail goes along the left side. One wonders where Lieutenant Ives was
stopped by the 40 foot drop. (He was stopped right above the valley
floor.) If he was coming down this trail, he certainly used his
imagination in making it sound difficult.

Allyn and I used a few extra minutes in talking to Earl Paya, an Indian
named Johnny, and the resident missionary, Ardin Rourke. Johnny said he
had gone across the Esplanade to the Great Thumb, but he had no
knowledge of Keyhole Bridge. He said he knew about the South Bass Trail,
but he knew nothing of Royal Arch. I showed him my color slides of these
places in a hand viewer.

After an early lunch at the creek crossing near Havasu Falls, Allyn and
I climbed up to the top of the Redwall at the break by the cemetery west
of Havasu Falls. I knew about this place from a former trip, and I had
refreshed my memory by reading Wampler. Incidentally, I looked at both
travertine columns south of the village, and I don't relish Wampler's
route to the top of the Supai along here. It looks like a technical rock
climb. I asked a Supai youth about other routes out of the valley
besides the Apache Trail, and he was unaware of any others on the east side.

There are so many cairns along the top of the Redwall that it's really
funny. Some of them may date back to the prospectors, but I suspect that
others were built by Wampler's hikers to mark picture possibilities.
They are mostly before you get to the best place for a picture of Mooney
Falls. We noticed something we had heard about, the window right above
Mooney. There were small cairns marking the trail out to the river, but
not really enough to do much good. The trail around the point and up
Beaver Canyon is quite recognizable and in many places shows retaining
walls. Beyond the head of the Redwall is Beaver, there was a trail now
and then, but it was more like a deer trail than a horse trail. However,
Jay Hunt tells me that someone by the name of Parsons, I think, got some
Indians to take a pack trip out here. There were a number of places
where a horse would have to be led. We noticed droppings from burros
north of the junction of Beaver and Havasu, but none at the very end.
Deer droppings and bighorn scat were common.

Hikers in good condition can make each of the four legs of this trip,
from Havasu Falls to the junction with Beaver, from there to the head of
Beaver in the Redwall, out to the junction again, and from there to a
point above the river, in about one and a half hours. By the time you
stop to eat and take a few pictures, you probably should allow seven
hours for the trip. We were at the start of this trip along the top of
the Redwall at 11:30 a.m. and we got to see the river about 6:00 p.m.
with about the last ten minutes in semidarkness. We could just make out
the river below, and it looked a long way down. People who rave about
the view from Cape Solitude should give this trip a try. In the morning
we were able to feel the significance of the terrific drop both into the
river and into the narrower gorge of Havasu Creek. I believe the
impression is more startling from the top than it is from the bottom. At
the bottom, there's some grading back before the straight walls begin,
but from the top, you first look straight down for eight or nine hundred
feet. The narrowness of Beaver Canyon for its depth is still more
striking. Right at its mouth, Beaver is dry, but for a good part of a
mile there is quite a flow that seems to be from a spring and hence
perennial, something that is not recorded on the map.

There had been a light rain over this area a few days before we were
there and we found rain pockets almost every time we crossed a ravine
that exposed the bedrock. There were a few cottonwoods growing a quarter
of a mile up Beaver above the top of the Redwall, and Allyn checked that
there is a pool in some gravel. We feel that this is a seep which could
be trusted in the dry and hot months, but the trip is much better under
our present conditions, weather cool and shortly after a rain.

There were some oddities of erosion on the left side of Beaver. We went
right by a hole a few yards back from the rim of the Redwall that led
into a widening tunnel to the bottom of the canyon. This was just below
the first point of the Supai rock north of the junction of Beaver with
Little Coyote Canyon. Another that we saw from the right rim but missed
as we were passing is almost surely a sizable cave with the roof caved
in. It's about one-third as large as Keyhole Bridge. When we returned,
we noted its location for future reference. It's just a few yards to the
north of the main draw coming down from the largest bay in the Supai,
about two-fifths of the way from the head of the Redwall to the junction
with Havasu.

Something else of interest I picked up on the return, right on the trail
about halfway from Little Coyote to Havasu on the right side of the
canyon, was a fossil of a trilobites in a piece of the Redwall. The
geologists here call it a rather uncommon find.

We went from the river to the car in almost exactly the same total time
that it took on the way down, 11 hours.

Allyn's sharp eyes caught two other things of interest. Not far from the
turn into Beaver on the way out, he saw a heavy walking stick free of
bark with the name Ralph Paya, 1952, carved in it. On the leg between
the mouth of Beaver and the rim above the Colorado, was the name Edward
H--, the last name being hard to make out. From the flourishes in
writing the name Edward with the corner of a soft stone on a block of
Supai, we figured that it was an Indian name.

*West of Sinking Ship
[December 2, 1961]*

Years ago Art Lange had told me that one could go down the ravine west
from the saddle of Sinking Ship and get below the Redwall, but that he
and Ray DeSaussure had not actually done it. I had looked this route
over from a distance and I agreed with them, but I had not seen the
Redwall clearly. From an aerial view, it seemed that there is a
promontory somewhat north of this area where one could go up or down. I
had intended to combine going up to the rim by this route with my trip
to find Crystal Forest Cave on the west side of Horseshoe Mesa, but it
was impossible that day for lack of time. This time C. R. Wylie,
chairman of the mathematics department at the University of Utah, had
agreed to take a hike with me, and I was glad to have the companionship
of such an experienced climber on this bit of exploring. Jerry Bortle
asked me whether I would take him saying that if his recent bout with
the flu slowed him down, he would start back to the car rather than ask
us to wait for him. With this understanding, I agreed that he could go
along.

I spent a little time visiting headquarters and picking up my collection
of logs of former trips. Bud Estey was there and we chatted about a few
places, so we didn't reach the paved parking area for the picnic grounds
near the Sinking Ship until 10:00 a.m. There was more snow in the shady
northern slopes than there had been around Flagstaff, and we were rather
surprised to find foot prints preceding us out toward the Sinking
Ship.They were on an old trail that I hadn't remembered distinctly from
my other trips out there. I thought this trail looked a bit too clear
and well designed to be only a deer trail, and on the way back I found
the proof, and old log chopped in two. The cut was so weathered, I
thought it could have dated back to the days of John Hance around the
turn of the century. I could easily imagine the guests at his nearby
ranch strolling out to the base of Sinking Ship, or the Three Castles as
it was then called, to watch the sunset. The footprints we saw were
fresh enough to have been made just the day before. They were made by a
large man and a small child.

At the lowest point of the saddle we found it quite simple to go down
and to the south into the ravine.There were no climbing problems other
than the ever present need to watch one's footing on the loose slabs of
Coconino Sandstone. Near the bottom of this formation, Jerry announced a
prediction that there was going to be a bad drop. When we came to it,
however, it required almost no study. The way down was obvious. About
the same thing occurred near the top of the Supai. Detours around
thickets of brush were much more common than detours around small
difficulties in the walking and climbing.

When we reached the top of the Redwall, we found no trouble in going
down the first 60 feet but then we came to a place over to the left
where it would be possible, with due care, to descend to the next level
in the streambed. However, there appeared to be a strong possibility
that around the bend ahead we would encounter a sudden impossible
drop-off. We probably should have proceeded to get a clear view of this
obstacle, but I thought that it would be more certain and efficient if
we would go back up out of the ravine and go to the right or north. We
spent some time going far enough to get a view to the next promontory to
the north, but the best way down seemed to be clear around to the south.
We ate our lunches here while we thought over the next course of action.
Time was passing, and in order not to make any more false moves, I voted
for the break in the cliff south of the ravine we had descended. Dr.
Wylie picked out a good landmark above the place we had in mind, a block
of Supai Sandstone with two white streaks in it. As we were starting the
traverse back around to this place, Jerry decided that he had enough and
started back. In due course, Ray and I made it around to the break with
the talus leading up to the top 50 feet of the Redwall. While I was
hesitating at a place where the foot and handholds seemed a bit far
apart, Ray went on down and showed me how to do it. From here it was an
easy scramble to the bottom of the wash. Most talus slopes in the Grand
Canyon are impressive examples of Grand Canyon amphitheaters. The walls
come down with few interruptions almost 3000 feet from the rim to the
bottom of the Redwall. The effect is better when one is almost to the
bottom, and if there were a running stream through here, I would match
this spot against any in the entire park or just about any other beauty
spot I can think of.

Ray was quite interested in the burro signs we found below the Redwall.
Some of the manure was quite fresh, but we didn't see the animals nor
hear them. We started back for the rim at 1:30 p.m. and reached the car
in an even five hours. As we were approaching the climb at the top of
the Redwall, I studied the drop in the bed shelf on the north side which
would lead to a bypass. This possibility is worth a future
investigation. If it would go, it would save several minutes of
scrambling over small ridges along the top of the Redwall. I probably
should have tried this route in the first place. However, the way we did
get down was interesting and we all agreed we had a good workout.

*Down Epsom Creek to the Colorado River
[February 10, 1962]*

Getting over the route to Indian Gardens, then west along the Tonto
Trail beyond Dana Butte, and along the base of the Tapeats on the right
until I was facing the river, and then to the bottom of Epsom would be a
long single-day trip. In order to save time, I trotted most of the way
to Indian Gardens and covered this lap in an even hour. Three years ago
I was in good enough condition to do this clear to the river, but after
40 days of inactivity, it was a mistake. By 12:30 p.m. my knees were
giving me fits.

Turkey tracks in the muddy trail just beyond Indian Gardens reminded me
that I have seen turkeys there before. I don't know of any other place
below the south rim where they are to be found. I wonder if this is
because they find scraps left by the litter bugs? Of course I have seen
plenty up on both rims. Possibly they come lower for the winter.

Again I was impressed by the telephone wire along the Tonto between
Indian Gardens and Hermit Camp. Much of it is still in place, but most
of it is down. There is even a good sized coil lying on the ground as if
someone were getting ready to salvage it. This is surely the cable that
mystified Coffin at Monument Creek.

This has been a wet winter, and the spring shown on the map in the east
arm of Horn is now running. One would have to dig a hole in the gravel
to make a pool deep enough to fill a canteen, but there were a couple
pools in the bedrock in the branch that joins this east arm right where
the Tonto crosses it. I filled my canteen here on the return.

Just before I reached the angle where the trail turns south beyond Dana,
I noticed what might have been a couple rock markers right near the rim.
After investigating, I concluded that these were pure coincidences,
rocks fallen and balanced on other bigger ones. There was no way through
the Tapeats unless one were prepared to wedge arms and legs into a long
crack farther east. A good climber could come down here and be quite
close to the descent into Epsom, but I decided to go on around and go
down the rock slide where I had been before. The timing of the trip in
was easy to remember: one hour to Indian Gardens, 50 minutes to the
crossing on Horn, 70 minutes to the descent into Epsom, one hour along
the base of the Tapeats, 30 minutes to go down to the bottom of the
creekbed, and five more to go out to the river.

There were plenty of fresh bighorn signs along here and good hoof prints
on the sand at the mouth of Epsom. The beach was interesting, about 200
yards long mostly upstream from the mouth. I couldn't get down or up
beyond this beach, and there was no sign of any cache that I could see
although parts of the talus were clearly above high water.

On the return I yielded to the impulse to see whether there was a safe
way to climb up below the fall that had stopped me on my first trip
here. After a couple false starts right below the fall, I backed up 20
yards and climbed on the south side. It was about as difficult as going
up from the mouth of Horn, but by climbing above the level of the fall
and then coming down where I had been before, I made it. I figure one
could save 20 or 30 minutes by using this method in the future.

The ticks were quite plentiful again, and I removed seven or eight
before they had time to dig in. Epsom was flowing more of a stream than
I had seen before, but it was still too strong and bitter to drink. I
found my old campsite near the top of the Tapeats on my way out. My left
knee was giving me so much trouble that it took 140 minutes along the
Tonto Trail to get to Indian Gardens. Doing the rock climb to the top of
the fall was slow this first time and I took 50 minutes just to come
from the river to the top of the fall. The rest of the trip to the Tonto
Trail required 45 minutes. I ate and rested for 20 minutes at Indian
Gardens, and I was in such bad shape that going from Indian Gardens to
the rim after dark in mud, snow, and ice took me three hours.

I brought home a sample of the red rock where Epsom makes its last bend
before reaching the river. Incidentally, the descent here is not as
tricky as I thought on the other occasion. There are three ways to get
down the small drop here. The two geologists on our college staff were
as interested in the anomalous rock, soft, deep red, with cracks filled
with calcite, as I was.

When I reported to Phil Iverson that I had finally come out at 9:20
p.m., we talked a little mentioning bighorn sheep among other things. He
said that one of the rangers had seen one down in the Hermit area, so
apparently they are making a comeback over quite an area.

*The Grandview Trail and Grapevine and Cottonwood Canyons
[March 24, 1962 to March 25, 1962]*

Milton Wetherill once told me that Art Lange and Ray DeSaussure had
taken him down into Grapevine Canyon from Grandview Point. At the time I
had thought that he must mean Cottonwood, but last October I was down
the Grandview Trail and I noticed that it would be easy to get into the
upper end of Grapevine from the trail. Furthermore, the Coconino seemed
quite possible and the Redwall looked even easier from that distance.

I had told Jerry Bortle that I was going and he asked me to take him. We
had to contend with snow more than knee deep near the top of the trail.
Sometimes we could see no difference between the trail and the natural
slope, but we managed to keep to the trail by noting the switchbacks and
where the lane through the trees led. Some of the trail has fallen away
just since last fall. There is one place where a log still marks the
edge of the trail, but a hole has opened up that might be dangerous at
night. Only about a foot of bedrock gives a good step on the inner side.

We left the trail at the divide between Grapevine and Cottonwood
Canyons, not at the head of Grapevine. We had crusted snow part of the
time and soft snow covering the slabs of sandstone the rest of the time.
All in all, it was definitely more difficult than it would have been in
the summer or fall. There were a few places where we had to scout out
the best way past obstacles, but there wasn't any real difficulty here.
One had the feeling all along that if one route proved difficult, he
could find an easier one. Brush was more of an obstacle than the
gradient. We even went down through a third of the Redwall on a gentle
slope through the trees. Just as we were thinking that there would be
nothing to it, we came to a fall of more than 100 feet. There was rather
clearly no good way right down the face, but it looked barely possible
to work from the lip of the fall down and to the east. Jerry looked this
over and rejected it. I went up a broken slope to the west hoping that
there was a way down around the corner on that side, but we saw that
this was out of the realm of possibility too. However, from here it
looked just possible to go up the slope to the east of the fall and
descend on that side.

Jerry climbed up here just a few yards back from the lip while I
retreated abut 50 yards before going up. To get over to where he was, I
had to side step along a ledge that was as chancy as anything on the
climb. I made a false move that he had already rejected, trying to get
around the corner at the highest ledge below the straight cliff. Around
the corner there was a sheer drop. He had already gone past the angle at
a lower level and he left his pack to come back and guide me. The
exposure here was something not to think about, but I have often taken
just as difficult a climb. After a short walk on talus, we came to the
most awkward part of the whole climb.We could go down five feet to a
small platform with our packs on our backs, but next came a short
chimney that was too narrow for the packs. We had to pass the packs down
here by hand. f one were by himself, he could let the pack down on a 20
foot rope into a juniper growing at the bottom. There were two or three
other places below that required a bit of looking. I was leading once
when the ledge I wanted to follow had no handholds at the right height.
I solved this difficulty by stopping across at a level a couple of feet
lower while holding to projections at the level of my former footing.
Several of these difficult spots seemed to have the distinction of being
the only route through. At the bottom it appeared that we might still be
stopped, and we would have been if it hadn't been possible to walk
across below the waterfall to the other side where a simple talus let us
go down. We found burro manure here so we knew there were no more
obstacles below. A fine rain pool in the limestone just below the fall
had six inches of water in it covered by a half inch of ice. There was
one more difficulty caused by a house-sized block in the bed. I chose
the right side around it which was wrong. I got down by care, but on the
west Jerry was able to walk down.

About 15 minutes below the fall we found the reason for the name of the
canyon, a large tangle of grapevines marking the location of a spring.
More water was added to the first for the next quarter of a mile and we
were forced up on the talus to get by at all. There is a good stream at
this time of year, but lower it goes under the gravel. I would count
this as permanent water, but it's quite far from the Tonto Trail
crossing. I noticed that the map shows perennial water for almost a mile
along here and also in the narrow canyon farther down but still above
the Tonto Trail crossing. The spring shown on the map east of Lyell
Butte was also flowing, but the pools are a bit shallow for filling a
canteen. Another drawback was the prevalence of burro manure. I
preferred to dose the water with Halazone after dipping here.

The trail here is near the rim of the Tapeats above Grapevine which is
already quite deep in the granite. Around the bend southwest of this
spring, I noticed a detached castle of sandstone and from a distance it
seemed possible but improbable that one could reach the ravine which led
down to the bottom of the bed. I checked on this and found that there
was a good way down to the saddle and from there to the bottom there was
no question. It involved a vertical scramble up a crack for about six
feet. I doubt whether burros can do this. I would like to go back with
more time and explore the bottom of Grapevine to the river or possibly
follow the base of the Tapeats around to the east and go down some
ravine to the river.

One of the pleasant contrasts between this section of the canyon and
that from Horn Creek west is that there seems to be no ticks. There are
plenty of burros still, but perhaps the bighorn sheep are missing. They
may serve as the host for the propagation of ticks. I saw no bighorn
signs in this area in spite of my sighting in Red Canyon in 1954.

On a second trip, we could do the rock climb more quickly, but it took
from about 9:15 a.m. until 12:30 p.m. to get from Grandview point down
below the Redwall and until 3:15 p.m. to reach the spring. I needed
about an hour and 35 minutes to go from the spring around to where the
Tonto Trail crosses the main arm of Cottonwood. We spent the night here
and walked out on the trail to Grandview Point in about four hours.
Thus, it seemed just about as quick to use the trail to reach the
descent into lower Grapevine Canyon as it is to come directly down the
long arm the way we did.

Something that I must have passed numerous times but hadn't noticed
until now were the mescal pits on the west side of Cottonwood Creek
about halfway from the main spring to the drop down the Tapeats cliff.
We also noticed a couple of mine shafts on the west side of the neck
leading to the mesa which I had overlooked before.

*Grapevine Canyon
[April 14, 1962 to April 15, 1962]*

I couldn't get away before noon because I had to give a mathematical
talk at the high school, and Allyn Cureton also had to work through the
forenoon. We didn't get away from the rim at Grandview Point until about
3:50 p.m. We spent a little time talking to a man named Ball who was
seeing the country in spite of a cast on his leg that forced him to walk
on a projecting metal strip with his toes bare. He had been in a party
of amateur rafters from Denver who went through the Grand Canyon in
1957. The water was high and it took them nine days.

All the deep snow had melted during the previous three weeks and we
could see what poor shape the Grandview Trail was in. Besides the hole
behind the log, there's a place where the trail has been washed out by a
stream with a narrow notch missing. However, it will be a long time yet
before it's as hard to follow as the Hance Trail. This time we left the
trail right at the ravine at the head of Grapevine Canyon. The going was
easy until we were near the bottom of the Coconino on the left. There is
an obvious fault here with the west side probably 80 feet higher than
the east. We could have backed up some distance until we could work our
way around to the east where Jerry and I had gone down the first time,
but rather than climb back that far, we crossed on some fairly difficult
ledges and went to the bottom in much the same way as before. I noticed
this time that to get through the sandstone you have to go back towards
the center of the ravine right near the Coconino-Hermit contact on the
west. At quite a few places in the Supai, we found the going better to
one side or the other. Near the top, we were generally to the west of
the wash, and judging by the difficulty of our return on the other side,
this was better.

This time at the drop in the Redwall, I noticed a pile of rocks at the
bottom of the first high step up from the wash. I'll have to ask Milton
whether he and the cave boys put them there or whether they are
prehistoric. The descent still seemed pretty impressive to me. We
essentially repeated the route Jerry had found, and Allyn went down the
place Jerry and I had removed our packs without taking his off. I tried
letting mine down by a rope and got it stuck so that Allyn had to climb
part way up to take it down for me. On the return both of us kept our
packs on while going up this crack. When I was down, I remarked that I
didn't think well of this sort of climbing and that I would prefer to go
around by the trail. It was too bad I didn't keep to this resolution
because on the way up I swung my right leg over into a cactus.
Apparently no stickers were left in the skin (it was not a prickly
pear), but the ankle and lower leg have been lame these last three days
and have forced me to give up the idea of taking a super hike during the
vacation.

Right below the Redwall, the redbud trees begin. There must be more of
then than cottonwoods, and they were all in profuse bloom. Out on the
Tonto Plateau, there were also many Mariposa tulips blooming along with
a few less conspicuous flowers. Cactus were blooming down in the inner
gorge, and it was a good time of year to be there. Our bags were
uncomfortably warm when we slept beside the water about a 15 minute walk
from the base of the Redwall. There were very few mosquitoes also.

In the morning, it took us about an hour to carry the packs to the break
in the rim of the Tapeats just southwest of the spring shown on the map.
We saw some signs that burros can go down this break and many signs that
they go along the bottom of the creek below. However, there seems to be
ways to get down into the bed from the west also, so that one could
cross Grapevine much as one can cross Hance without following the Tonto
all the way around. I don't think the saving in time would be as great
in Grapevine as it is in Hance and besides, I haven't actually made sure
that one can go up the west side of Grapevine.

Walking along the bottom of Grapevine Canyon is easy although there are
impressive narrows in the Granite that remind me of Clear Creek.
Following the base of the Tapeats along here seems pretty useless and
difficult. There is one unusually straight stretch that seems to be
governed by the fault that guides the entire lower part of Grapevine
Canyon and goes across into Vishnu Canyon. We could look down this
corridor and pick out the talus where the fault went on as the creek
bent to the west. I decided to try to reach the beach at Mile 80.1 by
means of this slope. A little farther down the creek, about half a mile
from the river measured along the winding bed, we came to the first real
fall. It was a difficult climb to the west to get around it. Unlike the
procedure in Hance and Cottonwood Canyons, we started the bypass right
at the brink. We had to ascend quite a few feet above the bed to find a
break in the smooth slabs, but coming down was easier. There was one
more small fall at a chockblock which we could bypass without trouble by
going to the right. When we reached the place where we could look
through a narrow gate at the river, we were still 15 feet above the mud
bar separating the clear lagoon from the muddy torrent. The rock was
smooth and straight down. When we returned, I tried to find a safer way
to bypass the upper fall by going still higher and looking down the
other side of the spur ridge. What I saw was not encouraging and we used
the former route. This place is so risky that I was glad Allyn stood by
to tell me where the best toeholds were.

We ate an early lunch in the shade near where the fault goes over toward
the mouth of Vishnu Creek. This didn't seem to be the place I had picked
out on the way down, but when we went on around the next bend, we saw
that it was the best route over to the river. It took 20 minutes to get
to the top of this ridge and then we went along the crest to the highest
point of the promontory toward the northwest. We were disappointed in
the hope of seeing Grapevine Rapids because the cliffs below cut off the
view. It was an easy scramble down the ravine to the beach. We could
have gone quite a distance upstream, but we had only a limited amount of
time to spend here and we elected to go down in the hope of getting some
pictures of the rapids. To get around the first point, we had to walk in
some sand only a couple of feet wide. If the water had been a foot
deeper, I doubt whether we could have done this. Before we got to the
close viewpoint above the rapid, there was one place that required using
our hands. While I was working with my camera, Allyn went ahead and got
right above the lagoon at the mouth of Grapevine, but again there was no
way down to the water.

At the top of the ridge above this beach, we found newspapers anchored
by rocks shaped into the letters NO. Near there, under an overhanging
rock, a cardboard box was cached containing extra clothing, mostly
shorts and shirts. There was also a couple of pop bottles nearby with
the lettering, Property of Kist Bottling Company, Holbrook, Arizona. We
conjectured that someone was giving up further travel on the river here
and was trying to tell a searching plane that no help was needed. The
newspaper was dated May 26, 1961.

We left the river about 1:25 p.m. and reached the spring in upper
Grapevine about 4:30 p.m. I elected to rest here and finish all my food.
It took almost an hour to go to the base of the cliff and 25 minutes to
do the climb up the cliff. It got dark while we were in the middle of
the Supai, and I had a rough time in the Coconino by moonlight. We must
have missed the best way out because it was 8:30 p.m. when we reached
the trail and after nine when we got to the car. I must have been
weakened by lack of food.

*South (Paradise) Canyon
[May 27, 1962 to May 28, 1962]*

I tried again to meet Bob Vaughn at Cliff Dweller's but he was up on the
platform with his cattle.

Randy Morgenson and I turned off the main Buffalo Ranch Road at the
right place, just south of Kane Ranch. When we came to a gate through a
fence, I made the same wrong choice that I made last year, the road
along the south of the fence going east instead of the road to the south
or a bit west of south. Last year when I had come back along the road
from the rim with Allyn, I hadn't realized that we had passed a tank
different from the one where we had slept. This time I got everything
straight even though it took a lot of driving across country to do it.

When we had passed the wrong buffalo tank, we headed southeast until we
came to a road. My first project was to inspect the rim at the cove
opposite Tiger Wash where Pat had suggested a good climber might get
down through the Kaibab, Toroweap, and Coconino Formations. However, we
went clear past and parked on a rise that looks down on the stock tank
shown on the quad map out toward North Canyon Point. We walked southeast
to the rim and looked down on Stanton's Marble Pier, upstream a mile
from Cave Springs. We returned to the car and this time we drove the
cars close to the rim after getting south of the fence. After one or two
more approaches, I was reasonably sure we had found the right cove.
There were some promising looking cracks in the Kaibab wall, but we
couldn't get down the one place we really looked at. The Coconino didn't
look a bit good. It seemed that one could get down the Toroweap, but our
best observation made us think that there was at least 50 feet of
straight Coconino wall below. After some more cross country touring in
low gear, we reached the road that parallels the rim of Bedrock Canyon
and camped beside the car on the road. It was cold enough for my down
bag to feel good. A little shower woke Randy in the morning.

Again we came out on the rim too far northeast and had to back away from
the rim to get the car into position for a descent at the fault leading
down to the river at Mile 30.4 where Allyn and I found a way to the top
of the Supai last year. We did this without a hitch except that the way
I went through the bottom of the Toroweap seemed harder than it had
before. It was in an angle where perhaps last year we went down at the
end of a projection. The walk around to the west at the top of the Supai
was slow and precarious with a lot of loose stuff and many small ravines
to get past. My choice for a route was mostly near the very bottom of
the Hermit Shale. When we had rounded the corner and were leaving the
river, we could see that the Coconino and Toroweap were well covered by
talus a little to the east of the point that projects above the junction
of Bedrock with South (Paradise) Canyon. It didn't seem impossible to
get through the Kaibab also, a little farther to the east. When we were
passing it, I resolved to try this shortcut on the way out, but when we
were actually returning, I reversed myself because I thought an extra
hour with certainty was better than the gamble. After we were out, I
went over and inspected the descent. I'm sure that it is all right and
in fact it may be easier than the one we have been using. It would
shorten the trip to the mouth of South by an hour and a half.

My observation of the way down to the bed of Bedrock last year was not
absolutely sure as part of the way was obscured by a projection, but I
was gratified to learn that it is merely a good scramble with no
handholds needed. The only discomfort I experienced on this two day trip
was that the soles of my feet got a little sore. Both days were
unseasonably cool and at supper and after, I was wishing that I had
brought my jacket. We had more than half of our gallon and a half of
Flagstaff water left when we reached the river.

The main object of the trip was to learn how Stanton had left the river.
We had said that they followed the top of the Redwall (Marble) around
into Paradise Canyon. I was also on the watch for a 12 foot ledge of
mineral deposit that he had observed between the marble and the
sandstone. I didn't see this, but when we were about 300 yards back from
the mouth of the canyon, I noticed sunshine coming through a sizable
hole near the top of the Redwall on the south side. It was another
keyhole formation, a cave that had fallen in. The pit was big enough to
see from the plateau above but one would really have to be watching
closely to see it from a plane. The size of the opening in the canyon
wall was smaller than the one near the Shinumo Trail but larger than the
one in Beaver Canyon.

Randy was getting pretty tired about the time we came out above the
river, and I thought I would encourage him by telling him we would reach
a campsite by the river within 45 minutes if we were lucky and one and a
half hours if we weren't. I had picked a notch in the Redwall that shows
on the map as the one Stanton had used. However, I was pleasantly
surprised to find a good break leading down to the river only about 200
yards upstream from the mouth of Paradise. At one place for about ten
feet, both hands were needed but the rest was a walk down.

While Randy bathed in the river and sunned himself with my Time magazine
to read, I went back to the top of the Redwall and continued upriver. I
satisfied myself that there was nowhere else to go down to the water
before you come to Mile 30.4, the place Allyn and I were trying to reach
last year. This access to the river is a major obstacle to continue
travel along the top of the Redwall, but I could see that I could go up
to the base of the higher cliff and still continue. In fact, from what I
have seen, one could follow the top of the Redwall indefinitely. It
would be slow, about a mile an hour, but quite possible to go all the
way to Cave Springs. I know I didn't have time for this so I returned
for a rest with Randy. We had our suppers in a slight drizzle. We
thought it would be worth the effort to spend the night in Stanton's
Cave. It was ideal except that there were some mice running around and
nipping at my crackers.

There are three or four Indian ruins up on the terrace about 30 feet
above the river near where you come down through the break from the top
of the Redwall. There was very little pottery around, and one wonders
what brought people into this small area with practically no farming
possibilities.

We returned to the car by retracing our route. Perhaps I should mention
the drop in the bed of South Canyon just after the junction with
Bedrock. You go along a ledge to the right for several hundred yards and
descend where a short side canyon enters south from that side.

*Topocoba Trail
[May 30, 1962]*

Jay Hunt was taking seven year old Peter Marshall back to his parents
after a year in school at Flagstaff. For some time he and I had been
wanting to learn about the way up from Supai village over the travertine
and then up near Manakacha Point, so he invited me to go along. We left
Flagstaff about 4:50 a.m. and filled the tank again at the park service
station just after it opened. The road out to Topocoba Hilltop was worse
than I remembered it. It required low-low gear for the pickup in quite a
few places, especially near the end. On the return, the wheels often
spun rocks out of the way instead of gripping on the steep grades.

We got started down the trail about 8:30 a.m. with Pete in the lead. He
set us a fast pace, but occasionally Jay would give him a short ride on
his shoulders, especially towards the end. He took the walk in good
spirits even though his parents had taken the view that the short trail
to Hualapai Hilltop was too much for him. The Supai Indians are not
enthusiastic about walking. I noted one seep with water still in it, but
another one right in the middle of the wash that normally kept water in
some tandem bathtubs apparently was dry. So were the potholes just
upstream from Rattlesnake Canyon. The wet late winter has not carried
over and travel along the Esplanade would not be any more favorable than
previously.

I definitely wanted to look for the pictographs just inside the mouth of
the canyon below Rattlesnake. Of course this is actually the main canyon
and Lee Canyon is the tributary, but from the straight course of Lee
Canyon one would not think this. I had no difficulty locating them,
about 100 feet in from Lee Canyon on the east wall of Havasu. There was
room enough behind the trees, so they were not hidden. The most obvious
ones were geometrical designs of circles split into quadrants. In
charcoal on the same wall was a statement that these pictures were over
200 years old. It was signed and dated, August 15, 1900, but I didn't
note the author's name.

After I had taken a couple pictures here, I was about to leave when I
glanced at the wall a few feet father south. Here were the controversial
ibex pictures that Hubbard of the Doheny expedition liked so well. They
are certainly very interesting.

The day was cool and pleasant with the birds singing and the willows in
full bloom. I'll have to ask someone what this willow is called, the one
with the large purple blossoms. I kept a fairly good watch for the giant
mummy or petrified Indian on the ledge, but I was unable to locate it.

Jay showed me the big triangular rock in the middle of the canyon about
three miles from the springs that he likes to climb. He went up it again
and I found that I could do it as easily even though my shoes didn't
seem as well designed for that sort of thing.

After we had taken Pete home, we talked to the men who were taking sweat
baths. They told us that the Manakacha Point route requires two ropes
and that they are now so old that they should not be trusted. They told
us how to find the route up the travertine. It's the one to the south as
I had supposed, but you go up about where the travertine meets the wall
on the northeast side of the deposit.

Our walk back up the Lee Canyon Trail was uneventful except that Hunt
was successful in catching horses two different times. He fastened his
shirt around their noses for a bridle and was able to get the horses to
take him bareback up the trail a little faster than I could walk. He
rode in all for 25 minutes.

*Fifth ascent of Wotan's Throne
[June 1, 1962 to June 2, 1961]*

Allyn Cureton was waiting for me when I came into the North Rim
Headquarters. We had lunch at the campground and then I drove out to the
parking area 1.4 miles north of the end of the road at Cape Royal. Last
summer the two of us had found our way almost to the bottom of the
Coconino in the ravine right next to the bridge between Cape Royal and
Wotan, and I had been back later to look over the ravines that are below
the parking where we are now stopped. I now think that less rope
climbing would be necessary by the northern route, and also that less
time would be required to get down to the place where the rope would be
used. I disagreed with Clubb in the opinion that at this northern route
no rope would be needed. (Clubb said that no rope is necessary at one of
these places and it turns out he was correct for the southwest one.)

It was 2:15 p.m. when we first started down. I was carrying 10 pounds of
rope 150 feet long and one and a half gallons of water as well as the
usual sleeping bag and food for two days. Allyn had a heavier pack and
five quarts of water. Right away I showed how easy it is to forget
details. I couldn't remember which of the breaks between the small
promontories connecting the rim with the outlying Indian ruin butte one
should use. You have to go down about 150 feet to find which are dead
ends. We missed twice and it was slow to get our heavy loads back up to
the rim. We even went back to the car for a good drink before we set out
again about 3:15 p.m. This time we were at the right place, about the
closest break to the parking lot. When we came to the car wreck at the
top of the Coconino, we were sure we were in the right ravine. Last year
I had also checked two other ravines, one to the east and one to the
west. The one to the west goes just as easily as the center one, but
there are bad spots near the top of the other.

We soon came to the crack in the center of the ravine that I remembered
from last year, where the packs scraped against the walls. Right near
the bottom we came to some chock blocks that seemed to me to stop us. We
tied the rope above this place, but when I went out to the side and
looked down, I could see that the rope would not reach bottom. Allyn
found that he could climb up at the east side of one of these blocks,
and I found that I could too. In fact, I'm quite sure I did this last
year. There was a convenient small tree below, and now the rope had 30
feet to spare. Allyn brought out his carabineers and rappel sling and we
went down in style. The operation of coming down from the car to the
Hermit Shale had required one and a quarter hours, not bad compared to
one whole day for the Wood party in 1937. Of course they did their route
finding as they went along, but we wasted 15 minutes tying the rope too
high up at first.

It was now 4:30 p.m. and we had ahead of us the part of the trip that
Clubb had called about the most miserable bushwhacking he had ever done.
Finding the best way through the brush patches and testing footholds on
shale is time consuming. One who has been over terraces like this knows
that you often have to go up or down to bypass some large rocks or some
especially difficult place in a ravine, but if you don't have to stop
for rest and are not always trying to settle which is the easiest route
(but are willing to proceed without wasting time), one can advance
steadily. It took us a bit over an hour and a half to get below Angel's
Window and about two hours to reach the bottom of the chute that Clubb
recommends. It was nearing 7:30 p.m. when we arrived at the talus
leading to the top of the Coconino on Wotan. We had to decide whether to
try for the top that night or even the bench above the Coconino, or camp
at the base. It was not altogether clear from below whether we would be
able to find the way among the ledges and slabs of the Coconino at the
top of the talus, although I was rather sure what was the best route.
Just to make sure, we went past this place and checked a couple of
cracks that might be talus filled ravines to the top. They were no good,
but we found an excellent level sandy place below an overhang while we
were doing this and decided to make our camp there. The night was too
warm for my down bag and there were a few mosquitoes. The result was
that I slept only a couple hours.

We got a fairly early start, a bit before six and arrived on top by 8:30
a.m. As we had thought, the Coconino gave us some problems. We left our
packs at the top of the talus, or rather Allyn took his up with only
some food and his camera in it. I was carrying two quarts of water with
my camera in my pocket. In general the plan for getting through the
Coconino is to leave the top of the talus and follow ledges left or
right until a way appears where we could climb up. There are plenty of
places where you want to be careful, but there are no exposures above a
sheer precipice as on Shiva Temple. At one place we had to look
carefully for any way up, but when we found it, the way was both easy
and safe, up a crack with plenty of steps. Rather near the top of the
sandstone, I saw a good bivouac spot under an overhang. Two parallel
lines of building stones showed that I had been preceded in this
observation. It appeared to be a rock shelter built by the prehistorics.

The low cliff above the sandstone is unbroken as far as you can see to
the south. Until you get right up to the top of the Coconino, it's not
clear how you could proceed, but right there in front of you is a fine
gate leading around to the northwest. You turn left and go along this
bench, but you can tell that before long it will pinch off into a sheer
cliff. Just before this happens, there's a broken place that allows you
to scramble directly up for 25 feet to the main bench that is unbroken
clear around the Throne. This is well forested but we saw no signs of
deer at this level except one foot print in the dust just below the
upper cliff and it wasn't at all surely recognizable. I did see several
prints that might have been made by a coyote. There were plenty of signs
of rodents and we saw a number of lizards. Walking along the steep slope
through the woods was difficult so to expedient the walk, we followed
the very base of the main cliff most of the way west. Clubb had told me
that there are three ravines with considerable vegetation in them around
on the northwest side, as I had seen also from Cape Royal. There was no
doubt about passing by the first one. Impassable ledges near the bottom
stopped us from considering it. There were two projecting rock ridges,
but I wouldn't have thought that either one invited climbing as
mentioned in the Andrews article on the first ascent. In fact, the
description of their going up a projecting ridge more easily than they
had come down from the Cape Royal rim using ropes is the part of their
account that looks extremely suspect. The way we went up was in the
widest of the forested bays on the northwest side. It was no more than
steep walking in the dirt until we reached the very top where there is a
12 foot cliff. After a little inspection, we found some holds and went
up quite easily. I marked the place with a stick put upright in a bush,
and then we went along the rim to the southwest abut 50 yards to a place
that appeared even safer for the descent. It did look better, ad I
wasn't too surprised to find a substantial cairn here, probably built by
Clubb.

Coming the long route from the parking area 1.4 miles north of Cape
Royal, it had taken us an seven and three-fourths hours to go from the
car to the top. If we came the short way, one could avoid carrying a
bedroll and do it in one good day. With only one meal in route, not so
much water would need to be carried either. I'm rather eager to go again.

We were on top from 8:30 until 10:15 a.m. Andrews mentioned finding a
mescal pit on top, and Clubb has a picture of a very poorly preserved
rock shelter. In fact, some scientific person to whom he showed the
picture wouldn't consider it as of human construction. I also came
across one that might be controversial, but I found and photographed
another which is about as clear as any prehistoric structure can be
which is not protected from the elements, walls still about 15 inches
high in a perfect rectangle with the door very clearly shown. The
occupants might have lived here for protection or perhaps they
considered a trip to the top of Wotan's a status symbol.

Just as we were getting going Saturday morning, a large stone slipped
under me and threw me downhill. I bruised my hip and elbow which took
some of my strength, but we were back to the car right after six. I had
Prusiked up the rope.

*Nankoweap Basin
[June 4, 1962 to June 5, 1962]*

Allyn and I sat around resting and eating on Sunday. He wanted to try to
beat Willie Steinkraus' record of four hours and 47 minutes for the
cross canyon trip on Monday morning. (He did break the record with a
time of three hours and 56 minutes and again with an incredible time of
three hours and eight minutes.) Bob Powers and I saw him off at 5:05
a.m. after which I set out to see Saddle Mountain and various points in
the Nankoweap Basin. At first I had planned for it to be a five day
trip, but I finally decided to spend three days at it. As I get older, I
seem to be getting less self-sufficient, and between loneliness and my
shoes coming unstitched, I turned around after spending one day going to
the bottom.

First I drove outside the park and tried the road marked Saddle
Mountain. I moved one fallen tree out of the way but I soon came to
another that I couldn't budge. In trying to drive around it off the
road, I got the car stuck and had to jack for at least 30 minutes to get
it loose. I drove through some very pretty country but the road didn't
seem to be taking me close to Saddle Mountain. In fact, from certain
signs, I got the impression that it was going off the plateau down
towards South Canyon. I turned around and went back to Point Imperial. I
believe that I came to its end after an hour of walking from Point Imperial.

The huge burn has made the foot travel easier out this way. You don't
slip on the pine needles, and you can see where you are better. However,
the second growth aspen shoots are coming up and in a few years this
will be almost impenetrable. I was careful not to climb the two outlier
mountains of the main rim. I made the mistake of going too far to the
north just before I was to go down the Coconino. However, I made the
pleasant discovery of water in a ravine that seems to be the main
beginning of Buck Farm Canyon. It's running so slowly that it probably
dries up later in the summer. In getting down the correct ravine for the
descent to the saddle, I also found a little water. There is a clearly
man-made trail down into Houserock Valley, along the north side of
Saddle Mountain, and also going down the south side of the saddle about
100 feet below the top of the Supai.

One of my objectives was to climb Saddle Mountain. After an obscure
region of manzanita, I was gratified to come to a clear and helpful
trail up the most logical place for a trail to go between the
outcroppings of Coconino Sandstone. With this help, I reached the top in
about 45 minutes. Surveyors have left a large rock cairn and also a
board marker on top. The Summit is very different from the same
elevation on the main plateau. It is only 8400 feet high, but it shows
signs of timberline struggle with the gales. The pinyons look almost
like bristle cones and are twisted and gnarled with many dead limbs and
trunks showing great age for their height. The views of the canyon and
desert were all that could be expected. That trip would be worth a hike
anytime. I believe that driving into the burn on the rim makes the
closest approach, but it would be very interesting to go from the end of
the road in the buffalo range.

After lunch I took off down the trail into Nankoweap. Boyd Moore and I
should have looked around before we headed out along the Hermit Shale.
The head of the trail is in a small alcove at about the lowest part of
the saddle. Much trail construction is still in evidence and no
difficulty is encountered for the first third of a mile. Even a few tree
limbs have been trimmed, possibly by the man who told Dan Davis he
wanted to take dudes down to see Goldwater's bridge. Abruptly the trail
changes. For the next three and a half hours you're going along a trace
where you often must test a foothold before you shift your weight. In a
way this route takes more guts than climbing Wotan, because you are
constantly exposed and know that one slip would be your last. I know
just where the Las Vegas dude explorers lost one of the packs. I didn't
remove my pack, but I got down on my hands and knees to get under an
overhang. What amazes me is that the scientists in 1882 ever thought
that they could build a horse trail along this narrow ledge, and it's
something else that this ledge never quite pinches out for so many
miles. (Actually, in 1882 the scientists went down the head of the
valley, not this route.) If anyone wants evidence of current erosion, he
only needs to notice how many tons of rock have fallen across this trail
since the days of the horsethieves, or even since 1937 when McKee and
others took stock over this trail. It's obviously impossible now. About
one-fourth of the way along, below the top 100 feet of the Supai cliff
from the saddle to the top of the Redwall at the head of Tilted Mesa,
the walking is fairly easy. On the east side of the bend at Marion
Point, there are some good overhangs that would be protection during a
storm. In fact, there are signs of a rock windbreak and some charcoal here.

It was 4:30 p.m. when I got to the upper end of Tilted Mesa so I thought
I would undertake the second of my projects for the trip, going down
Tilted Mesa and try for the top of Barbenceta Butte. I had been able to
keep going steadily since morning with almost no rest, but on the way
back I at last felt quite weary. The drop in altitude was almost as
great as going to the level of Nankoweap Creek directly below where I
left my pack. Unfortunately, I forgot my camera on this detour.
Barbenceta is an interesting residual of Supai. Unfortunately for my
project, the cap rock is overhanging slightly all the way around and the
one crack I could see would only accommodate a single finger. Since I'm
not that sort of climber, I built a small cairn ten feet below the top
and went away. Two people with a rope could sling it over the top and
one could climb the rope while the other held the other end. The rock is
only about eight feet wide and ten feet high. I was tempted to go to the
bottom of the Little Nankoweap Wash above the drop-offs that stopped me
on a previous hike and walk up to my pack. There is a good talus slope
at the upper end of the valley, but since I had taken one and a quarter
hours to get to the top of Barbenceta and I knew it would take somewhat
longer to go back, I withstood that temptation. I might have camped at
the top of the Redwall, but it was rather chilly in the strong wind, and
I knew I would be short of water as well.

I started down the trail through the Redwall at 7:15 a.m. Only a few
years ago this part of the trail was well preserved, but before long I
was merely guessing where it was. In order not to waste the little
daylight left, I quit trying and went down to the top of the Tapeats
cliff. After following the top to the south, about the third notch that
I inspected went through all right. This was a different route than I
had used before. I was down into the main wash coming from the east side
of Marion just as full darkness was closing in. All afternoon I had been
thinking more and more about Boyd Moore, and my melancholy was another
factor in persuading me to go home the next day. It was seven years and
a week since he and I had been down here with high hopes for a fine trip.

In the morning I started up the slope intending to get into the wash
that comes down from where the map shows the trail ending on the east
side of the spur ridge. By accident I got farther east and rather than
cut across some rough blocks and ravines to get where I had intended to
go up, I headed farther east to a point where the Tapeats is broken.
Quite soon I found a well constructed trail, obviously the lower end of
the old trail although not shown on the map. It's quite distinct and
easier to walk than any other part except the very beginning at the
saddle. Just near the end above the spur ridge, it becomes
unrecognizable. It seems odd that Evans and Matthes missed this. Above
this point on the Redwall talus, I got tired of trying to connect the
scraps of trail that are still noticeable by crossing steep ravines that
seem to have formed only in the last few years. I decided to go right up
where the walking would at least be firm. Before long I came to a very
clear deer trail and I followed it to the rim of Tilted Mesa. It's so
much better than the present residue of the horse trail that I marked
its head with a small cairn, and this deer trail will get my business if
I ever come back here. Even though I had cut my trip short and had let
Nankoweap Mesa and Nankoweap Butte go as well as the window in one arm
of the creek, I had learned quite a bit new to me about the various
parts of the trail.

*Cape Royal to Freya Temple
[June 24, 1962]*

Bob Schley was enthusiastic about the idea that we could go back to
Wotan's Throne in one day and still have about three hours to scour the
top for more Indian ruins. To make it this fast, we would have to use
the route directly down from the lecture station at Cape Royal. From a
distance along the Hermit Shale, Allyn and I had thought that the drop
where a rope would be necessary was not much greater than it had been at
the place we had come down three weeks before.

The Schleys took me to Cape Royal on Saturday evening early enough so
that I had time to go down and review the route Allyn and I had scouted
the year before, essentially what Merrel Clubb had told me about. This
time I carried a can of green spray paint and sprayed arrows on the
rocks to indicate the more elusive turns. Allyn arrived about 1:00 in
the morning to go with us.

I had taken Bob and our other companion, David Krebs, out to the top of
the promontory near the parking area 1.4 miles north of Cape Royal on
Saturday afternoon. David came right up all the hard spots, but Bob
hesitated quite a bit and was puffing harder than I when we finished.
Right then I began to wonder whether I hadn't gotten him interested in
something that might be too difficult for him to do in a single day.
Still when we were ready to go down the slope and tackle our project, he
was game to go until his better judgment would say he had gone far
enough. He got across the narrow ledge where you have to crawl under the
overhang and got down the place where the holds are poor. He followed us
over to the head of the chute through the Coconino next to the bridge
towards Wotan. We tied knots in a double rope and used it to descend the
25 feet behind the chockblock at the head of the chute. Then we came to
the place where we had to tie the rope to a stout juniper and throw it
over the edge. The rock sloped steeply toward the edge so that the only
way we could tell whether it had reached the bottom was to hold onto it
and lean out. Allyn and I tied rappel slings around our middles and
prepared to go down using carabineers. David and Bob watched with
interest, but at last Bob decided that the place for a beginner to
practice was not right here where there was no alternate route back up
in case the Prusik method proved too difficult. He and David stayed
there until Allyn and I were down. To go down from the shelf where we
landed to the talus, we saw that we would need another rope. The men
above followed our request and untied Allyn's nylon rope and threw it
down. Actually a 50 foot rope would be plenty for this high step at the
bottom, or two men could probably help each other make it with no rope
at all. Just as we got off the rock ledges, I saw my first rattlesnake
for this year.

Since Allyn and I knew how to get to Wotan's and we didn't think that we
would have any more time to explore it than we had three weeks ago, we
elected to tackle another project and climb Freya Temple, the one that
Merrel Clubb had passed up as being a simple walk-up. It took us about
one and a half hours to go from the bottom of the rope to the top of
Freya. We built the first cairn on it, thus extending my list of named
summits climbed to 16. When we had loafed at the top of Freya for 45
minutes, we came down and went out on the ridge that extends towards
Vishnu Temple. The climb up Vishnu doesn't look any easier as you get
closer, especially the part above the Coconino. I don't think that Clubb
will have to share that one with me. While we were out on this point, we
looked down into the arm of Unkar heading below Vishnu and saw what
looks very much like a good way through the Redwall and Supai.This may
be the route used by the prehistorics when they climbed Wotan. The
ravine in the Redwall below the southwest corner of Vishnu leading down
into Vishnu Creek didn't look good. The top cliffs of Supai are
remarkably continuous all around the Vishnu Creek drainage, but I'm
pretty sure that there is a breach southeast from the highest part of
Freya. The lowest part of the Hermit was better walking and we made good
time on the return. Prusiking up the rope took me 45 minutes and I had
to tie a sling above the top edge of the rock. We got to the top rim by
4:30 pm.

*The Sinking Ship
[July 7, 1962]*

We came to the Grand Canyon to show the park to our institute
participants. Nine of the boys wanted to hike to Phantom Ranch. I
figured, somewhat erroneously, that 17 year olds who had gone up the San
Francisco Peaks and had climbed Sunset Crater in less than 25 minutes
could do the loop down the South Kaibab Trail and up the Bright Angel
Trail without any supervision from me. (They managed to make a mistake
when they found that the orange drink in their lunches had soaked
through the cardboard cartons and had reduced their sandwiches to a
soggy mess. Most of them threw their lunches in the garbage can and had
only one orange apiece for the whole day. As a result they dragged
themselves out after 8:00 p.m. in sad shape.) In the meantime, I did a
little visiting and then went to see whether I could find the ruins that
Bert Hunt had told me were along the northeast base of Sinking Ship.

As usual, I found the trace of a trail from the notch in the rim out to
the Sinking Ship. I have always thought that this was one of John
Hance's improvements that was a convenience to his tourist guests who
desired to see the sunset from the west side of Sinking Ship. I went
along the east base of the cliffs and came to the metate under an
overhang, which I had noted on several previous trips. I passed by the
place where Marshall Scholing and I had climbed up through the notch
separating the north tower from the middle. North of here I had been
clear around the base, but I had descended too low. This time I kept on
near the vertical cliff. At the notch separating the middle tower from
the north and lowest tower, I found the three ruins. The first to catch
my eye was the one farthest north but facing south. It is merely a
granary. Then I saw two more on a higher ledge a little to the south and
farther west. These are big enough to allow a small man to lie down in
them. There are a couple of well constructed doorways and the Indians
used juniper logs to widen the ledge where there was a break in the
shelf. I noted one corncob still here, but there didn't seem to be any
obvious pottery fragments.

Above and to the north of these two rooms, one can go up through the V
separating the middle castle from the northern one. From the top of this
notch there is a not too difficult route to the top of the middle
castle. When I got to the top, I found a well built rock pile. I
couldn't see any sign that the north castle had been climbed, and when I
followed its base north to the end of the promontory, I didn't discover
any practical route up it. (Ken Walters climbed this north tower.) On my
way back along the west base of the whole formation, I tried going up a
long break in the wall of the south castle. (Reider Peterson and I got
up the south peak starting some yards south of here. We used a rope and
came down here.) A daring climber, who had a companion, could have gone
quite a bit higher than I did, but I saw no positive assurance that the
summit block could be climbed even from the top of this break. Maybe
I'll get Allyn Cureton to come back with me when we can belay each other
up this break.

*Fishtail Mesa
[July 24, 1962 to July 25, 1962]*

After inquiring at Jacob Lake, I drove to Big Springs by the canyon road
that leaves the north rim highway just south of Jacob Lake. It was quite
all right and much more interesting than the route from the north below
the plateau. By this route, Big Springs is only a four and half hour
drive from Flagstaff. Don came along well before noon and we drove to
Indian Hollow in his new pickup. They have worked on the road down
Indian Hollow as well as improving the Thunder River Trail, and there
was no difficulty in going right to the rim by this route.

After a lunch near the truck, we got started down the trail about 1:30
p.m. It took five and a half hours to reach our campsite on top of the
mesa, but part of this time was spent inspecting Walapai Johnnie's Bean
Cave (an overhang where there is an orange crate for shelves and some
supplies lying around). We were also expecting to find some rain pools
along the way and we did a bit of checking for them. There were a few
very shallow and temporary pools and one deeper one. This had rather
foul water which is a good sign that it lasts a couple weeks after a
rain. It's in a ravine just before you go over a ridge and see the route
over the saddle to the north side of Fishtail Canyon. I'm not sure, but
I think Bean Cave is a little farther east. There is also a mescal pit a
bit to the west of this water. We were glad we had carried enough for
about 24 hours so that we wouldn't need to use this uninviting fluid.
Progress along this part of the Esplanade is a lot easier than that
across the river for some reason. There are pretty definite signs of a
trail in most places, and the part up the long talus to the top of the
pass is very distinct. Don had done little or no walking for a couple
years and he really felt out of condition. When we reached the saddle,
we even considered the possibility of his staying there while I went on.

We were glad you don't have to go very far around the mesa before you
come to the place to go up. We followed the trail down for a few hundred
yards, but then we decided it would be better to keep our elevation even
if the footing was poor. The route up is easy to identify, a large bay
filled with unstable rock slides with here and there some sage or other
vegetation. Don had to take very frequent rests along here, so I went on
to make sure that the route really lay to the west above the loose rock.
We found that this hunch was correct and that if we kept on to the west
at the very top, there was practically no need for hands.We found
ourselves on a promontory near the northeast corner of the mesa. To get
a flat spot near timber that would allow us a fire, we crossed the minor
saddle and went up near the east rim. We could tell that we might be
short of water on the return unless we dipped into the buggy stuff I had
seen, so we decided on an early start in the morning. I had carried six
quarts and Don brought five. In order not to entirely miss the chief
purpose of the ascent, I left Don on his blanket and started to hike the
length of the mesa. I started well after 7:00 p.m., so I'm afraid my
attempts at photos will be failures, but I did shoot toward Mount
Trumbull and took a minute exposure in the direction of Granite Narrows.
I reached the south end of the mesa, already marked by a pile of rocks
supporting a stick, about 8:15 p.m. It was rather dark but I could make
out the branches of 140 Mile Canyon. Mount Sinyala seemed large and
close. I regretted that there was no chance for pictures and also that I
couldn't go along the west edge and see into Kanab Creek.

My trip back was uneventful. I've done some very rough walking after
dark so I figured this mesa top would be a breeze, and that I couldn't
lose my way if I kept the east rim in sight. It wasn't as simple as I
had thought because I would walk into the small limbs of fallen juniper
trees and many times I stopped to pull cactus spines out of my canvas
top shoes. Once, I got too far away from the east rim and came up
against a cliff ringed valley. I had been steering by the stars, but in
backing away from this false rim, I found myself going due south. Even
with all that confusion, the entire return required less than half again
as much time as the trip by daylight. I was very glad that Don had a
good fire going at 10:00 p.m. and that he shouted just as I arrived in
the vicinity for at that time I was again veering too far away from the rim.

When we tried to get to sleep, there was a strong wind blowing. I had
thought we would be sleeping down on the Esplanade and I had brought
only a cotton blanket. I had to use my plastic sheet for a wind break,
and it whipped around so that I didn't fall asleep until the wind died
about 1:00 a.m. After that the night was quiet and cold and I built up
the fire for warmth. The return was uneventful taking five hours to the
car. Don had to press himself to make it up the final grade. His
condition was not imaginary either since he threw up the juice and water
he drank after we reached the truck. It was obvious that he couldn't
take five more days of rough hiking especially since he also had some
bad blisters.

Judging by the time we made even with Don so out of shape, I would say
that Fishtail could be done in one day if one were to camp at the end of
the road and get an early start. It would mean a long day if we walked
the length of the top before returning, but one would not need so much
water or a bedroll. The last grade would be done after sundown.

*Source of Bright Angel Creek
[July 26, 1962]*

When Don couldn't go on with me down to Thunder River for some
investigation of Stone Creek and the bed of Tapeats above the flow of
water from the main source, I felt at loose ends and almost started for
a visit to the coast. After I talked to Jerry Bortle, I decided to stick
around the canyon. He had no transportation to start him on any hikes.
If I would think of some way to spend the next two days, he could go
with me on Saturday and Sunday. One minor project that would fill in was
to go to the source of Bright Angel Creek.

I had been up the Old Bright Angel Canyon Trail and I had seen the
source from the rim of the Redwall above, but I had never been along the
creek to it. Allyn Cureton had rather impressed me with the difficulty
of the feat, because he and a friend had given it up when they saw how
slow the travel was. On the other hand, a faculty member from Flagstaff,
McCreary, and two fishing companions had made it. In order not to have a
near miss, I took my sleeping gear and enough food for a second day down
the Roaring Springs Route. It would have been more direct if I had gone
down the Bright Angel Canyon Trail, but I didn't give this route a
thought until later.

The seep springs along the Kaibab Trail were showing more activity than
I had seen before, proving that there had been more snow last winter
than normal. When I was above the junction of Bright Angel Creek with
the tributary from Roaring Springs, I scrambled down to the creek and
left my blanket and hiking shoes and other extraneous gear. I walked up
along the creek in my tennis shoes prepared to wade wherever it seemed
more expedient. With only one crossing, the old trail took me about
two-thirds of the way. After that I was on deer trails most of the time.
It's a beauty spot with many small cascades and dells of maple and fir.
Beaver felled trees often slowed one. Most of the cuts seemed rather
old, but there are still runways from the bank down into the water, and
one white fir, although completely girdled, was still entirely green.
Many fine pools held numerous nine or ten inch trout that were making no
attempt to hide.

At a couple places, there are small falls that necessitate slight
detours. Still it required only two and a quarter hours to go from the
junction to the source. I found the source not as interesting as it had
seemed from the top of the Redwall. Water gushed out from about six
different places within 50 feet of each other. The flow does not arch
down into the pool free of the wall, and the orifices are only about
four feet above the surface of the pool. Still, it makes an interesting
sight to see half of all the water that flows in Bright Angel Creek
originate at this one interesting place. I had seen minor springs along
the way up, and the side canyon to the west where the old trail is
leaving the main creek has a fair flow and a fine fall (called Emmett
Fall) about 200 yards back from Bright Angel Creek.

I followed the dry bed above the source until I was stopped by the
Redwall. Even here it appears that one might bypass the drop by going
around to the west. I did a little steep climbing here and could have
descended to the bed above the dry fall, but I could tell that the final
obstruction was just beyond, so I was content with a picture. (I learned
latter that I missed seeing a window.)

After a swim with three fellows who had come down to spend the night by
Bright Angel Creek, I went up from the creek to the head of the South
Kaibab Trail in three hours.

*The Goldwater Natural Bridge from Point Imperial
[July 27, 1962]*

Ever since I heard that Merrel Clubb had taken Emery Kolb down from
Point Imperial to see the bridge that Goldwater discovered from the air,
I had intended doing it myself. When I was down below the Coconino to go
around Mount Hayden, the route had looked quite easy. This project
seemed like a good one to fill a little over half a day.

Right near the top I fumbled by starting down the Coconino at the wrong
place. While I was getting down the Kaibab Limestone, I angled too far
to the east. I really remembered that there is at least one well
established deer trail in the right bay. As it was, I got nearly to the
bottom of the Coconino before I had to come back and descend in the
larger bay to the west.

This is below the area to the west of the rest rooms.

In the deep woods near the rim I flushed out a couple dusky grouse. They
flew up into a tree. On my return at about the same level, I had a fine
view of a female about ten feet away. It was in no hurry to leave. If it
had been in the boulder field on Long Peak, I would have called it a
ptarmigan.

I arrived at the Redwall near a rounded bay but I knew that the bridge
was not in this one. It can be seen from some distance down the canyon
and this bay is off to the side. When I had gone around to the ravine
that is straight with the lower canyon, I had to go right down to the
brink before I could see the bridge. If Jack Roak saw the bridge from
above in 1920, he probably didn't get his first view from this position.
Out on the promontory that leads to Bourke Point you can get a good view
of the bridge, probably the place where Roak first spotted it. From this
ridge, you can also see a good route down the Redwall. There is a good
break down through most of the Redwall leading to the southwest end of
the bridge, and you would need to rappel only about 80 feet at the
bottom. This might be the most convenient method to get from a car down
into Nankoweap Basin.

When I was trying to follow the same route back, I caught myself
drifting too far to the southeast while going through the Supai. Of
course it is tiring going up through the loose soil and brush, but the
entire trip should take about six hours. I recall that Dale Slocum said
that the Life magazine party were below the bridge with their cameras in
position only two hours and 40 minutes from their car.

*Saddle Canyon
[July 28, 1962]*

After my trip down to the Goldwater Natural Bridge, there was still
plenty of time to drive back to Big Springs before Jerry Bortle was
through work. We had some more chess that evening and I enjoyed a shower
and an indoor bed again. In the morning we took off early and were ready
to hike down from Swamp Point by 8:30 a.m. Jerry was in better hiking
shape than I at any time last year and he could more than keep up with
me all day.

We checked the modern cabin at the saddle and found that it was open and
would make a convenient place to camp that is out of the rain. We could
still find something of the old trail leading from the saddle to Powell
Springs, but beyond there the streambed seemed to be the best walking.
It also was rather overgrown in places. There were a couple of drops in
the Supai that made us look a little for the bypass. Either side is all
right, but after we had done both, we concluded that the northeast side
is less brushy. On our way down, we were on this side, but we continued
on around into the next drainage, although we saw later that we could
have gone down a crack quite a bit sooner. This nameless draw on the
right really has a bigger wash than Saddle, the one we were following.
About where the first Redwall shows, there are so many about equal
valleys coming together that it would behoove one to look back at
landmarks and remember them. We were glad to get the assurance of
finding our own foot prints when we returned.

When we looked up at Steamboat Mountain from below, we were sure that it
could be climbed. This might be done in one day if one camped at the
Muav Saddle or at Powell Spring. The latter is pretty insignificant now.
It seems much weaker than it did about five years ago when I first saw
it, and now it's above ground for only about 30 feet.

The fault through Saddle Canyon is about the most amazing that I've seen
anywhere. The Redwall shows about 400 feet deep on one side when you can
still see Supai on the other. The creek erodes impressive slits through
the Redwall and then comes out to the Supai again two or three times.
Right at the start, we had to go around an impossible drop but the
detour over some Supai let us get back to the bottom of the wash again.
We were so deep into the Redwall that Jerry was quite sure we had made
it when we were shocked out of our optimism by an impossible drop. Just
before the end, I sounded the depth of a muddy pool and then waded
across to check the impossible fall just ahead. (The fall is not
impossible - see logs for May 21, 1974). Here Jerry insisted in trying a
climb around a corner to try to get to a shelf below. It looked
impossible to me. While I was putting my shoes back on, Jerry remarked
that maybe I would have to help him back up. I didn't take this too
seriously until he said, "Doc, would you kind of hurry." He had slipped
somehow and was helpless to get back. If he had fallen, he would have
been able to break the fall on a shelf a few feet below and then go on
to a gravel bar about six feet lower. If I hadn't been along, and if the
water had been too deep for climbing out, he could have been in real
trouble. I have never seen Allyn in a jam like that. I was able to brace
myself and use two hands on one of his wrists to get him up.

I hadn't really tried what I had at first intended, to go along the top
of the Redwall to a place several miles farther northwest before trying
to get down the Redwall, but travel here would have been so slow that
this would have been out of the question for a one day operation. When
we got back to the saddle, we filled our canteens at the good spring to
the east, and Jerry announced that he couldn't go with me around the top
of the plateau because his shoes were shot.

*Powell Plateau
[July 30, 1962]*

Doctor Joseph Hall, a mamalogist who teaches at San Francisco State,
looked me up to hear what I knew about climbing Shiva Temple. He had
just spent four hours trying to leave the north rim, and had finally
worked out the right place to leave the rim. At first I said I would go
with him up Shiva, but then I thought it would be interesting to see
more of Powell Plateau than I had before. It was really better country
for this work, the study of the Kaibab squirrel. There are few or no
ponderosa pines on Shiva Temple but about three-fourths of Powell
Plateau supports a fine forest.

We drove out in Hall's VW microbus and were ready to hike by a little
after eight. It took us just over an hour to get to the top of the
plateau. Just before we reached the top, we disturbed a big fat
rattlesnake that was sunning itself on the trail.

After passing the toll cache we turned to the northwest to go to the
point nearest Steamboat Mountain. There are tool surveyor markers a few
yards apart at this point, the only bench mark on the entire plateau.
Joe was properly impressed by the view from here. We wanted to expose
film in all directions. I really intended going down along the west rim
next, but in my effort to keep away from the head of the trail up from
the saddle, we went east. We followed the blazes for about an hour and I
figured that if I wanted to keep to the west of Dutton Canyon, I should
be careful to go more to the west. Here, Joe left me to spend his day
among the big trees to the north where he had seen more signs of squirrels.

I had intended to keep just west of Dutton Canyon and go up Wheeler
Point first by following the east rim when I was sure to be south of the
big valley. I goofed again and I must have gone rather close to the west
side of the plateau in the sagebrush area before I set my course
definitely for the east rim. It seemed that I had to cross just about
all the ravines there are on Powell Plateau before I hit the rim about
one mile north of Wheeler. We saw very few signs of civilization on the
plateau, two old corrals within a mile or two of the north end, and the
bench mark. However, there was a little horse or burro manure near the
extreme south end. I also saw five fine bucks with wonderful antlers.
Three were in sight at one time. I also saw about three does. It would
have been easy to go down through the Kaibab Limestone at Wheeler Point,
and the clearest deer trail I have ever seen, led along the base of the
limestone pinnacle that is south of the point. This bare crag could be
climbed rather easily, and I was sorely tempted to see what I could from
the trail that leads to the south of this final crag. I had hopes of
seeing the Royal Arch, but I had told Joe that I would be back at the
head of the trail by 6:00 p.m.

Next I went north of Wheeler, along the west rim. The ravines tallied
with the map all the way to Newberry Point and I hit the rim only a few
hundred yards to the east of it. I went around the angle until I could
see to the west, but Stanton Point still showed much better than Fossil
Bay. East along the rim from Newberry Point, I was rather sure that
there is a place where one could descend through both the Kaibab and
Coconino Formations. I hurried back to the tool cache and arrived just
on the dot of six. I was surprised to have to pull a couple ticks from
my legs after this day.

*Downriver from Pipe Creek to Hermit Rapids
[August 28, 1962 to August 30, 1962]*

When I heard that a friend was taking some scouts to Supai intending to
return to Flagstaff on Monday afternoon, I decided on the spur of the
moment to float on my air mattress from Pipe Creek to Havasu Creek with
food for six days. Roma thought I was about to take off for the North
Rim for a longer period until I phoned her after she had gone to work
about my change of plans. The Braleys had agreed to drive my car back
from the canyon after I had started down the Bright Angel Trail. I was
on my way down by 3:15 p.m. and reached the river by 5:45 p.m. Something
I noticed for the first time was a bit of trail construction to the west
of the Bright Angel Trail just a little below the bottom of the Coconino
cliff. Possibly this once continued on to the mine east of Powell Point
(the Orphan Mine). Another thing that I considered for the first time
was the possibility of reaching the Battleship from the Bright Angel
Trail along the top of the Redwall. This would be shorter and walking
would be easy until you came to a wall of Supai. I didn't see a way
through it, so perhaps this would not be a shortcut.

There were no observers at the mouth of Pipe Creek, but I still elected
to walk around the corner below the rapid before taking to the water.
The river was quite low, about as low as I have ever seen it, and I feel
rather sure that I could run a rapid such as Pipe with impunity. One
advantage of walking up around this corner was that it gave me a good
look at a riffle downstream. I decided that it was entirely safe. I took
the center of the current here with the mattress crosswise and had a
fine ride. From here on to Horn Creek Rapids, the water was exceedingly
calm. There was little or no tendency for any back eddies to form,
evidence that I was on a lower stage than when I went down to Horn the
other time.When I landed at Horn on some sand on the right, I found that
I was a few yards too far upstream and had to go back in the water to
get past a rather smooth fin of rock. When I found a good level spot of
sand for the night, I noticed that it had taken almost an hour to go
from the mouth of Pipe Creek to Horn Creek Rapids.

The rocks at the head of the rapid stood out farther than I had
remembered them from other visits, and the projecting part of the
bedrock on the right about halfway down stood considerably higher above
water. However, the rapid was still kicking up quite a roar and from the
foam all the way down, rocks must not have been buried very deeply. The
chief difference between this and higher stages of water is that the
waves die faster in the tailrace. When I proceeded on Wednesday morning,
I noticed that the surface was rather calm by the time I came to the
access ravine from the left. The logical way to let excess passengers
return to civilization from Horn, as long as you still have a boat, is
to row back upstream for 300 yards. This could be done except at flood
stage if you stay close to the right wall. Then the passengers could be
put ashore on the left where they could easily walk to the foot of the
Bright Angel Trail. The ravine below the rapid would also be a
possibility, but they would have a rougher walk up to the Tonto Platform
and over to Indian Gardens.

A feature of my night beside Horn was the warmth all night long. I was
comfortable all night on top of my blanket. Another thing I noticed was
something crawling over me at numerous times. There were no bites, and I
finally concluded that small frogs were taking liberties. At least they
were climbing over me the next night at Hermit Creek even before dark.
The most interesting memory I have from that noisy spot next to the head
of the rapid is seeing the first ringtail cat I have seen away from a
zoo. As I was packing to leave, it looked at me from under a rock about
12 feet away. I didn't think of the camera, but as it was before six, I
am sure it was too dark for a good picture. As luck would have it, the
very next day I found a dead one near the top of the Hermit Trail.

The trip by water was fairly uneventful. The water was reasonably calm
farther upstream that it had been the year I went up to the north rim
between Shiva and Isis Temples. As I passed the ravine on the right
where you can come down to the river from the bottom of the Tapeats, I
thought about the report given me by Pat that Stanton had left some
instruments at Horn. I wondered whether the upright pole in a rock pile
a short distance up this ravine had anything to do with this cache. The
water was very quiet between the rapids and the riffles. I kept paddling
all the time, but still I must not have been going along more than two
miles an hour. However, the scenery through this stretch of river is
marvelous with so many of the streaks in the schist almost vertical.
Small islands appeared two or three times. I got out and walked the
beach past Salt Creek Rapids. The mouth of Salt and Trinity, for that
matter, looked intriguing, but at that time I hadn't decided to quit the
voyage at Hermit, and I thought that all due haste was the order of the
day. The next time through, I'll shoot down the tongue at Salt since
there are no rocks in the channel. I did shift the mattress crosswise
and shoot two riffles, one of them being the lower part of Monument
(Granite) Rapids. I can't place the other, but I know I walked past the
upper part of Monument. It's really roaring against the right wall in a
very narrow bed. I walked at another riffle where the current bore hard
against projecting rocks although the waves were not so fierce looking.
With these slowdowns to walk past three rapids and getting out to look
at a couple others, I averaged only a mile and a half an hour. Even if
James White had come through shooting all the rapids, he couldn't have
done any better since he couldn't have paddled the raft forward or even
enough to take advantage of the best current. When I got to Hermit
Rapids, I looked at the watch and took stock of the situation. If I
could average 15 miles a day, I would either just miss or just catch my
ridehome from Supai. I was also thinking of counter attractions, such as
visiting in Los Angeles or going somewhere over the weekend with my
wife. To cap it off, the frame of my pack was beginning to hurt my right
shoulder, and I decided to abandon the project and leave by way of the
Hermit Trail while I had a good chance.

It was only 9:15 a.m., but I thought I wouldn't bother going home that
very day when Roma was expecting me to be gone for six days. Something
that I had thought about for more than 10 years was to see the source of
Hermit Creek. One thing that surprised me on my way up the old trail to
Hermit Camp was to note footprints of about three hikers. The marks were
so fresh they could have been from the previous day. I checked my time
and it takes about 45 minutes to go from the river to the camp. Leaving
the pack where the Tonto Trail crosses, I hiked on up the creek among
thickets and the finest display of red mimulas and horsetail rushes I
have ever seen. Judging from other springs in the canyon, I was
expecting the source to be a short way below the base of the Redwall,
but Hermit is different. The main springs are above the lowest fifth of
the Redwall. Right above the last spring (not one that is conspicuous)
there is quite a wall in the main bed. I was able to climb it, and at
the top I found a conspicuous cairn. At a couple of places lower down, I
had seen a stick supported in the center of a rock pile and another
cairn. I had already given this effort more time than I had intended,
but now the going was quite a bit faster without the dense brush. I had
to see whether one could go out above the Redwall. It was no trick to
climb the heaps of broken Supai blocks and get out at the end of the
east branch. The hard job would be to go up the Supai, but it might be
possible if one were to backtrack along the east side of the gorge.
(Dripping Springs is above the Supai to the west.) On the way back I
found the old trail along the east side below the Redwall which was used
to service the pipeline carrying water to Hermit Camp. The round trip
had taken about three and a half hours.

On Thursday I climbed out to the rim in an unhurried five hours. I
enjoyed shade most of the way. The night by the creek had been quite
cool for one cotton blanket. After a lunch at the head of the trail, I
walked to Bright Angel Lodge by the trail through the woods, a route
that must be a couple miles shorter than the road.

*Unkar to Krishna Shrine
[September 4, 1962 to September 6, 1962]*

From the tongue projecting from Freya towards Vishnu, it appeared that
one might be able to climb the Redwall in the east fork of the arm of
Unkar that rises toward Vishnu Temple from the north. From the top of
Freya Temple, I thought I could see a good way to climb Krishna.
Checking out these guesses seemed like a good three day project from the
south rim. The first night bivouac was to be at the spring downstream
from the mouth of the branch of Unkar which comes down from between
Jupiter and Venus. Going down the Tanner Trail, floating and walking
down to the mouth of Unkar, and going up Unkar Creek to the spring would
not be a long day, so I didn't try for a real early start. It took me
just under three hours to reach the river at the swing to the south just
below the mouth of Basalt Creek. After eating, I pushed off on my air
mattress, but I got out for every riffle and sometimes I got out because
the current was too slow. With all these interruptions, I took longer to
go downstream to Unkar than if I had walked the bank until I came to a
good place to cross once and for all. This was a contrast to my first
float in 1954. On that occasion, we didn't get out of the water until we
saw that we were arriving at Unkar Rapids. This time I was more inclined
to worry about scraping over rocks.

At the upper limit of the Unkar Delta, I walked across to intercept the
creek higher up. There was more broken pottery on the red sandy ground
than I had seen on other parts of the delta. There must have been a lot
of Indians around at some time to scatter so much pottery. The afternoon
was warm and I didn't hurry up the dry wash. I was a bit dismayed when I
came to the first spring I had marked on my map from two previous trips.
Reeds were still growing on the bank, but no water showed. I decided
that if there was no water running at the next place, I would quit and
go back to the river. About an hour's walk from the river, I came to the
place where I had camped before, but there was no water there this year
either. However, a short distance upstream, I came to a continuous
surface stream. It got bigger as I went farther up until I came to the
main source. A reed grown bank was a little farther on in the middle of
the bed. The night was warm at first, and a small frog climbed on me as
I lay on top of the blanket. By morning I was a little chilly with my
one cotton blanket.

It was cool enough for good walking when I set out at 5:45 a.m. on
Wednesday. I hadn't brought the map along, and I didn't recognize the
mouth of the arm of Unkar Canyon that I wanted to follow. For a half
mile, it parallels the main bed only a few yards away. Finally, I
noticed that it was time to leave the main bed if I wanted to go up the
valley to the south. I climbed over the low ridge and almost at once
found that the Tapeats bars the way in the bed.

Fortunately, there's an easy bypass to the east of the fall. As you come
near the base of the Redwall, you find that I was fooled by appearances
when I looked down from the Freya projection. The fork to the east
looked hopeless. The way ahead looked better. Everything went well until
the last 20 feet. I had to go up by bracing my back against one wall
while finding footholds for my feet. I don't see how deer could get up here.

It was only a short scramble from here to the saddle between Vishnu and
Freya Temples. Right away I became interested in knowing whether one
could go down into Vishnu Creek from the saddle. All went well until I
was four-fifths of the way down, but then there was a sudden drop. I
decided to see what the ledge to the west would bring, especially since
some deer tracks led in this direction. Shortly after rounding the
point, I came to a continuous talus right up to the ledge. Within a few
minutes, I had added two more routes through the Redwall to the eight I
had previously found in the entire park.

Travel along the top of the Redwall over to Krishna Shrine is relatively
easy. I headed for the saddle between Vishnu Temple and Krishna. My
hopes were well founded. The talus which covered the upper slope of
Krishna came down through a mere notch of the lower Supai cliff. I
couldn't tell at a glance about the feasibility of climbing the summit,
but I have turned back before, and I could do it again. Near the end, I
had to leave the pack below and climb a vertical crack. There were
plenty of footholds and there was no danger. I withheld my elation until
I could see whether a single summit block would finally turn me back,
but this did not happen on Krishna. I had the pleasure of building the
first cairn on the highest point. The particularly fine view from
Krishna is right between Angel's Gate and Wotan's Throne. Zoroaster is
almost squarely in front of Shiva. The view of Vishnu Temple does not
tempt me to try that one. The separate summit towers seem too sharp for
words. It is amazing that Clubb could do it. On the way back, I decided
to look at the ravine in the Redwall into Vishnu Creek directly west of
the saddle. From the top of Wotan, Allyn and I had thought it looked
like a real possibility. Here again all went well until I was about
four-fifths of the way down. Again there was the sudden drop with slight
ledges on either side. I went out on the ledge to the south to see
whether there might be any future there. The ledge on the north soon
dropped vertically 50 feet. From the end of the southern ledge, there
was a crack leading down. It looked most improbable, but it continued
down to the talus, so I had logged my eleventh break in the Redwall and
had climbed my nineteenth named high point in the Grand Canyon, all in
the same day. This third break in the Redwall for the day gave me the
most satisfaction, because I had so nearly turned back thinking that you
can't win them all. I returned to my bedroll by the same route except
that I used the bed of the wash until it came out to the main bed of
Unkar Canyon. Just above the Tapeats, I flushed a fine big buck. They
are rare down here at this time of year.

When I got to the spring, I packed hurriedly and moved camp down to the
river above the rapid. The calm water reflected the sunset glow on the
cliffs and made me think that they don't have rivers like this in
Illinois. The white sand and some rocks for steps down into the water
formed an ideal site. I took a quick bath while soup was heating.The
river was the cleanest I have ever seen it at this time of year. While I
was stirring the soup, something happened that put me out of a happy
mood into one of depression. A plane came over only about a 1000 feet
up. Furthermore, the propeller was turning slowly, but the motor was not
firing. The pilot glided the machine over the hill behind Unkar Rapid
and then suddenly dipped downwards toward the ground. I concluded that
he was trying a forced landing on the sand east of Cardenas Creek. I
thought about dumping the soup and using the little daylight that was
left to see if I could help. After some thought, I decided that I
couldn't do anything in the dark and proceeded with supper and a rather
broken night.

In the morning, I got away at 5:25 a.m. and went along the north bank
until I was far enough to cross well above the wall on the left side. I
went out of my way to search in the willows and on the fairly level
ground above the dunes, but there was no wrecked plane anywhere. Perhaps
the pilot was just seeing what it would be like to have a forced landing
at the best place in the canyon, and he simply switched the motor on at
the last minute.

The return up the Tanner Trail was uneventful. I had the good fortune to
notice for the first time in 20 odd passages over the trail, a natural
bridge near the top of the Redwall in the promontory about two-thirds of
a mile west of the one the trail uses. In about 40 extra minutes, I
could have gone over to it and returned, but I was more interested in
getting home. This will do for a destination for a college hike. I would
estimate that the bridge is about 25 feet broad by 15 feet high. There
is a small drainage leading through it, so it is a bridge rather than a
window.

*Red Canyon, Asbestos Canyon, and Rama Shrine
[September 21, 1962 to September 23, 1962]*

Since I had no classes Friday afternoon this semester, I could take off
as soon as I could get organized on Friday after noon. This turned out
to be about 2:00 p.m. and I had to hurry down the Red Canyon (or New
Hance Trail) to get settled by daylight. No matter how many times I
cover the Hance Trail, it always seems to have some surprises for me. On
the way down through the part at the bottom of the ravine through the
Supai, I believe I followed the trail better than I have hitherto. At
least I stayed out of the streambed. The trail seems to cross the bed
only three times. First you are on the left, than on the right, then on
the left again, and finally on the right. The disturbing part about
finding where you should be at all times to follow the real trail is
that I was unable to do as well on the way back two days later. I missed
parts of the second and third legs.

When I was taking the contour part above the Redwall over to the descent
through the Redwall, I consciously left the trail to inspect the way
down that Dan Davis had found. This is less than half as far north as
the standard route. If the real trail had gone down here, they would
have had permanent water in the creekbed. On the other hand, it would
have been difficult to build the trail here and the creekbed is far
better for a man on foot than it would be for a pack horse. With all the
slides along the top of the Redwall, I'm afraid it would now be
impossible to get a horse across this leg. The route down the Redwall
also needed review. It is quite clear, but it didn't look altogether as
I had remembered it.

I would defy anyone to positively identify the old trail very far below
the Redwall. I believe it goes over toward the biggest side canyon which
enters the main canyon well down in the Hakatai Shale. This time I
followed the trail which stays out of the stream bed below this junction
for a half mile. It climbs a bit and I decided not to use it on the
return. Down in the narrows a half mile above the river, there are large
blocks that have made walking down the middle of the bed very difficult.
This may be the first time I followed the old trail around these
obstructions. After a few feet out of the bed to the left, the trail
crosses and stays up in the mesquite to the right for quite a distance.
It was still dark when I came through here on the return, and I didn't
try the trail. One thing that caught my attention on the way back, since
the night had threatened rain, was a good shelter. About a quarter mile
below the junction of the two canyons, a huge block rolled down and
lodged about 20 yards up from the bed. A smooth and level spot, big
enough to sleep three, has been hollowed out beneath one corner. I noted
a similar shelter up Unkar above the branch coming down from between
Jupiter and Venus Temples. Unfortunately, one would have to carry water
to both of these bivouac sites. It took me just under three hours to get
from my car to the river. I crossed just before dark and had to find my
way among the rocks beside the river in the dark, slow going. With my
recollection of the trail to the mines in Asbestos Canyon, I was able to
recognize it when I came to it, really more luck than sense. I wanted to
reach one or the other of two mine shafts because I thought I might need
the warmth and I was looking forward to an evening of reading by candle
light out of the draft. It was good that the trail remained fairly
intact until I came to the first shaft, which is only about 15 feet deep
and is cluttered up with three wheelbarrows. I lit a candle and
maneuvered the wheelbarrows aside to make a large enough space for my
bed, but what I didn't discover until I noticed that the air mattress
was slowly leaking is that there are some cactus spines on the floor of
the cave. I moved my bed outside to the flat area formed by the tailings
and had to blow it up again every 40 minutes during the night.

Shortage of sleep doesn't seem to affect my hiking strength and I was
away by 6:25 a.m. I had been over this trail twice before, but this was
the first time I felt that I had time to explore the large tunnel with
the prominent tailings, easily visible from Hance Rapids. It's bottom is
clean and smooth, and it would be a fine place to spend a rainy night.
However, it wouldn't be cozy because it is cut right through two windows
on the other side of the spur. I scrambled down to the trail across the
tailings and then discovered that there is a trail on a shelf outside
the spur that would have been shorter and easier as a route into
Asbestos Canyon. From the window on the west, there is a fine view of
the fall through the granite in the bed of Asbestos Canyon.

There was water running in the last quarter mile of the streambed above
the fall. I was counting on it to fill my gallon canteen. Just after I
found a fair pool where I could dip with a pan, the stream went dry.
There were a few rain pools, however, in the main bed and also in the
steep ravine which I followed up to the base of Sheba Temple from the
area of the old miner's shacks. It took me about an hour to go from my
campsite to the shacks and another 50 minutes to climb up the ravine. In
20 more minutes, I was in the wash that leads up to the passage through
the Redwall east of Rama Shrine. I saw a harmless snake on the flat
below Sheba.

From a distance I had noticed a talus sloping up to the south end of
Rama. This route worked out all right. If I had come over to its base
first, I wouldn't have had any problems at all until I arrived near the
summit cliff. As it was I found some interesting and safe cracks through
the cliffs. The cracks in the highest of the Supai cliffs were around to
the east. I built a summit cairn from a disintegrating pile of red rock
that was about two yards from the highest point of the shale. The views
were magnificent in just about every direction. I had a field day with
my camera. There was no difficulty in going along the ridge over to the
secondary summit at the north end. While I was coming back, I got a good
look at another way to make the climb, a ravine just north of the true
summit and a long talus clear down to the top of the Redwall. I
retrieved my pack and descended using this route. It calls for less
route finding, but it might take a few minutes longer than the other way
assuming that you approach Rama by my route through the Redwall. While I
was going along the slope below the Supai cliffs, I found the first
artifact I have ever seen in the Grand Canyon, aside from pottery
fragments. It is a piece of chert flaked into a sort of burin about five
inches long. It may be an unfinished spearhead.

I got down to my previous campsite by 3:30 p.m. and moved across the
river in plenty of time to eat an early supper before it would do any
more than threaten rain. The best shelter I could find near the river
was a rock that would protect the upper half of my body. Unfortunately,
some red ants also liked this environment, and after I was bitten once,
I moved out on the flat sand nearby with the intention of coming back if
it really rained. It finally sprinkled a few drops about 4:00 a.m. I
packed and started up the wash by moonlight a little before five. It
took me almost exactly five hours to reach the car.

*Fragment of a log to Cardenas Canyon
[date unknown]*

Some white man has set up a vertical stone marker inside. It was easy to
walk the beach upstream from here with only a short detour a time or two
where the river was still up to a vertical part of the bank. Not far up
from Cardenas, I noted a place in the river where wading across looked
distinctly possible. Bars of pebbles went down into the water on both
sides and the river looked swift enough to be shallow but seemed to be
over a bed of small rocks that looked ideal for fording. I would
estimate this to be about Mile 70.8. There was another place higher that
appeared almost as good.

The outside bends to the south along here are fine traps for drift wood.
I noted several timbers which came from country road bridges since they
still had big iron bolts in them. Another interesting bit of drift was a
life jacket which still had some of the Kapok in part of it. I didn't
feel that I had the time to look for the Lantier Mine workings, but I
saw the only unmistakable section of trail of my trip going from this
area up some draws to meet the Tanner Trail about a half mile from the
river.

I had heard that the Park Service approves of burning piles of driftwood
to try to diminish the nuisance of logs in Lake Mead. There was a
beautiful pile about a quarter of a mile below Tanner Creek, about three
feet thick by eight wide and fully 60 feet long. There was a lot of
small stuff caught in with the large, so I set fire to it. I got the
thrills of an arsonist without causing the damage. I got a picture from
several hundred yards as I was about to go out of sight when the fire
was only about ten minutes old and another from the level of the Muav
Limestone when it had been going for over an hour. The flames must have
been 20 feet high by then, but it was about two miles away and the
picture I took may not show the fire very well. The climb out showed
that I still have what it takes. At least I more than matched the five
hours and ten minutes it took me two years ago in fairly cool weather. I
felt fine at the top after a few minutes less than five hours from the
river to the rim including 25 minutes for some lunch.

*Upper end of Lake Mead
[October 13, 1962]*

Doctor Hunt took Hayden Green, Allyn Cureton, his son Jeff, Pete
Marshall, and me to Temple Bar Friday evening. After about four hours of
sleep at the campground, Allyn's alarm went off. The boat planed along
at about 30 miles an hour and the distance to the Grand Wash Cliffs went
by quite fast. It's 33 miles to the lower end of Grand Canyon. The water
level was only about six feet below the high mark.

I was carrying the river map along, but there were relatively few places
that I recognized for sure. We noticed a nice little waterfall in a sort
of angle on the left side of the river and I think it may be at Mile
274.3. I believe I would get along better with quad maps of the region
clear back from the river. The distinction between major canyons and
mere alcoves isn't always clear from the river map. The next location we
recognized for sure was the cable at the Bat Guano Cave. This is not
shown on the river map, but I think it may be at Mile 266. We stopped
here and the others had a late breakfast. I had eaten my bread and
raisins at the campground before the others woke up. This gave me time
to precede the rest up the trail and up the ropes to the mine. At first
I thought the rope might indicate a difficult shortcut and that there
would be an easier way if I followed the base of the cliff farther to
the east.There was a ropeless route over this way, but I'm sure it's no
easier than the route where the ropes are fixed. Allyn went up where the
ropes are placed without using them, but I was glad to hold tight to the
middle rope. The other two were extra as far as I was concerned. The top
part of the scramble is made much easier by fixed ladders, mostly steel.
The discoverer of the deposit must have been a very skillful and bold
rock climber to get into this cave. (Beck says it is easier to go up
over to the west.) The big cable from the south rim across the river
must be about two inches in diameter. Doctor Hunt told us that a jet
plane had cut the lighter cable which was used to pull the car back and
forth. His version of the story was that the plane returned to base with
no damage.

From here we tried to keep track of the side canyons, but Allyn and I
were thoroughly confused for some distance. At last I saw an unusually
large side canyon on the left with a sharp angle in the river a short
distance upstream. At last I felt that we knew we were passing Spencer
Canyon. After the right distance northeast, the river turned abruptly to
the right toward the southeast, and I knew we were approaching
Separation Canyon. Doctor Hunt said that when he and Joe Felix came down
here on their rubber boat, they had kept track of their location at all
times. He didn't do as well when he was piloting the boat, because he
frequently asked Allyn or me if we could tell where we were. My call
that we were arriving at Separation Rapids was immediately verified when
we saw the plaque. After landing here, we continued on past a place
where the water had some swirls and then a couple miles higher, we saw
the first real rapid. It didn't look bad with waves not more than two
feet high. I thought it would be fun to shoot this one on my air
mattress, but the others wanted to get located to swim, eat, and fish;
so I didn't press the point. We dropped back to the place where there is
an old shack up on a bench as well as the burnt remains of several other
buildings. These must have been the quarters where surveyors lived when
they were working at the Bridge Canyon Damsite. The buildings must have
been quite comfortable with piped water and screens. Allyn and I
followed the trail up to the level above the inner gorge and I observed
that one of them follows the contour upriver into Bridge Canyon before
there is a chance to go up the Redwall. After this hour on foot, I took
to the water on the air mattress to see how effective the current is at
this part of the lake. I could cross the river without being carried
downstream, but the current was steady and I think I covered over three
miles in the hour I was on the mattress. When boats came by and the
waves got me wet, it was cold enough to make me get out on the bank for
warmth.

We had a slow trip back to Temple Bar with a sluggish motor. The waves
were high by Sandy Point and we got thoroughly splashed.

*Defense ruin at Enfilade Point
[October 20, 1962]*

This was a Jeep trip with the Gibsons and my wife, Roma. We took about
two hours to get from home to Grand Canyon Village. Ellery went into
headquarters with me and we had a short visit with Ranger Womack. I was
interested in hearing that a couple men were at the bottom of the Blue
Springs Trail preparing to take a sample of the water with the idea of
tracing ground water flow. Womack remembered well the place where Bob
Schley and Rock Mullens had balked. He also told me about some
unmistakable trail construction in the Supai quite far from the bed of
the wash. I called his attention to the fact that the government mappers
had shown the trail in the direction he mentioned, and it was my thought
that it was not a different trail heading somewhere besides the bottom.
Womack thought that from the care with which this part of the trail had
been constructed, someone must have thought that they could get stock
down the trail. My thought was that if stock could formerly get down the
trail, there must have been walls built up for 60 or 80 feet to hold the
trail near the top. It surely is a mystery why the trail should look so
well constructed at the very top and also down in the Supai but should
seem so impossible in between.

It had been quite wet for the previous four days, and there were places
along the road to Topocoba that were mud holes holding water. We stopped
a couple of times to inspect a bypass before we proceeded, and our speed
wasn't much. It took us over two hours to reach the park boundary sign.
While we were eating lunch, I wondered whether we would have time to do
justice to the Enfilade Point Ruin and still get back on the blacktop by
daylight. At the turn-off to Great Thumb Mesa, we stopped and changed to
the four-wheel hubcaps. The road up the draw was negotiated in low-low
gear and still it felt a little precarious to tilt the car at such steep
angles. There are places before you get up on the mesa where you don't
see how any tires can come through without being wrecked, but we felt a
lot more secure going along with lots of power at a crawl than I did
when I drove the family car up here. There are almost no places to turn
around and you wonder how it would be to meet a vehicle coming the other
way.

Just after you pass the turn to Manakacha Point, taking the right fork
of course, you come to another fork. A bit of brush has been put across
the right hand fork here to keep you from going that way, but I thought
that this track might take us quite close to Enfilade Point. I never
have accounted for this track. We had gone out to the bench mark west of
the upper end of Forester Canyon, and I wondered whether this track was
left by surveyors. It simply quit after two tenths of a mile, but I
think we must have been rather close to Enfilade. I chose to go back and
carry out the approach I had planned, follow the road until it made the
next close approach to the rim and then walk south to the point. This is
a pleasant route even for Roma who doesn't like much upgrade. The point
is easy to locate since it's lined up with the river through
Conquistador Aisle.

Roma watched while the Gibsons and I climbed up to the top of the rock.
It was just a bit difficult for Maxine to get up the last part of the
scramble and we braced her heels. The ruin was obviously constructed for
defense with breastworks only on the side toward the rim. There are also
some rooms outlined by walls all the way around and there were a few
small pieces of pottery, both plain and black on white. This ruin has
attracted attention at least as long ago as the Doheny Expedition of
1924, so the pottery must have been previously studied. Just north of
the center of the living area, a wide crack goes down on the west side
which wasn't hard for me to get down using the chimney technique.

*Tahuta Point
[October 28, 1962]*

This trip was planned especially for Francis T. Worrell who had read my
article in Appalachia and wished to avail himself of my general
invitation to hike with me to unusual parts of Grand Canyon. I had at
first suggested that we study the possibility of a ropeless route down
through the Coconino south of Cape Final and then try to climb Jupiter
Temple. He had demurred at the idea of a first ascent and he preferred
my next suggestion that we fill in the four miles below Points Tahuta
and Great Thumb to complete my traverse of the entire southeast side of
the river from one limit of the National Park to the other.

He came up from Phoenix about noon on Saturday to go out with me on
Great Thumb Mesa in my four-wheel drive Jeep station wagon. We left home
about 1:30 p.m., but we lost time at the service station just outside
the park when we found that the motor had overheated. After blowing a
geyser, it took almost two gallons of water and then behaved itself
thereafter. We changed to the four-wheel drive hubcaps at the turnoff to
Great Thumb Mesa about 5:30 p.m. and it was dark before we had come to
the really bad ledges. A number of times, Francis jumped out to move a
few rocks before I took the vehicle up some seemingly impossible slope.
He also got out to search the brush for former wheel tracks and finally
we decided that it would not pay to proceed in more darkness for fear of
becoming totally lost in unbroken brush.

The evening around our cooking fire was pleasant and we found many
mutual interests. Doctor Worrell is only eight years my junior and has
had at least as broad a background in travel and hiking. We enjoyed a
few minutes of sky study assisted by Reilly's present to me, the light
weight clamshell glasses.The night was cold, but our bags were entirely
adequate and I slept far better than I often do. We had some tense
moments trying to get the Jeep to start, but Francis succeeded after I
had failed. We drove on past the first surveyor's pole fastened in a
juniper but not as far as the second. We gave up the motorized
transportation when I suggested that we were making only a little better
time than we could on foot with less wear and tear on the car. A further
advantage of walking was that we observed more. The first consideration
was to locate our position so that we would not miss the car on the
return. When we looked over the rim, I noted that we were in the angle
formed by two ravines which go into Fossil Canyon rather close together.
We watched for the place I had left the rim to descend into Fossil Bay
and found it and the cairn I had built near the car track. We parked the
car just south of the knob marked 6270 on the map.

Francis and I are about the same height and although he outweighs me by
over ten pounds, we like the same steady pace. We followed the horse
trail while I watched for the place where I could first see the cliffs
of Tahuta. It is about here that one can go down a draw to the northwest
and find the shortcut into the Olo Canyon bay. In what seemed a short
time, we were looking over the rim into the bay formed above 140 Mile
Canyon. I could see by now, about 10:00 a.m., that we could not hope to
fill in the gap along the Esplanade from the Great Thumb Trail to the
terrace below Great Thumb Point, so I elected to lead the way along the
top to look down on the same area. We hit the rim in the bay between
Great Thumb and Tahuta Points where we found a stick in the middle of a
cairn. There is a fine view of Deer Creek Valley from here and one is
struck by the amount of green. It seems possible to follow the talus
from the mouth of Tapeats Creek to the mouth of Deer Creek. The Redwall
rim cuts off the view of Deer Creek Falls.

We then proceeded to look for the beginning of the Great Thumb Trail.
There are two ravines leading down to it, and we entered it from the
northern one. There is a barb wire fence near the lower end of this
gully. The trail was in good shape and I felt that the Supai had done
trail work since Allyn and I went down here five years ago. We observed
two places where you should be able to go from the Esplanade up to the
rim between here and Gatagama Point. I also thought that I should be
able to go down the Supai Formation to the top of the Redwall on the
east side of 140 Mile Canyon rather near its mouth.

*Attempted descent to Supai near the telephone line
[November 3, 1962]*

I owe apologies to Dan Davis for trying to get down the cliff near the
telephone line. He had told me that it is impossible, but Jay Hunt and I
had talked to the Supai who seemed to be saying that there is a descent
route requiring two ropes somewhat to the left (south, as we understood
it) of the line. We hoped to combine a trip down from near Manakacha
Point with a descent of the travertine deposits as detailed in the
Wampler Guide. A large party from Flagstaff would be down at the
campground and we would join them. I thought that I would be down early
enough to get in a visit to Horsetrail Canyon.

Just the day before we were to go, I met Norman Thomas who works at
Lowell Observatory, and he asked me what I was about to do and could he
come along. I invited him since he has had considerable camping and
hiking experience and said he also knows his way around on cliffs. I
picked him up at six and we got Hunt and his duffel at Grand Canyon
Village where he had been attending a scout meeting. We left the village
in my Jeep and got to the end of the Telephone Line Road at the rim
above Supai about noon.

By 12:30 p.m. we were through lunch and were resolved on being down to
the village of Supai by 3:30 p.m. We could see various game or horse
trails going down the valleys on either side of our ridge. Right away we
had three heads working on the problem, and I began to get the feeling
that any one of us would have done better than the team. I was figuring
from the map, which I had looked at without bringing it along. Hunt was
trying to remember the exact advice given us by the Indians, and Norman
was taking turns following my ideas and Hunt's. If I had brought the map
with me, I believe I would have given up on this locality immediately
and driven back to a branch road that had gone to the north. I would
have known from the proximity of Mount Wodo and the position of the
mouth of Hualapai Canyon, that we were too far south. As it was, we
spent all the time we had allowed to get clear to Supai in getting down
to the cliff formed by the continuous Toroweap-Coconino contact and
following game trails along it to the north and the south. We found a
pile of surveyor's stakes and a cairn on a point about 200 yards south
of the telephone line, but we should have known better than to take so
long here.

When we were going to the car, I was carrying a ten pound rope as well
as about 24 pounds of pack and canteen, and I really pushed myself.
Norman couldn't keep up with Hunt and me. When we got to the car, Hunt
wanted to try again by going off to the south and looking at the rim
beyond where I had reconnoitered. The idea was that he would get back
about the time that Thomas caught up, and I loaned him my watch so he
would know when 15 minutes had passed. Norman and I got a bit worried
when he actually took an hour for this solo jaunt. Again I thought that
going by myself has some advantages.

Hunt was obligated to join the group at the campground since he was
sponsoring both college organizations. I took him over to the head of
the Topocoba Trail which he had covered several times previously, and he
expected to make the campground in five hours, by 10:00 p.m. I would
have gone with him except that Thomas was quite sure he couldn't go 16
miles to the campground that night. If he did, he was more certain that
he could not get back to the head of the Topocoba Trail by a little
after noon on Sunday, and I had promised my wife to be home by 6:00 p.m.

After we parted with Jay, we started home. What I should have done so as
not to feel that the trip was more or less wasted was to go back out the
Manakacha Point Road and this time take the turn to the north that is
rather far west. I now feel rather sure that if there is a way down,
it's from the end of this road and not from the end of the Telephone
Line Road.

*Cape Final to Juno Ruin
[November 11, 1962 to November 12, 1962]*

Jerry Bortle, my companion on this trip, wanted me to help him locate
Silent River Cave. I pointed out what I thought it to be from Point
Imperial. This was his first chance to see the Point Imperial-Cape Royal
area, so I took him down to Cape Royal before we tackled my first
project. Clubb had told me that there is a way to get down through the
Coconino without a rope in the region of the Promontory Ruin 1.4 miles
north of Cape Royal. I had tested the two ravines to the south of this
promontory, and I thought I should investigate the region just north of
the promontory before concluding that one must use a rope to go down
through the Coconino Sandstone. Jerry and I got to the top of the
Coconino and assured ourselves that there is no way down along here. (I
found out that the right hand ravine does go without a rope for a
determined climber.)

We next drove out the Cape Final access road and easily found the big
ravine northwest of the point. I had scouted this five years ago and
knew that one would need a rope to get down. The details of the route
down were vague in my mind. There is a cliff at the very top of the
Kaibab only about 10 feet high. Several breaks get one through it, and
then you skid down through the soil under the first and other trees
until you are well started down into the Coconino. One 30 foot drop in
the sandstone can be passed by some easy scrambling over at the west
side. There are no more difficulties until you come to the bumping off
place, about 180 feet above the bottom of the formation. We were about
to give up the idea of rappelling down here when we noticed that the
descent is broken by two shelves wide enough to support vegetation. It
appeared that the lower shelf led right to the lower forest to the east.

Both of us had carried ropes down to this point, and in order not to
waste this effort, we each rappelled down our own rope. When we had
passed the upper ledge and arrived at the lower, I found that we would
still need a ten foot rope to get down to the forested slope to the
east. I fastened the Prusik slings together and tied this improvised
rope to a small tree growing in a crack. This was enough help to put us
on a narrow shelf that really did lead away to the forest below the
Coconino. I had some difficulty getting my pack down through the bush to
which our rope was tied, and on the way back, we ran into real
complications. We both climbed up past the bush or small clump of trees.
Jerry was able to pull his rather flat pack past the obstruction, but my
fatter pack would not make it. Jerry finally got my pack past by using a
knife on the obstructing inch wide trunk. Also on the return, we found
it unnecessary to begin the Prusik from the lower shelf. By using the
two ropes for support, we were able to stop on some small ledges and get
up to the higher shelf where the real Prusik began. It was about 30 feet
up from here, and the rope was tied in such a way that it was possible
to slip the knots past the edge of the cliff at the top. Jerry went up
first and I kept tension on the rope to help him slide the knots. When I
started, I tied my pack where its weight would keep the rope taut, and
my progress was better than it had been before.

We were able to follow a deer trail quite close to the base of the
Coconino over to the point above the Unkar-Chuar Saddle. This leg took
about 25 minutes. The way down to the saddle was rather easy, but it was
necessary to do a bit of looking for breaks in the Supai cliffs. These
are only 15 feet high, and from a distance they seem negligible. The
rule seems to be to stay rather close to the ridge forming the north
edge of this slope. We went from the car down to the saddle in a total
of two hours. Less than one more hour was needed to go down to the
familiar route to the Indian ruin that Reilly had called the Juno Ruin.
This morning we made it back from the ruins to the car in five hours and
20 minutes.

I found a piece of pottery at the top of the saddle, thus confirming
this as a prehistoric route.

*Esplanade above 140 Mile Canyon
[December 15, 1962 to December 16, 1962]*

I got a leisurely start from Flagstaff on Saturday morning figuring on
camping in the Jeep station wagon on the rim. It took me two and a half
hours of four-wheel driving after leaving the Topocoba Road. The return
took the same period, and this time I noticed the breakdown. It seems to
be about 12 miles of driving to reach the rim above 140 Mile Bay and the
first six miles to the place where the Jeep track goes down a sort of
crack between limestone outcrops on both sides takes me about 40 minutes
while the last six take almost two hours. The slow time for this part is
explained by my having to get out and scout for the track on four or
five occasions. There are sharp turns among the trees where I would have
to back to make the angle, and while I was by myself, I became careless
and backed into some limbs that cracked the safety glass in the rear
window and also split one of the side windows. If the Park Service would
cut a few trees and mark the route with plastic ribbons, it would be a
big help. At present, I would about as soon walk from the halfway point.

Since I reached the rim before three, I had time to go down to the top
of the Toroweap and walk west to see what the descent is like, the one
that Reilly used in going to Keyhole Bridge. I'm not sure there is a
safer approach than the one I used, but when I came to the broad talus
through the Toroweap and Coconino, the going was relatively safe and
easy. There are signs that horses come up here rather high, and I can
believe they can come out to the rim also. After getting below the
Coconino, I followed the talus east to the two broken areas that also
pierce the usually impossible formations. These are rather close
together, but they are separated near the base of the Coconino by a
difficult ravine. I went up the first one I came to and had no trouble
going on to the rim a bit farther east. There was still time to follow
the rim west to Gatagama Point although it was six-twenty when I got
back to the car by the last light of day. Sunset had occurred just
before I reached the point where I noted a fallen pile of rocks that
formerly supported a large juniper stick. The views up Kanab Canyon and
west over the path of the Colorado River were terrific. I was glad I had
taken this detour although I was groping at the end of the walk back and
I felt rather lucky not to miss the car.

Three sleeping bags plus newspapers for insulation under my air mattress
were supposed to be sufficient protection from the cold. I spent a
comfortable two hours reading Time by the light of the gasoline lantern.
After sleeping an hour, I woke up too warm and got along with only one
bag for the rest of the night.

My ambition for Sunday was to go down the Great Thumb Trail and follow
the talus below the Coconino around to the point east of Great Thumb
Point. It was a long assignment, so I started from the car at 5:15 a.m.
and found the moonlight quite a help in reaching the beginning of the
trail. I lost the horse trail about halfway to the trailhead and went
down and up the other side of all the draws next to the rim. It was
daylight when I was about halfway to the bottom of the Great Thumb Trail
and I headed around to the east rather high on the talus, which was
probably a mistake. When I was below the angle west of Tahuta, I found a
well defined trail at the base of the talus. This trail is better than
most parts of the Tonto Trail until you are directly north of Tahuta
Point where it peters out. Horses go around the point a little way into
the bay between Tahuta and Great Thumb but then the going becomes much
rougher, and the only further tracks I saw were bighorn. There were also
plenty of deer tracks before this rather abrupt boundary.

I wanted plenty of daylight to drive the Jeep back to the Topocoba Road,
and the allotted five hours for the outbound leg was obviously not going
to suffice for my project. I killed some of the time by going out on a
point of Supai just north of Tahuta to look down at the river. It seemed
especially low and the oblique light brought out the riffles from the
mouth of Tapeats Creek to Granite Narrows. I noted that a traverse from
the mouth of Deer Creek to the mouth of Tapeats would be about
impossible if one were to try starting from the river level at the
bottom of Deer Creek Falls. (Some have now done this up from the river
first.) I'm pretty sure it would be feasible although slow walking if
one left the Deer Creek Valley above the formation through which the
creek cuts the final gorge to the river. (Right, an Indian route.) On
the return, I stayed low and made better time. I checked the spring
where Allyn and I had camped at the end of May in 1957. I'm rather
certain I found the right place, below a grove of cottonwoods, but it
was now bone dry. What was rather sinister was a dismembered skeleton of
a horse as if it had died of thirst and been taken apart by vultures or
coyotes. I wouldn't count on this as a source of water in the future
although it may flow for several months after the winter storms. There
were two horses near the base of the Great Thumb Trail, so there must be
some water somewhere, although I saw none. (There is a spring shown on
the 1962 map.) My route to the rim was up the third talus which cuts
through the Coconino, the place just east of where I had gone up the day
before. It has about the best developed animal trail of the three. It
comes out on the rim exactly where I had arrived by the other route. If
I try this project sometime in the future, I'll go down here and carry
enough water for a day and a half away from the car. The same route will
be used on the return which will help by allowing the caching of water
for the return.

Just to the west of Tahuta Point, a talus almost goes to the top of the
Coconino. It would be possible using about 100 feet of rope to descend here.

*Supai
[January 19, 1963 to January 20, 1963]*

I was invited to go with Jay Hunt and Don Kimball to Supai starting
Friday evening with the express purpose of getting down to the river and
back. Don is the new scout executive and Jay wanted him to see the
proposed hike that the boys would be taking sometime in the future.
Because of various last minute car repairs, we were delayed in getting
to Hilltop until about 10:00 p.m. When we were about 20 miles from the
end of the road, it started snowing, and by the time we arrived, it was
coming down about as thick as it can. Don had no chains for his car, and
I was afraid it would pile up deep enough to keep both cars where they
were if we didn't get back to the highway without delay. It went against
Hunt's desires to do this, but we headed for Peach Springs. By the time
we had gone halfway to the highway, the snow had stopped completely, and
from the amount we found on the ground the next morning, it stopped at
Hilltop too. After getting more gas, we camped a few miles north of 66
on bare ground where there were some junipers for firewood. By morning,
the temperature must have been close to zero. At least my ears couldn't
take it with no protection.

We got a late start down the trail and it was 1:30 p.m. by the time we
reached Horse Trail Canyon. I felt rather sure that we were not going to
try for the river this time, and I went up this tributary canyon which
is the first one on the west as you walk north from the mouth of
Hualapai Canyon. I left my pack and canteen at the fence and soon found
a trail. Right away I noticed a broken wagon wheel and a heavy iron pump
lying there for what purpose, I wouldn't know. Just beyond on the south
side, there was a rather fresh looking grave profusely decorated with
artificial flowers. This canyon is much steeper than Hualapai and there
are many large obstructing rocks in the bed. The trail goes around these
places by some most ingenious twisting and obscure bypasses. Several
tributaries come in from the north. I doubt whether one could even
scramble down the first one, but the others look possible. I rather
think that Jerry Bortle and John Day came down one of these instead of
going farther west and using the trail. At the main split there is a
gigantic mushroom rock that would be fine in a picture, but I had left
my camera in the pack below. The trail leaves the creekbed most of the
time and eventually goes out and up on the south side. It even doubles
back to the east to get above a ledge and then comes back to the bottom
of the wash where the bed levels off even with the Esplanade. I reached
this level in 40 minutes and went back down in 30 staying near the
bottom of the wash instead of using the easier but longer trail. I would
recommend this canyon trail as being one of the most interesting I have
seen.

I ate a belated lunch as I walked to the campground and found the party,
except for Hunt and Cureton, busy starting a fire and preparing for a
still more belated meal. Hunt was talking to the Marshalls, the parents
of the Indian boy who is living with the Hunts in Flagstaff. I used my
time to go down and see Mooney Falls and inspect the mine shafts along
the way from Havasu Falls to Mooney. The unusual feature of the falls at
this time was the amount of ice. Navaho especially had festoons of ice
hanging from the red travertine. There was not much beside Havasu, but
the spray from this fall had blown over and put a heavy coat of white on
a large area to the northwest of the cataract. Mooney had both, a fine
frozen fall on the vertical block and also a large sheet of frozen spray
on the ground. There are three mines beside this trail, the one nearest
the campground being the largest and having the most branches. After I
showed Jay how much warmer the interior was, we all slept in this shaft
and had a fine night's rest.

Allyn bunked near me rather close to the entrance. As soon as he was
awake, I told him what I wanted to do with my time, follow Wampler's tip
and go up on the Esplanade between Havasu and Navaho Falls and then keep
to that level right around into Hualapai Canyon. We ate breakfast and
told Hunt what we wanted to do. We got to the top of the Redwall where
we had gone up a year ago last November, just south of Havasu Falls. On
our trip to the top of the Redwall above the mouth of Havasu Creek, I
had noticed the place where one could climb to the top of the Supai, but
I had not looked at Wampler's description recently, and I became
confused. I took Allyn north along the top of the Redwall instead of
turning to the south. We got as far as Mooney Falls without finding the
break and then returned to camp. We did review the location of the small
window through which one can see Mooney Falls. It's directly above
Mooney and not on the north side of the next bay as I at first thought.
An Indian dog had been following us ever since Allyn had gotten his
breakfast at the campground. On the return we put our packs down at the
top of the Redwall and came down Ghost Canyon just north of the
campground. I'm rather sure I went part way up here about 1946 on my
trip to Supai, but the details had been forgotten. Quite close to the
top, there is a ten foot drop that must be negotiated with hands as well
as feet. The dog refused to jump down here. I noticed that the miners
had improved on nature here since I saw a drill hole for blasting. There
are also numerous artificial steps at other places along this route and
two iron pipes and a wood ladder in position at the very bottom. After
telling the rest that we couldn't find the way to go up on the
Esplanade, we agreed to go past the village and order the horses for the
removal of the duffel. Then Allyn and I were going to go up Horse Trail
Canyon and parallel the trail through Hualapai Canyon on the upper
level. We were going back to the village by the route west of Navaho Falls.

As soon as I got to where we had come up the first time, I saw Wampler's
route up the Esplanade. In order not to break our agreement with the
rest of the party, Allyn went on to the village to order the horses and
go up Horse Trail Canyon while I proceeded up to the top of the Supai.
At the top of the long talus, there were a couple of places where it
seemed that one might get through the lower cliff. One was around a
corner in a ravine, so I relied on the one I could see best, directly up
from where I was walking. As it turned out, this was quite difficult for
me with my pack and canteen, but on the ledge above, I saw a row of
cairns about 20 feet apart, so I knew I had missed the easy way up.
There has been enough traffic up here to make a pronounced trail, and
there were no more difficulties in getting to the top of the Supai. The
route is interesting, however, since it finds the only practical way.
This would be the time of year to make long treks along the Esplanade.
There were numerous places where the ice was melting on the flat rocks.
Progress is about as slow along here as one learns to expect of the
Esplanade. I took just over three hours of walking time to go from
Havasu Falls to the head of Horse Trail Canyon. Allyn was there to meet
me. We required about two more hours to go from the head of Horse Trail
to where we could easily drop down into Hualapai Wash. We could follow
horse tracks or an actual trail for almost all the way. Along the
Esplanade north of Horse Trail Canyon, I came to two gates through short
barb wire fences. The view towards Manakacha Point was not reassuring
that we will ever be able to climb down here. If there is a chimney
through the cliff, it doesn't show at this distance. The view up Havasu
and Lee Canyons was most impressive. I was familiar with Mount Sinyala,
but I got a better impression of Mount Wodo than I previously had, and
the snow on the promontories lined the main branch of Havasu to the
southeast was a bonus that was most inspiring. This route out of Supai
is about twice as much effort as the usual way, but I heartily recommend it.

*Around Pattie Butte
[February 2, 1963]*

Marshall Scholing and another ranger had given me the idea of following
the top of the Redwall east from the Kaibab Trail. At first their
ambition was to climb Pattie and Newton Buttes, but they had decided on
closer inspection that these climbs are for the bolt and piton
operators. They had gone down the Redwall into the upper end of
Cremation Canyon on the east side and had returned by the Tonto and
Kaibab Trails.

I left the Kaibab Trail where it has already cut down through the
highest of the series of Supai cliffs, just below the large fossil
footprints. You then go to the south to get a break in a rather
persistent small cliff. An indistinct deer trail can be followed most of
the way to the east. It follows a contour which on the average is about
50 to 100 feet above the top of the Redwall, but when it crosses
ravines, it often comes right down to the top of the limestone. The
going is pretty rough, but there are not so many thickets of brush as
there are on the north facing slopes of the north rim. One can make
fairly good time and get around to the east side of the east arm of
Cremation about two and a half hours after leaving the Kaibab Trail. I
was out on the point northeast of Pattie about three and a half hours
after leaving the car.

From the west rim of the long arm of Cremation, one can see breaks in
the Redwall on the opposite rim. Marshall Scholing and his friend
descended one of these. I had noticed one of these in 1957 when we
visited the figurine cave in Cremation. These breaks don't appear to be
so possible when one is directly above them. I really intended going
down as far as the talus on this trip, but when I was on my way back, I
decided that there wasn't quite enough time. Another point of interest
was a well built cairn right along the deer trail below the northwest
corner of Newton Butte. This may mark the place where Scholing decided
to turn back. I had lunch and took a couple pictures from the point
northeast of Pattie and then went over to the longer one north of
Pattie. The river is out of sight from both of these, but there are
impressive views of the rugged Schist through which Clear Creek runs, of
Zoroaster Temple, and of the whole canyon both to the east and the west.

One could easily climb the lower half of Pattie, but the two upper tiers
seem to be unbroken verticals. (It is possible.) On the return along the
west side of Pattie, I flushed a deer. There was time for either an
inspection of the climb to the saddle south of Newton or of the way down
through the Redwall. I chose the former and found that there are ways
through the two walls of Supai that seem to bar the way. The way through
the lower cliff is directly west of the worst part of the saddle and the
deer trail through the upper one is a hundred yards farther south.

An observation that surprised me somewhat was to note how relatively
high in the Redwall the caves are. When we climbed into the figurine
cave, I hadn't realized that it is about three-fourths of the way from
the bottom to the top of the Redwall. The other cave farther north on
the west wall looks more impressive from a distance, however, I think
that it's harder to reach. I can't remember whether Art Lange has
explored it also. The return was without incident except that I seemed
to be more weary than I should have been after a relatively short hike.
I reached the car by 5:30 p.m.

*Shinumo Wash Trail
[February 9, 1963 to February 10, 1963]*

Henry Hall arrived from Phoenix about 9:10 Friday evening and by 9:20 we
were off in the Jeep. A rather chilly and short night was spent at the
roadside park some miles south of The Gap. In the morning, the car
started without trouble and we moved up to the road west from Cedar
Ridge before Henry built a fire and ate breakfast. Mine was raisins and
bread eaten in the car. We got gas at the trading post and I asked for
directions to the trail head. They gave me some help, especially the
direction that the road went south of Shinumo Altar and then turned to
the north slightly. We found the way with no real mistakes although
there were numerous chances to choose between equally likely forks.
Directions for reaching the trail might go as follows: after going over
the hill west of Cedar Ridge, pass by the turn-off to Cedar Ridge Corral
and keep to the north side of a long ridge of Moenkopi. Just beyond the
end of the ridge, go past an outlier butte and angle northwest toward
Shinumo Altar. You can skirt the south side of the Altar on a minor
track and pick up a better road beyond that takes you on to the old
Tramsite. About a mile before you reach the rim, you turn to the right
and reach the head of the trail in about another mile and a half.

We had been told to go clear to the rim of the canyon at the Tramsite
and then turn north. We were not sorry to see the views from the tram
anchorage. We could see just beyond Vasey's Paradise upstream and a
lesser amount of the river downstream. Next we followed a track to the
north and got out on a point from which we had a fine view of the
opposite rim, including the routes I had used to get down into Bedrock
Canyon. We saw that we were still some distance to the south of Shinumo
Wash. After backtracking along the road, we decided to take off cross
country to shorten the route. This turned out to be a mistake, because
we had to drive slowly and furthermore, I broke the wire to the tail
light. Eventually, we reached the road that leads to the trailhead. We
found a big cairn which we assumed was at the trailhead and then drove
on to a point which gave us a fine view both up and down Shinumo Wash.
We couldn't see the river, but we got a good idea of the way the trail
leaves the rim, a really spectacular operation. The trail at the very
top is marked only by a row of rocks as a border, but it soon comes to
the rim where it drops a few feet down into a shallow gully and then
goes around to what is nearly the face of a cliff. This is broken by a
series of ledges which were probably connected originally by more
cracks. By some use of crowbars and drilling and the use of retaining
walls, the trail builders developed a horse trail. At present, however,
there are some places which would be hard for a horse. The trail is
quite easily recognized down to the bed of the wash. Then for a quarter
of a mile, you stay in the bed. For the next quarter mile, you go up to
the left and return to the bed where the Supai rock becomes a high cliff
on the left. When we had been going for about one and a half hours from
the car, we came to a place where the Supai forms a floor clear across
this rather narrow bottom.There were water pockets here with plenty of
water for camping, and the ledge along the left was under an overhang
where we could keep dry in a rain. It was only 1:00 p.m., but we elected
to drop our packs here and do the rest of the hike from this base.

When we were through the narrows and quite a bit more rather rough
going, dodging large rocks in the bed, we caught the trail going up to
the left again. This conducted us about halfway to the river. After
another stretch in the bed, we reached the trail that goes around the
corner and parallels the river. Progress was relatively easy and we came
to the next side canyon and then the break leading down to the river.

We noted a peculiar phenomenon a few hundred yards before the trail goes
around to the river cliff. I heard a distinct hissing that I couldn't
account for. Henry assured me that I wasn't suffering from an
hallucination. I poked around with a little stick and found that a jet
of air was coming out a crack between boulders in the streambed. The
crack was only as wide as a pencil and only a few inches long. The jet
was strong enough to snuff out a match. I had never heard of such a
small blowhole.

Another observation that had us guessing was the marks in the sand on
the right bank. There were some reddish markings on the sand and then at
the brink were many small grooves that were almost straight and
parallel. I first thought of the marks left from boats with protecting
strips on their bottom have been beached. When I went closer and thought
about it, I came to the conclusion that both types of mark were caused
by the melting of snow and ice. After another quarter mile, it became
apparent that Henry wasn't going to be able to get along the trail
opposite Vasey's in the allotted time. He agreed for me to go ahead as
fast as I could and see whether I could make it in another half hour. I
trotted down all the declivities and hurried all the time. It was the
most interesting part of the trip for me. I noted one place south of the
break at Mile 30.3 where one could get down from the top of the Redwall
to the river, but downstream from here was the route used by Stanton
leading away from the Indian ruins. There were two or three places along
this leg where one could not walk the bench even at the present low
water. Incidentally, the river did not seem unduly low. Perhaps now, all
the present flow is coming through the higher diversion tunnel. The
island supposed to be in front of Vasey's was entirely covered.

Vasey's looks so drab in the winter that I didn't recognize it from the
rim at the tram site. It had been warm for more than a week, but there
was still a small patch of ice at the base of the rock where the north
facing spring puts out a small flow. Another point of interest was an
artificial terrace just below the trail where two tent poles were lying.
I was sorry I didn't have time to follow the trail to its end, but I had
exactly reached my time limit here. On the way back up Shinumo Wash, I
noted a big rock lettered BM3 with the last number covered by a rock
pile supporting a stick which had carried a flag. The next morning we
got out to the rim in a little over two hours from our campsite.

*Bridge west of the Tanner Trail and the seeps below Desert View
[February 23, 1963]*

Doug Shough and I got a prompt start down the trail at 8:00 a.m. and
reached the place where it starts down the Redwall by ten. I
underestimated the time it would take to go along the top of the Redwall
around the bay to the west. It took almost an hour to get behind the
bridge and then find our way down to stand beneath it. Something else
that surprised me was to find about three cairns along the top of the
Redwall. Maybe the old time prospectors knew something that they wanted
to look at later. There were none particularly close to the bridge and
we built a couple a yard or two behind it. The size of this structure is
not impressive. Twenty-five feet high would be a generous estimate.

While we were getting over to the bridge, we noticed that the Redwall
just to the north of the bridge was pretty well broken down. When we had
taken the bridge on film from all angles including using its arch as a
frame for Comanche Point, we started down the scree slope that covers
much of the Redwall. About halfway down, there are two or three rather
continuous small cliffs. After a bit of study, I found a ravine that cut
through these ledges. We angled down to the south and ate lunch at the
top of the Tapeats, but there is a good break in the Tapeats directly
below the break in the Redwall. Indians could have come up this way from
the fort near Cardenas Creek and saved several miles. After looking at
the map, I've decided that if I ever want to go to Unkar Creek again,
I'll follow the Tanner Trail only to the point southwest of Cardenas
Butte. From here I'll go over the pass west of Cardenas and out to the
place where we just went through the Redwall. I could go through the
Tapeats and then go northwest around the point before trying to go
father down. Basalt cliffs bar any immediate descent.

In a former log, I gave a location for the natural bridge. It's near the
top of the Redwall facing east and is about two-thirds of a mile
directly west of the place where the Tanner Trail starts down the
Redwall. It's about the same distance north and slightly west of the top
of Cardenas Butte.

The shale slope just above the top of the Tapeats looked quite steep,
but just as I hoped, there was help in the form of a faint deer trail.
Progress was easier than it had been along the top of the Redwall and we
reached the main trail in the saddle just below the cliffs of greenish
shale. We followed the trail south beneath these cliffs until it came to
the ravine where it goes up. We wanted to see the seeps I'd heard about
in the east arm of Tanner, so we left the trail and followed the contour
to the east. Eventually, we decided to get down to the bottom of the
wash not far from where the long arm comes in from the west.

This hike was less than a week after the latest snow and rain, and the
clay was still muddy in many places. We weren't surprised to find some
water in spots where the creekbed was shale. Above the junction of the
two arms, water was dripping from the walls in at least three places.
Drops were coming over the lip of a fall in a side gully on the east,
and there was more water where the main bed ends at the impassable fall
in the lower shale cliff. We backed away and went up an old slide of
boulders and clay on the east. On this slope I found a badly weathered
leather glove. The narrow ledge to the south and the scramble to the top
of this cliff led us back into the bed and two more seeps. I wouldn't
count on these sources during the dry part of the year. One would have
to leave pans and cups under these drips for several hours to harvest a
gallon of water. We reached the car at 6:00 p.m., after walking for the
last mile through four or five inches of snow.

*Little Colorado River, Hopi and Moody Trails
[March 9, 1963]*

Three students: Doug Shough, Steve Windward, and Margaret Puckle, went
with me to the end of the cable across the Little Colorado River about
ten miles west of Highway 89. We noticed that there was enough water in
the river to kick up some small rapids that were easily audible from the
rim. We got out the map and figured that we were at Mile 46.7. On the
way to the Damsite Trail, we had to cross a slight gully before we came
to the major faulting at Mile 47.5. We could tell that we were at the
right place because of the angle in the river, but this can only be
called a trail by people prepared to go down an 80 foot rope or ladder.
We stood at the lip of the wash and looked over the walls in the
vicinity, so we are sure there is no way down.

When we had climbed out of the ravine to the east, we soon hit a sort of
trail or old wagon track. While Margaret rested, the three of us went
over to the rim of the canyon, already quite a bit lower, and looked
down to see what the Damsite could be. Along here, Mile 48.6, there's a
curious inner narrows at the bottom of the main canyon. We soon sighted
a foot bridge, only about 30 feet long that spanned this inner gorge
which is probably 60 or more feet deep. It would be a real sight to see
this part of the river at flood stage. The surveyors had also left a
couple ladders at places against the wall to the north. When we had
walked along the rim to the part directly above the footbridge, we found
a truck road leading down to the rim, definite trail construction for a
few more yards, and then some heavy wire fastened to a steel rod that
must have formerly anchored a long ladder. Here the drop was not as
great as at the Damsite Trail, but it must have been a good 40 feet. We
could see a trail going downstream on the other side staying above the
inner gorge.

When we went back to the main trail below the red bluffs (Moenkopi
Sandstone I think.), Margaret joined us. Along here we found a number of
pieces of petrified wood. Without even leaving the sheep and stock
trail, we noticed one piece as big as a volleyball. It was easy to see
where the Hopi Trail went down into the riverbed. There is no cliff
left. One could recognize it turning back to the west across the river
as it goes up. Three of us waded across in bare feet and wondered how
anyone could stand water that cold when it's more than ankle deep. While
we were returning to the car, Margaret had so much trouble keeping up
that she decided not to try to follow us as we went looking for the
Moody Trail.

When we started to look for the Moody Trail, I slowly came to the
conclusion that I had been reading the map wrong. I had thought that the
scenic viewpoint is west of Mile 38. We parked near a hogan just off the
viewpoint spur and started walking. We soon decided that the viewpoint
must be just west of Mile 39, and we found that we could have driven
much nearer the area of Hellhole Bend. The piece of Grand Canyon Highway
shown on the map is the unpaved road that still leads towards the area
east of Cedar Mountain. The part we walked over is in good shape and
wouldn't require a four-wheel drive vehicle. Leaving the road, we walked
north and reached the rim at Mile 32.3. Shortly before we got there,
Doug noticed a Navaho and went over to ask him about trails to the
bottom. The Indian spoke English well, but he knew nothing of a trail in
the area. In fact he said there was no chance to get down in the region
just north of Hellhole Bend. He was vague about the possibility of
getting down farther to the north.

There was no time to go north and west, so we decided to give the
vicinity careful scrutiny even if the Navaho had assured us that there
was no way down. After assuring ourselves that there was no way down
where we hit the rim, we cut across the point and studied the rim south
of Mile 34. Very soon we were sure that the map is wrong in showing the
trail starting down from the upper rim. As a last resort, we went to the
bottom of the wash which enters at the angle just above Hellhole Bend.
Upon further examination of the map, I now notice that the trail is
supposed to begin where a contour line bends to the west. As the wash
ended abruptly above an impossible cliff, I was almost sure that there
was no trail around but to be entirely sure, I followed a slight ledge
around to the north where there was a further chance to descend a few
more yards to a crack which seemed like a forlorn hope. Just as I was
giving up, I found a heavy wire fastened around a loose block which had
further smaller rocks piled on it for more security. The wire had been
there a long time as it was rather rusty. There were kinks for
handholds, but I would much prefer to bring my own rope. Rocks wedged in
the crack below would furnish steps for resting, and only about 40 or 50
feet would have to be climbed in this way before you reached a talus
that would take you clear to the river. The Indian Maid Trail across the
river looked like the same sort of climb, apparently impossible near the
top, but probably there is some sort of chimney to climb on that side
too. The Little Colorado River Gorge is growing on me, and it will give
me several projects that can be carried out in a single day. We came
away from this day's looking, thinking that the gully to the west of the
viewpoint seems easier than some of the places labeled as trails on the
map. I want to check this route to the bottom rather soon.

*Rim above Slate Canyon, Papago Point, and Coconino basin
[March 16, 1963]*

So many predictions of snow had failed this year that I went ahead with
plans for a two day trip down Slate to the Colorado River. I did change
from the project of going out on Great Thumb Mesa because of the
likelihood of snow. Doug Shough and I got to pole number 355 and
shouldered our packs containing, along with the usual bags of food, two
ropes and a gallon of water apiece. We had a bright spot in the overcast
instead of the sun to guide by, and we hit the rim in 35 minutes
southwest of the break we wanted to descend. I felt a bit of uncertainty
about the place. After we had gone down to the actual drop-off too soon,
I decided to go along until we were surely too close to Diana and then
double back if necessary. Almost immediately I found a low rock pile at
my feet and remembered that Allyn had built one here. The details of
getting down two six-foot ledges near the rim had me guessing a bit, but
soon we were headed for the break in the lower rim that leads to the
pinyon where we would fasten the long rope. The ground was frozen with a
few loose pebbles on the surface and it was covered by an inch of new
snow. A slip here would have sent one down 20 feet to the main
precipice, so I decided to back out. Doug is a better companion than
I've had for years since he lets me go first and takes my decisions
without any argument.

We got back to the car with the position of the sun for a guide. We had
left the rim at quite a different place from where we hit it, but we
crossed our tracks on the way back and tried to follow them. This worked
for a few hundred yards, but than we lost them again and reached the
road seven poles west of the car.

I was in a quandary as to how best to spend the rest of the time at the
canyon. First I thought of taking Doug down the Hermit Trail and trying
to go from the trail to the cleft in the Redwall at the head of the
gorge, but then I thought more of some exploration of the Little
Colorado River Gorge. We reported out of our trip at the visitor center,
and I talked Indian ruins with Ranger Norman Messinger.

On our way east, my eye was caught by the point which I later learned is
Papago. The semi-isolated island at the end would make a good site for a
defense ruin. On our way along the rim, we also sighted a window. It's a
careful but not difficult climb down from the main rim over to the
island. There seems to be a slight residue of breastworks facing the rim
but I saw no obviously artificial construction nor sherds. The views
from here are among the best. Lower 75 Mile Canyon is right below, and I
noticed an unusual overhang level with the streambed on the east side of
one of the bends. It was a bit upstream from where I climbed out to the
west. The views of Escalante and Cardenas Buttes seemed finer than they
are from Lipan Point, and a small butte (our name for it is Wedding
Cake) on the long ridge of Redwall north of 75 Mile seems interesting
from here. The river was now down to 1000 cfs and it was running almost
clear. The color was about as green as it was two winters ago.

This time we came out of the junipers about 200 feet from the car and I
decided that the weather was deteriorating so that camping out by the
Little Colorado Gorge wouldn't appeal. To do a little more before we
headed for Flagstaff, we looked down the draw almost to Desert View on
the east for the landmark, a round black rock, which Pat Reilly was told
marks the head of the Salt Trail followed by the Navaho. In 15 minutes
we came to the drop-off without seeing any more than a deer trail. From
the looks of the basin ahead, I would say that the Navaho would have
been smart to follow the route I noted west of Cedar Mountain. They
could have come along the lower level up past Cedar Mountain. The rim is
lower on this side and it would be easier to go down here. I saw no
special rock near the trailhead, but I wasn't looking for it.

*From Manakacha Point to Supai
[April 16, 1963]*

After priming me to save a date in May for a trip off Manakacha Point,
Jay Hunt abruptly suggested that we do it the next Saturday. I had
intended to use this weekend for completing the traverse below Great
Thumb Point, but I was glad enough to switch my plans. This time there
would be two vehicles for the trip. I would take Doug Shough, and Hunt
would take Arvid Burnam and Francis Earl, all good walkers and climbers.
I wasn't sure that I would have the Jeep for the drive up the rough road
on the mesa, but Hunt was rather sure his truck would make it if I
didn't have the use of the four-wheel drive.

However, I easily located Colin Fletcher in the campground and learned
that he had succeeded in having the fan belt put on the Jeep and it was
ready to go. While we were stopped in the village, Hunt passed through
in his truck without a thought for more gas. When we arrived at the
rendezvous, 34 miles from civilization, he greeted us with the news that
we would have to trail him back to town the next day since his gas gage
read zero. Another reason for his party to be glad nothing had been able
to stop us was that the only water they had was in three small canteens,
and it was very possible that there would be none this side of the
Esplanade or Supai. There was no great assurance that we would make it
off the mesa, so if I hadn't had plenty, they would have been in trouble.

In the morning, we got an early start and by eight we were at the end of
the road, this time taking the northern branch. After more map study, I
noted that the map doesn't show the road going as far as it actually
does as well as not showing the branch leading to the place the
telephone line goes down. One thing we saw that may explain the original
need for a road here is an old reel of rather heavy cable. It surely is
not extremely long, but it suggests the idea that a mining company was
planning an aerial tram down to Supai, certainly a more practical method
of bringing out the ore than the wagon road which was supposed to go
down Lee Canyon.

There were a couple small cairns leading from the end of the road either
towards a crack between the blocks at the very point, or perhaps to the
semi-detached high block forming the very point itself. On top of this
platform, there was a large cairn. This may have been a marker for the
surveyors, or it may have had something to do with the proposed cable
way. We of course thought it marked the route down. Francis was about
the most aggressive in searching for a route. He had the others put him
on the end of a rope and belay him over the edge below one of the chutes
in a place that I at once dismissed as impossible. I told the others
that if they were going to spend their time on that sort of thing, I
would amuse myself exploring along the rim. That was not my sort of fun.
Francis soon asked for help back up and reported it impossible below. I
knew that we could have came over below this point from the south
without having the obstacle of this top cliff of Kaibab. Next, Francis
hurried ahead of the others around to the north side of the point and
soon reported a way to get below the top cliff that only required rope
work for about 10 feet. There was a fine block for tying to, and we
could go down hand over hand this far. When we were on the steep clay
slope below the top cliff, we scattered out to the right and left to see
where there might be a split in the Toroweap and Coconino Formations.
Hunt had given me the impression that the Indians had told him the route
was just south of the point, so I went in that direction with Arvid for
a companion. We got to a place where we had covered all the lower rim as
far as where we had been on the other occasion.

On our way around to the northeast to join Hunt and Earl, we picked up
Doug who had been waiting for us. Hunt was making a lot slower time
across this poor footing than Earl. Even from some distance, the lower
rim around here seemed more promising than where we had been, and I
hurried on. Doug was keeping close until Francis shouted that the
walking was better higher up, and the rest of the party took his
suggestion. I could see a piece of a bighorn trail down near the
Toroweap rim, but this lasted no distance. The others saw me approaching
a break in this rim, so they thought that they would wait for my report.
After inspecting two possible routes down, I returned and went below the
first cliff of Toroweap at the first place. It was possible to go around
a small point to the east and find a perfect place to scramble down
below all the Toroweap. A landmark for this is a huge detached block of
limestone lying at the top of the Coconino. My next reconnaissance was
fruitless -- going east along the top of the Coconino. I satisfied
myself that there was no route in that direction. The rim to the west
looked even worse, but the others shouted for me to go around there and
report. Only a couple hundred yards in this direction, I saw something
that needed investigation, a steep ramp against the sandstone cliff.
There was a convenient notch leading down to the exposed part. At times
it was only three feet wide but after a short chimney where one had to
wriggle down, it only took cool nerves to go over halfway down the
Coconino. Then after a wider platform where moss covered the clay, one
soon came to a water smoothed overhang of 10 or 12 feet. I realized that
I could not get down without a rope, but for some reason I didn't
inspect the part leading on to the bottom except to note that it
averaged steeper than the part higher up.

Doug came down to the rim of the Toroweap and relayed my report to the
rest who had been eating lunch where they were waiting. They came down
to see even though I hadn't given a very encouraging report. When I came
up from this ramp, I left my pack and continued looking farther west.
For several yards here, I had the worst footing that I had encountered
all morning, but I got as far as a talus that had looked encouraging
from a distance and found that there was absolutely no hope over there.
In the meantime, Francis had come to my pack and was considering the
descent to repeat my investigation. I had said that a short rope would
get us past the place where I had stopped, but I thought there were more
difficulties below. Hunt, Burnam, and Shough had stopped across a small
bay from here and informed us that there was no hope in getting down
where I had indicated the possibility. I went over and joined them as
did Francis. Hunt said that we couldn't get down to the mossy platform,
and then I informed him that I had gone 20 feet farther. I also told
them that I was glad they had decided not to go over and make me look
chicken by going on down. That remark turned the trick. They immediately
took the rope over to my crack leading down to the ramp. Francis had
gone ahead and when he reached the overhang, he reported that the rest
would be easy. Burnam, Shough, and Earl held the rope while Hunt went
down the overhang first. Then they helped me down, and Hunt waited at
the drop to help the others while I went on down to the bottom of the
Coconino cliff. This ramp was very narrow, and at one spot there is an
awkward long step over rocks that could have been loose. Doug stayed up
to anchor the rope for the last one down and then went back to drive the
Jeep to the campsite at the junction of the Mesa Road with the Topocoba
Road. I led the rest down to the wash which holds the Apache War Trail
leading to the fort above the chapel. We knew that it would be difficult
to see where the trail left the bottom of the wash, and we stll missed
it, but not for long. We scrambled out of the wash before we were boxed
in the way Allyn and I had been in 1960. It took us only about an hour
and 20 minutes to go from the bottom of the Coconino down the Apache
Trail to Supai.

Doug went back to the rim by an easier route than going up the rope we
had left. There's a walk-up through the rim about five minutes walk east
of the point. This should be about where the road is shown as ending on
the map. If someone would bother drilling a hole in the sandstone and
fixing a ladder at the overhang in the ramp, one should be able to go
from a Jeep, down to Supai in two hours or less. Of course, one could
trot down the Hualapai Trail in less time than this, but it would not be
as sporting. I saw bighorn droppings just below this ramp, and one of
the others reported signs at the top. On a prominent block of limestone
one ravine to the east of our ramp, there is a large cairn which may
have been a reminder of this place. The Supai say this is not their rope
descent.

*Below Tahuta and Great Thumb Points
[April 15, 1963 to April 16, 1963]*

I find that I can drive the first seven miles of the road up on the mesa
in a little over a half hour, but after that I averaged only a little
better time than a fast walk. Something always seems to happen to the
Jeep on the part where I lose my way and have to plow through the sage
brush to get back on the track so I have now resolved to walk beyond the
clear part of the track. On Monday I reached the hill where a surveyor's
upright pole with a crossbar, sticks out of a large juniper tree, less
than 10 minutes walk from my cairn marking the route down into Fossil
Bay. After eating by the car, I set out at 1:10 p.m. and reached the rim
at 140 Mile Canyon in about 45 minutes.

The grove of cottonwoods marking the site of the spring is visible from
here and I got another picture of the Great Thumb Trail which should
include this grove. The deer trail off the rim is about 200 yards east
of the rift where a piece of the deer trail starts down at a steeper
angle. I could see no clear signs that horses also use this route to
water. It was easy for me to get down to the good horse trail on the
Esplanade in about 30 minutes and over to the spring in another 30. It
would have taken me at least an hour to go along the rim to the head of
the Great Thumb Trail, so I was clearly ahead.

I had been seriously considering taking a rope to the route a little
west of Tahuta Point, so I observed it quite closely. My best estimate
of distances would be that one could walk backwards holding to the rope
for the top 30 feet of the Coconino cliff, and then there would be abut
20 feet of rappelling below to reach the talus. I was satisfied with the
steady walking without having to retrace the route to come back for the
rope. It was 4:30 p.m. when I started into the big bay just east of
Tahuta Point and it took me an hour and 45 minutes to get clear across.
There were plenty of bighorn signs, but I saw none on this trip.

As I was deciding whether to stop for the night when I had crossed the
cove east of Tahuta, I noticed a route that appears to go right through
the Coconino and Toroweap formations. There's also a fair chance that a
route goes through the top of the Kaibab, but some use of a rope would
make this certain. I was tempted to leave my pack here and return when I
had filled in the gap below Great Thumb Point. I gave up the idea since
my announced plan had been to go on and out at Fossil Bay, but this
would be an interesting lead to follow at a future time. My bivouac site
was most interesting, a sheltered shelf below an overhang formed by the
upper layer of Supai Sandstone. The night was quite windy and I was
grateful for the protection of big blocks of stone almost closing in my
apartment.The view towards Tapeats Creek both in the twilight and dawn
was most memorable.

Only about an hour was needed to go on around the next cove to the base
of Great Thumb Point but by the time I had walked out on the projecting
rims and had crossed the next shallow cove to my former farthest north,
it was 9:00 a.m., two and a half l hours after I had started on. In one
ravine of this bay northeast of Great Thumb, I spotted a couple potholes
that probably hold water through the wet seasons. One had a fair supply,
but I still had quite a little left of my original six quarts and didn't
feel like climbing down for more. The water situation seemed better than
I had pictured it to Colin Fletcher. The spring at the cottonwoods west
of the Great Thumb Trail was flowing a precipitable trickle after going
dry last fall and I noted water on the rocks at several other places. I
was rather surprised to find my reliable pothole in the main arm of
Fossil Bay to be about a foot below the rim and alive with wrigglers.
When I reached this location about 2:00 p.m., I was completely out, but
I got water from the only other hole nearby, shallower and cleaner. Only
dead butterflies and bugs floated on the surface.

A bighorn skeleton, a large chunk of calcite, and blocks fallen from the
Kaibab full of fossils took my attention on the return to Stanton Point.
One can get down into Specter Chasm on the south side for about
four-fifths of the Supai, but after that it would be impossible.

*Rim of the Little Colorado River Gorge
[April 27, 1963]*

I was all set to go through the West Fork of Oak Creek Canyon and
appeared at six on schedule, but no one else showed due no doubt to the
weather. If we had gone through by the approved route, it would have
meant wading through numerous pools and swimming two deep holes over 60
feet each. Snow was still covering the ground from the storm on the
previous day, and the highways were icy. A strong cold wind was blowing,
and I was not too surprised to be the only hiker on hand. I had decided
to invite all who showed to go with me to inspect more of the Little
Colorado River Gorge, so I waited for 20 minutes then took off by myself.

I turned the Jeep off the highway about one-quarter mile east of the
road to the scenic view where Highway 64 starts up the grade. Here the
canyon is already about 1700 feet deep and is deepening about 25 feet
per mile. The road goes only a half mile farther than we had walked on
the other occasion, about three and a half miles in all. This is one of
the mysteries -- why should such a good road be built that leads only to
the rim of Lee Canyon and then quits. Or one should say that there is
quite a bit of road building part way into Lee Canyon, and then the work
simply stops. Someone must have ideas about carrying it down and across,
but the money gave out. First I went over to the rim just south of the
mouth of Lee Canyon and found that I was looking at the river about Mile
33. From the rim I couldn't tell whether one could go on down from the
lip where the canyon ends. On the rim facing the river, there was a
cairn and at the two places below, I found trail construction, including
juniper logs and walls to help stock descend. From the end of the
hanging valley, there was no chance to proceed lower, so I concluded
that the above trail was simply to help animals get to the water in the
potholes. Many shallow pools had been filled just the day before, but
there were also deeper holes in the rocks that evidently had held water
for sometime to judge by wrigglers and algae. I returned along the
bottom of Lee Canyon and climbed out to the south when I was nearing the
car. What I still didn't notice is that a good horse trail leaves the
end of the road and goes down immediately to the north into the canyon.
Here again is a riddle, why it should be wide enough for a truck at
first but soon tapers down to a track for one horse.

After I had eaten an early lunch, I left the car about 11:10 a.m. and
walked to the plateau in the northeast direction. After crossing Lee
Canyon, I came to about seven other ravines of lesser depth. I looked
into the main canyon about Mile 31.3 and then paralleled the rim. At one
place I noticed that vehicles can come down from the higher plateau to
the west. Something else that seemed a bit strange was that over much of
this area there was little or no brush to scratch ones legs. Sheep
droppings were almost everywhere, but the only animals seen were three
horses and a newborn colt. These were even with Mile 28, my farthest north.

I wasn't sure of my map identification until I saw the gooseneck at Mile
29 with its characteristic spine of rock pushing the riverbed to the
east. I could also identify the broad island detached from the east rim
to the north, the one showing the 5500 foot contour. Walking this far
from the road end and crossing the ravines near the rim as well as
stopping for a few pictures took me 120 minutes. On the return I
discovered the horse trail and made faster time, 110 minutes. My turn
around was marked by a big surveyor's rock pile with a pole in the
center. I was still seven river miles from the Piute Trail. The next
time I try to locate the Piute Trail, I will go down by Cedar Mountain.
This was a day of minor accomplishments, but the views into the Little
Colorado River Gorge were inspiring and there were quite a few birds
around, mostly juncos. The day was memorable for how cold it can be
almost to the first of May. I wore my wool gloves until afternoon.

*Blue Springs Trail
[May 10, 1963 to May 11, 1963]*

Peter Huntoon was still eager to see the bottom of the Blue Springs
Trail after the frustration we experienced last fall. We left Flagstaff
soon after five on Friday afternoon and had the Jeep ready for
four-wheel driving by 7:30 p.m. at Desert View. This time we went around
on the north side of Cedar Mountain and found the track quite a lot
smoother. It became apparent very soon in the night driving that Pete
remembered the route better than I. We found that the road had been
worked on since last fall, and there were very few places where I felt
that the Jeep was listing badly. The place where the main track goes to
a hogan while our route turns west along a ridge caught us again, but
Pete checked me before we had gone many yards out of the way. We reached
the hogan east of Gold Hill in less than two hours from the highway
which would have been a very satisfactory time in the daylight. We spent
a windy but comfortable night here.

On Saturday morning we drove up to the old parking above the last valley
before the trailhead. Pete finished eating before me and took off. When
I started down the steep part of the rock climb, he was already nearing
the top of the Coconino. I got down the first 100 feet and side-stepped
around the point to the ravine just west of the first cairn. From here
to the top of the Coconino is obvious. The main bed here is split by a
spur. Both chutes drop off abruptly, and I wouldn't consider going down
either, but Pete was already well down in a crack near the west half. I
didn't remember the route from five years ago, but I was sure it was not
the way he was taking. I should have known that I was not taking the
right route when I was about two-thirds of the way down over to the west
and Pete shouted that he was through and was going on. I continued down
where I had started until there was only about 50 more feet of Coconino
below, but it was impossible. After returning to the ravine where Pete
had started down, I had wasted 75 minutes. A check of the east chute
assured me that this was not for me, so I went over to a cairn leading
to the west again. This time I stayed out of the west chute but only a
short distance. Very soon I began spotting cairns.

The route through the Coconino goes to the west and then angles back
towards the chute. In fact, there is a yellow painted arrow that directs
one into the chute just below an overhanging chockblock. This particular
arrow should be removed as there is little future here. Another arrow
points to the west and one can descend getting farther and farther away
from the chute. One has to proceed with caution at numerous places and
this route, while the best is still not very good. I can think of people
who might balk at going down here. At one place, a cairn directs you to
hold on to some very poor grips and pull yourself up until you can get a
knee on a ledge. You work you way farther and farther west and reach the
bottom of the Coconino quite far from the chute. Then you have to follow
the top of the Supai still farther west and reach a break to take you
down to the talus. You should then angle sharply back to the chute or
rather the rockslide below the double chute. The cairns and painted
arrows are surely helpful, for finding the best way through the Coconino
is harder than it is up to Wotan's Throne or Shiva Temple. Pete made it
down to the river from this place by the bottom of the wash as I had
done in 1958 and went from the rim to the bottom in about one and a half
hours, although he wasn't carrying a watch to verify that.

I followed the well built trail around the base of the upper Supai cliff
and it was much easier this way. I agreed with Womack in wondering who
would take the trouble to build such a good trail at the lower end of
this impressive climb. On the return Pete tried the east chute and wound
up doing the hardest solo climb of his career. I came up from the river
without incident in two hours of walking. We both took a swim at the
bottom and noticed that the big springs come out of a crack a foot or
more above the level of the pool instead of reaching the surface from
below as in 1958. The water impressed me this time as being soda
flavored rather than salty. I drank one and a half quarts on my way out.

*Hubbell and Poston Buttes, and Jupiter Temple
[May 24, 1963 to May 27, 1963]*

Bill Breed introduced me to Dirk Springorum, a graduate student in
geology, and I was glad to invite him along. I had thought of making an
attempt to climb Vishnu Temple if Allyn Cureton had been able to go with
me, but I decided to try for Hubbell and Poston Buttes and Jupiter
Temple first.

Instead of going away from town at 6:00 a.m. as planned, I had to stay
until almost nine when I got two flats within a half hour. Instead of
taking a crack at Jupiter on our way down to Juno Ruin, we stopped at
North Rim Headquarters and had a good visit. Then I took Dirk to see
Point Imperial and Cape Royal. We finally got started down from the car
towards the north facing notch near Cape Final about four. We rappelled
with a carabineer and body sling down the 40+ foot drop followed by the
20 foot drop near the base of the Coconino and then followed the ledge
east as Jerry and I had done last fall. This time we had a second rope
for the end of this ledge long enough to tie to the large dead fir 15
feet above the clump of bushes you have to get by. Dirk had more trouble
getting his wide pack past the brush but he put it down and reached back
for it. With one of the main stems cut by Jerry last fall, I was able to
negotiate this spot rather easily both going down and coming back.

We were able to follow the deer trail that generally follows the base of
the Coconino to the angle in the cliff where we went down on the
northeast to the top of the Supai. The uppermost wall is about the least
broken. A good way to descend occurs about midway between the draw to
the south and the angle north. On the return, I marked the route by a
two stone cairn. We used different routes on the descent and the return,
but I would say our descent nearer the draw was the easier. Lower down
we worked more to the north.

We found the deer trail leaving the saddle, and this time I marked the
head with a small cairn. After leaving the trail to descend the second
ravine to the west, we got down through some loose rocks and brush to
the south tributary of Lava Canyon. As usual we went to the west along
the top of the Tapeats and then down the break to the ruin. The return
from Jupiter Temple was made by following the deer trail farther to the
west before descending. This trail seems to disappear as you reach a
slope wooded by junipers, and the footing down here is much better. It's
not so direct, however, and the gain is more evident on the climb up.
Both the bed of the ravine and the juniper forest are preferable to
walking up the rock slide. We reached the ruin at seven for a trip of
three hours, a few minutes longer than Jerry and I had taken last fall.
We took precisely the same time to get back to the car, five hours and
20 minutes.

The second day we got an early start at 6:15 a.m. and went up the
tributary that heads near Hubbell Butte. Getting by the fall in the
Bright Angel Shale was just as hard as I had remembered it, and this
time we committed the error of going higher and staying out of the wash
longer than was necessary. Near the top of the Redwall, the ravine
splits and I couldn't remember which part I had taken in 1958. This time
we went to the east and it went through all right.

The Supai cliff that rings Hubbell Butte is remarkably uniform, and we
got the impression there is no break at all on the west, so we went
around to the east side. There were impressive overhangs, but toward the
southeast we began seeing encouraging signs. Dirk was in favor of going
up the first place that seemed the least bit possible, but I talked him
into investigating further. Quite close to the south end, but still on
the east side, we found a crack. Dirk showed that he could get up the
awkward ten feet to reach the crack, and after that it was easy.
However, the crack was so narrow that I couldn't maneuver enough to get
even a knee up to the floor of it. After some thought, I simply rolled
over and sat down after which I could scoot in farther and then stand
up. There was no other problem and we were the first to build a cairn on
top. Dirk went down the difficult place first and then gave me real help
in placing my feet on invisible projections. I believe if I had been by
myself, I wouldn't have climbed Hubbell Butte. There was nothing to
walking over and climbing Poston Butte, but we were surprised to find a
large cairn already on it. At the south end of this ridge, it was easy
to go down to the top of the Redwall to the east. Below that, I was
afraid it would be steep, but we found a nice deer trail down to the
saddle. We could also see that the Redwall is almost entirely covered by
a rather gentle slope of brush to the north and we are sure one could
easily walk down to the tributary of Lava that comes up to Hubbell on
the east. We wanted to investigate the descent directly to the ruin.
Through the upper half of the Redwall, it was simply walking down a
debris choked ravine. To negotiate the lowest third, we had to turn to
the east. Just before we were to run out of shelf here, there was an
easy descent. The break in the Tapeats wasn't immediately evident, but
it's just west of the end of the detached block that forms the overhang
for the ruin. This block is in a class by itself. A chunk of rock a
quarte mile long in the east-west direction and about half that wide has
split away from the main cliff and seems to have slipped down to the
south. I believe the map is wrong in showing it longer in the
north-south direction. This jaunt took only six hours, and after quite a
breather in which both of us read Time, we parted company about 2:00 p.m.

Dirk was down there with a vowed intention of studying the gravel
terraces, so he went downstream. I had never measured the Hartman
Bridge, so I went upstream. The measurement was admittedly crude, but it
showed that this bridge compares favorably with Goldwater's in size. I
had a short rope, seven feet long as judged by Dirk's six foot height.
Under the bridge I found a dead sapling of the same length as the rope.
I couldn't go straight across as I was applying my stick, but along a
curve, I used the stick 23 times on the span. If we straightened this by
cutting it to 20 times seven feet, we still get a respectable 140 foot
span compared to my measurement of the other bridge as 147 feet across.

The third day, we started about a half hour later to try to climb
Jupiter. We made the saddle in one hour and 25 minutes and after a short
breather, we headed for Jupiter. The top of the Redwall makes a good
route, but as we approached the notch between Juno and Jupiter, we began
slanting up. There were plenty chances to reach the main ledge
supporting vegetation below the top two cliffs of Supai. Some scouting
was necessary to find a breach leading upward. The route was to the
south, up a break, then a little farther south, up another, and then to
the north to get to the shale below the final defense of the platform on
which Jupiter is built. We couldn't see a break on the west side, so I
led Dirk around to the east. As usual he wanted to try the first chance
we came to, but I continued looking for an easier way. I was soon
rewarded by a very simple scramble to the upper platform, and Dirk soon
gave up and followed me.We found the ascent through the Coconino as easy
as we had hoped, although hands were necessary near the top. We built
the first cairn on top and were eating lunch when I noticed a yard long
lath with staples in one end. It had been stuck upright in a bush at the
summit. Vern Ruesch suggests that this was left by a surveyor who
arrived by helicopter, and we are inclined to agree. We returned to camp
at the ruin and had a good loaf and a bath in the spring. The climb out
was without incident. We had hung the rope in the crack at the east end
of the face, and the Prusiking could be varied by some stepping on small
shelves.

We both agreed that this had been a fine trip with ideal weather, birds
and flowers to watch, a campsite surrounded by terrific scenery, and
100% success on all projects.

*Lava and Carbon Buttes, and a route to Lava Creek
[June 12, 1963 to June 15, 1963]*

Dirk Springorum and I had been intending to go into Nankoweap Basin from
the north rim until I got word that the Reillys were at Grand Canyon Inn
on the south rim. We left Flagstaff at 6:30 in the morning and were
talking to Pat and Susie about two hours later. They were planning to do
some more reading at the south rim and then study the Shinumo Wash area
of Marble Canyon before going to the north rim. They wanted to go down
from Point Sublime to Tuna and Crystal Creeks. They promised to spend an
evening with us at the end of his vacation and bring us up to date on
what they had seen.

I figured that after this delay, it would hardly be worth going around
to the north rim before starting on foot. We ran into a further delay
when I got a spike in a tubeless tire at the parking lot of the Grand
Canyon Inn. We finally got started down the Tanner Trail about 11:15
a.m. and reached the river in just over three hours. The river was
flowing clear at about 2500 cfs and it was easy to go along the bank.
Crossing the boulders and walking through the sand is not too easy,
however, and I suspect that it is still better to follow the old route
at the edge of the outwash hills. We followed the west edge of what used
to be the island.

Fording looked feasible about a quarter of a mile above the island. With
bare feet, walking over the irregular boulders two or three feet below
the surface was not simple. They're still coated with slick mud, and the
cracks between the boulders are uncomfortable for bare feet. Perhaps the
horsemen who used this crossing went where it was deeper and smoother on
the bottom.Anyway, after I had walked about a third of the way across, I
gave up and mostly swam back.It would have taken too long to do the
whole river on foot.

The low stage of the river impresses me as being quite suitable for
foldboating. There are three short rapids between Lava and Tanner Creeks
which would be harder to negotiate without touching a rock than either
of these better know rapids. These supposedly lesser riffles are found
by boulder bars which pretty well cross the river. The one at the ford
causes considerably more white water than Lava Creek and it is much more
noticeable from the rim at Desert View. The river slides between the
huge rocks at Lava Creek without kicking up so much fuss. Dirk and I
looked at the swift water below Lava Creek and the wide expanse
downstream where the current is less, but we settled for the deep and
quiet pool above Lava Creek. It was not too wide and the only current
was in the middle third. Assisted by a breeze from downstream, we
crossed without drifting down at all.

We saw footprints like Colin Fletcher's along bank, two sets going north
and one coming back. It was fairly late when we were through with the
crossing and we settled down for the night at the Butte Fault. There was
little water flowing here at this hour, and before morning it was coming
along copiously. We had a good night although it was a bit cool for my
two cotton blankets. Shortly after six in the morning while we were
passing a couple of dubious cairns, we came to a pair of three foot rock
piles marking a spot of copper ore. It was not particularly rich and the
hole was shallow. The malachite was in the Tapeats Sandstone.

The profile of Lava Butte from the Tanner Trail had made the ascent seem
like a simple walk-up from the west, but when we got to the highest part
of the saddle, we still had a 30 foot cliff to surmount. After a bit of
skirmishing, we found a talus leading to a fine crack. We first walked
to the back of the crack and up a few steps. From there it was a chimney
climb including getting to a meager ledge and coming back to where the
crack was wider before getting out on top. Dirk preceded me here, but I
feel sure I could have done this one solo. From here it was simple
though a bit steep, and we had fine views from the top. There were no
signs that we had been anticipated in this climb. On the way back down
the Butte Fault, we came to a deeper mine digging that was partly filled
with slides.

With two quarts of water apiece and our lunches in my sack, we started
north along the Butte Fault about 8:30 a.m. A short walk brings you to a
dry fall which you have to bypass to the east. On my trip five years
ago, I'm pretty sure I followed deer tracks up the shale to a low part
of the rim and avoided climbed as high as I led Dirk this time. There is
a cairn where you should leave the wash to do this. As you approach
Carbon Creek, you should leave the main wash and proceed to the lowest
part of the divide to drop into Carbon. It still surprises me how low
this divide is, only about 40 vertical feet. The gate to the final gorge
where Carbon goes down to the Colorado River is impressive for the
deformed strata.

With the idea of following the Butte Fault, I led Dirk out of the bed of
Carbon to the left too soon. We had to climb down again after missing
the dubious springs. (Melvin McCormick says this water contains
arsenic.) We proceeded up the bed of the branch that lies in the fault
until it was clear that a tributary came down from just north of Carbon
Butte. The east face of Carbon Butte is quite broken but it is
impressively steep when viewed from close below. We preferred to go up
the shale to the north and then walk to the top along the north ridge.
This was probably wrong since the scramble through the loose shale was
so difficult. Again the views were fine and we seem to have been the
first to build a cairn on top.

To the north in an arm of the tributary we had come up, there was quite
a bit of water loving vegetation. To check for a possible spring we went
over to it and ate our lunch in the shade of a big rock. There was
enough water to convince us that this runs very well at night. We were
not certain about the quality of this water so we didn't drink any.
However, before we left Dirk saw some birds apparently drinking it
although here didn't seem to be any well established animal tracks
leading to this water.

Next we went over a low ridge and slid down a one shale exposure to the
bottom of Butte Fault. It was a slow climb from here to the saddle
between Chuar and Temple Buttes. It was either shale or steep and rotten
sandstone. The sight of the river gorge below was rewarding, but we
didn't like the looks of the Redwall leading higher on the Temple. Our
water was low also, so we decided not to push our lunch and just go back
to camp along Lava Creek. There was plenty of time to move our gear to
the old trail site about an hour and 40 minute walk upstream. The spring
water was cool and good, but as it turned out the night did not bring a
sound sleep. We were fighting ants and trying to dodge mosquitoes.

In the morning, Dirk and I started upstream together; he to take samples
of gravel in the terraces and I was scouting to see whether a burro
could get through the Tapeats to account for McDonald's route from the
rim to his mines. I left the bed quite a bit east of the Juno Ruin and
found a good way to climb through the Tapeats. It's in a ravine at the
top of the most extensive talus along here. For a few feet, I had to use
my hands to get past a projection, but I feel that McDonald could have
built trail here to obviate this. There was a fair deer trail to the
east around and under Point Chiavria. I had agreed to get back to the
separation point at 9:45 a.m. so I had time to go far enough to see only
into the canyon northeast of Chiavria. I wanted to check again the break
in the Tapeats we had used in coming down from Poston Butte, so I made
the return longer. I decided that the big blocks of stone at the lower
part of this break make this impossible for a loaded burro. As I
returned along the peculiar trough behind the block of Tapeats which
roofs Juno Ruin, I noted another place where the Tapeats has many ledges
and a fair amount of vegetation. I should have walked up here but I was
sure to be overdue as it was and I was content with a photo.

On the return, Dirk saw a minnow in the smallest stream of water I have
ever known to support fish, Lava Creek above the junction with the arm
called Chuar.

We slept that night at the bottom of the Tanner Trail and climbed out in
the morning in my fastest time, four hours and 42 minutes.

*Piute Trail
[July 4, 1963]*

Allen Sinclair came with me and we drove the Jeep around the north side
of Cedar Mountain. After following the road as it swings to the south to
get down east of Cedar Mountain, we took the branch to the east instead
of north towards Gold Hill. We passed by a fork that would have taken us
southeast. In one shallow draw we started to take the left hand track,
but when we saw it heading too much to the north, we came back and went
over a ridge to the east. We had to go down off this small ridge over a
very rough road in low range of the four-wheel drive. If we had taken
the right turn earlier, we probably could have reached the same area.
After this, we kept to the left in case of a choice. As we approached
the rim ,we were in a very rocky draw where the road kept up on a ledge
to the north side. We came to the end of the road at a dry cattle tank.

After looking at the map and looking at the gorge, we thought we were
north of the Piute Trail. In going along the rim to the south, we had to
cross two or three small draws. In just under a half hour, we could see
that the south side of the minor point we were on could not be the right
location. We were able to identify the curves in the riverbed and we now
placed the Piute Trail as about one and a half miles north of where we
had parked the car. When we returned to the car, we got a refill of the
half-gallon canteen. We were also carrying a gallon and a quart in my
knapsack, as well as food.

When we got out of the depression containing the tank, the walking was
quite level. There seemed to be more of a trail in this direction than
one would expect. We looked over the rim a time or two, and the first
real encouragement was the appearance of a straight ravine on the other
side of the canyon similar to the one shown on the map. Soon we could
see a break ahead where the east side had been thrust 50 or 60 feet
higher than the west. I remarked that we would very likely find a rock
pile at the head of the trail, if that was really it. A few minutes
later, we could see the talus filled ravine with not one but two fair
sized cairns. My fourth effort to locate the Piute Trail was successful.

The upper part was easy and safe. Towards the bottom of the Kaibab,
there was an awkward place where the small cairns directed us to the
west wall. At the end of a ledge, one had to turn around and slide down
to some stepping stones with almost no use of the feet for five feet. On
the way back, Allen bypassed this place by climbing over some looser
material. The rest of the way down was fairly easy except that there was
a continuous hazard of stepping on loose rocks in the talus. At other
places, steep clay slopes were hard and difficult to stand on. At the
very bottom, we had to go over a boulder slope to the east before we
could get down the last small cliff.

Right away we settled a question that had interested me on the first
Blue Springs jaunt. I found that the permanent mineral spring water
begins a couple hundred yards downstream from the foot of the Piute
Trail. Sinclair and I were both happy to sit in the cool water of a yard
deep pool for several minutes. Walking along the bottom of the canyon
was quite easy although we got into some mud. The small stream was
simple to step across where the bed was boulder strewn, but just as
often it was running shallow and several yards wide in the mud. The
water didn't seem to taste very salty. In fact it almost seemed sweetish
in an unpleasant way, but perhaps that was because in our dry condition
we needed extra salt. I noticed later when we ate some late lunch that
Fritos seemed to have lost their salt taste also.

We located Waterhole Canyon beyond doubt and in another 15 minutes we
reached Horse Trail Canyon. This name must have come from a horse trail
higher up because the only way I could see to get up the first 150 feet
was by a harder climb than is needed on the Piute Trail. We timed
ourselves up from the river to the rim at the head of the Piute Trail in
70 minutes (Later I found a horse trail clear down).

*Barbenceta and Nankoweap Buttes, and Nankoweap Mesa
[August 27, 1963 to August 29, 1963]*

I wanted to get started Sunday afternoon and get an early start down the
Nankoweap Trail Monday morning, but Dirk Springorum was having some sort
of fling with some young people in Phoenix. Since I had promised him the
chance to go with me on two different occasions, I told his cabin mate
to tell him to be ready at 8:00 on Monday morning. When I looked in at
that time, he was sound asleep, so I concluded that he wasn't counting
on accepting my offer, and I took off for the north rim.

After a short visit at the Ranger Station to present them with pictures
of Hartman Bridge and some other points of interest, I dropped in on Joe
Hall who had been around a few weeks and now had the use of cabins with
the minimum conveniences. We had quite a visit and made plans to start
down the Nankoweap Trail together.

We parked both cars at Point Imperial and kept about 50 yards from the
rim until we hit the Jeep road marked with paint blazes. Even though it
winds quite a bit, it is faster to follow the cleared road than to head
through the forest. We reached the burn in 50 minutes. After we had
followed the road along the park boundary to the end and were a few
yards into the brush, I saw a tawny coat gliding swiftly through the
locust and aspen shoots across the little valley. I thought Joe was
looking at it too, but his attention was somewhere else. The head and
tail were low and out of sight. It went about 50 feet by in the time I
could count to three and then it disappeared. Joe gave me the best
suggestion as to what I had seen, a mountain lion.Just about any other
animal would have been either too small or would have held its head as
high as the shoulders.This is the first I have ever seen out of a zoo.

This time I hit the Coconino rim a bit too far to the south, but we were
only a few yards off. I led Joe too far back along the right ravine to
descend, or we would have had our choice of several good deer trails a
couple of which were improved by man at some distant time. On the return
we both found them and the cairns at the top. I also fumbled slightly in
locating the place where the trail goes down from the saddle, but the
delay was no more than a minute or two. Joe wanted to see the place
where the trail, at the base of the top Supai cliff, gets bad. I took
him to the spot where I used hands and knees in order not to scrape the
pack against the overhang. With only a light pack, he was able to take
this standing up while stepping on the outside three inches of ledge. He
had recently climbed Shiva Temple and the difficulties and exposure had
affected him less than they had me. I'm sure he could do any rock climb
that I would indulge in.

Half an hour after Joe returned, a rain came up. I soon found a good
overhang and let the water sluice down a fall a few yards away while I
made myself comfortable with a magazine and my lunch. I wish I had been
looking where Joe was during this rain. I was east of Marion Point, but
Joe could see across the narrow gorge and was able to watch some
spectacular waterfalls. A problem which I have never even tried to work
on is to construct a list of the finest storm-born falls in the canyon.
There must be many grand ones formed by notches in the Redwall. I missed
a fine chance during this rain. I could have filled my half gallon
canteen and left the gallon Clerks bottle full of water here for the
return. Instead, I decided that I had more than enough for the descent,
so I filled the canteen, and carried the empty bottle on down the trail.

In 1962, I had walked around the summit block of Barbenceta Butte, so
this time I came prepared. I picked up a fairly stout stick about a foot
long and took my 70 foot rope. When I got to the top block, I tied one
end of the double rope to the middle of a stick and placed it under the
overhang with the rope going up a narrow crack and over the top of the
block. Around on the north side, I arranged the rope so that it hung
down where there were the most toe holds. I had to tie a knot to form a
stirrup and with other knots for better gripping, I was soon on top. On
the return, I tried going down into Little Nankoweap Canyon. This would
have been easy from the north, but there was still a 50 foot cliff on my
side, and I returned to the trail up Tilted Mesa for a three and a half
hour detour. I made one of my poorer traverses of the Redwall trying to
stay on the trail and giving up, but I got to Nankoweap Creek by 6:15 in
the evening. The usually clear stream was a richer red than I had ever
seen in the old Colorado or even the Little Colorado. The soup boiled
over in a rich red froth. The weather had been rather unseasonably cool
and I was pleased to find that the one blanket was enough although I
needed my clothes as well before morning. A jacket came in handy as
protection for my face from the few puny mosquitoes.

About 6:30 Wednesday morning, I jogged downstream a hundred yards and
started up the Butte Fault ravine. About two-thirds of the way to the
pass, I went up to the east and found a good deer trail leading to the
notch in the shattered remnants of the Redwall. It is an amazing place.
An inconceivably powerful shearing force has turned the whole Redwall
abruptly up through an angle of 90 degrees. To the south the Redwall
shows as sheets separated by deep cracks and to the north there is a
considerable solid chunk still forming a blunt tower. You soon walk
through the notch after a short climb and start down into a hanging
valley whose bed and east wall are the Supai and higher formations. It
is the most unusual place that I have passed in the Redwall. The valley
you now enter is eons removed from the shales and Redwall you left just
a few minutes ago.

The trail led to the south keeping to the west side of the arroyo at the
bottom of the valley. Very shortly my confidence in the feasibility of
the route to the top of Nankoweap Mesa was shaken. The Supai cliff east
of the wash seemed impressive. Upstream at a fork, I saw how it could be
passed, either by going up to the end of the east fork where there is a
narrow talus of Coconino blocks, or by going up the shattered wall
between the two forks. I did the latter before I saw the more direct
possibility. A deer trail showed around the top of the Supai, but on the
bare rock I couldn't tell whether it went up on the ravine leading to
the letters we in the name Nankoweap on the east half map, or around the
angle to the north. I had forgotten which place had looked promising
from the trail below Saddle Mountain, so I went up the first place that
appeared possible. The bigger arm near the cliff to the south looked
fine higher up, but it appeared tricky to get across above the lowest
Coconino cliff, so I continued up the most encouraging, smaller branch
to the north. I had to choose once more and thus got above all the
Coconino. I could see that if I could get up just ten feet at the bottom
of the Toroweap, the rest would be easy. Luck was with me again for
there were safe hand and toe holds on the ten foot wall. I built a small
cairn and made the top in a routine scramble in two hours and 50 minutes
from the creek to the top of the mesa.

The views were most rewarding and I had the same feeling of being on a
sky island that you get from Shiva Temple and Wotan's Throne. Of course
I headed for the highest part, the rim to the southwest where I built
another cairn and then followed the rim rather closely to the southeast
and returned along the east rim for pictures of the river. After an
early lunch, I capped the point east of where the mesa becomes a narrow
ridge to the northwest. There were no signs of previous cairns but I saw
a deer antler and deer droppings were common. Tracks also looked fresh
in places. I think I can tell the difference between deer and bighorn
droppings, and I would say that bighorns have also been quite common on
the mesa and down in the basin too. After building my second summit
cairn, I could see that the two quarts of water would soon be gone. I
would like to have continued to the farthest reach of the northwest
ridge, but I didn't want to take a chance of being weakened by
dehydration on the route I had to use for the return.

Without really intending to vary the previous route, I started down from
the rim farther north than I had been before. When I got my bearings and
headed south near the bottom of the Kaibab, I ran into a clear deer
trail and followed it down the ravine around the angle to the north of
where I had come up. This worked fine until I lost the deer trail just
above the bottom of the Coconino. I had to come back up and follow a
ledge to the north away from the wash to make it down to the Hermit
Shale. There were no further problems and I dropped down over the Supai
at the talus noted before. I finished the canteen at the top of the
Redwall notch and was sitting in the creek 40 minutes later. After a
good rest, I climbed Nankoweap Butte, two hours up and one back. The
higher summit block is easy on the east. It took me 11 hours the next
day to go to Point Imperial.

*Buck Farm Point and Saddle Canyon
[September 4, 1963 to September 5, 1963]*

The local paper carried an article about two discoveries near the
trailer camp of the Arizona Power Authority on Buck Farm Point. From the
helicopter they had seen a storage bin under a ledge of Supai Sandstone.
It faces south and is just below the e of the name Marble Canyon on the
Nankoweap Quad. Lynn Roberts had landed Euler on a platform of the ridge
leading down to the saddle to the east, and they had been able to climb
down to the cyst. Euler's theory was that this bin is near an old route
the Indians used in crossing the river. From here they would have gone
east along the top of the ridge and then climbed down the Redwall to the
river at about Mile 43.1, just upstream from President Harding Rapids.
Here is where the other recent find is located, in a still more unusual
structure in the form of a bridge made of driftwood poles. It spans a 15
foot crevice in the Redwall 250 feet above the river. The mystery to me
is that a person who could negotiate the wellnigh impossible climbing
down to this place would bother to build an aid in crossing this minor
obstruction.

From the map and some information I had received from Melvin McCormick,
I got the idea that the prehistoric Indians would have entered this area
from Saddle Canyon. I went up to the Buck Farm trailer settlement to see
what I could pick up with the idea that I might go down into this whole
region below the rim the same way the Indians did. Lynn Roberts, the
pilot, was most friendly and cooperative. He showed me his pictures and
also spotted the ruins on my map. He had heard from Bob Vaughn, an old
time cattleman, about the trail down Saddle Canyon. (The trail goes up
and then east before it ends.)

I parked the Jeep at the hunting camp and started with my food and
bedroll for two days. The only trail to the top of Saddle Mountain still
in evidence is the one heading for the saddle between Saddle Mountain
and the rim. (A trail goes south and then east from here.) First I went
down into the bed of the wash where the thick oaks and maples were still
wet from the last shower. The slow bushwhacking and the occasional drops
in the bed soon convinced me that this was not the route. About halfway
to the rim of the ravine on the north side, I came to a deer trail that
had also been used by cattle years ago. This was a lot better and there
were occasional overhangs in the Kaibab Limestone that would be welcome
if the rain returned. This followed a bench that was above the cliffs. I
could see that the bed would have been absolutely impossible because of
the big fall with a shallow cavern under it. Around the next point I
could see that there was probably a way down. After I left my pack under
a protecting ledge and put some firewood out of the rain, I went on and
found that the deer had a way to the bottom. Also, there were pools of
rainwater in the wash, so I would be able to proceed in the morning. I
got supper where I had first stopped and then moved on to a still better
overhang for sleeping.

Starting before six on Thursday morning with just my lunch and water, I
went down following the deer trail. I could see another trail on the
other (south) side of the canyon, but as the one I was on continued
horizontally eastward, I followed it past the place where the streambed
drops over the Coconino cliff. The only halfway possible route down this
cliff for miles seemed to be by a rockslide across the canyon on the
south side. Just as I was turning back to cross over, I saw a potsherd,
decorated with black on white. I went up to the base of the cliff above
without finding any ruin. Bob Vaughn had said that there was a ruin
along this trail. One has to double back about 10 minutes to make the
crossing.

The trail on the south was still more distinct than that on the north,,
and I was quite encouraged to find deer droppings on the rockslide, an
old one well consolidated with a brush cover. All was well until I was
within 85 feet of the easy walking below. From here on it was vertical.
A man willing to take a chance might have made it, but I backed out. It
took me one and a half hours to walk to the car, and now I wish I had
returned with my rope. (You can get down Buck Farm Canyon near its head
through the Supai in the south tributary.)

From Buck Farm Point I had seen a place below the rim to the northeast
that would warrant more study. The Coconino cliff was covered by a
talus. If you could get off the rim, the rest of the Kaibab didn't seem
too bad. Twenty feet of cliff at the top of the Coconino and the rim
itself needed study. I walked around to it and found that I couldn't
even get off the rim. The views were fine, however, and I went out on
the point opposite Tatahatso Canyon before walking back to the trailers.

Here I had another good visit with Lynn Roberts and he wound it up by
inviting me on a helicopter flight as his guest. He showed me the bin
and then we dropped over the ridge and found the bridge of saplings. We
went downstream over President Harding Rapid. I'm almost certain that
one can get down the Redwall with no sweat a little downstream from
Harding on the left bank. Likewise, the slopes on the south side of
Tatahatso Point seem to be well covered with talus. About the next thing
I want to try is to descend here. We flew along above the Redwall cliff
at the lower end of Saddle Canyon and made sure there is not a way down
there. A close look at what had stopped me made me think I should have
tried harder. Then we swung back over the plateau looking at the buffalo
herd and the ruins of the farming complex. It was a glorious and never
to be forgotten flight.

Getting out to the highway was something of a problem. James Wilson, who
is a state fish and game officer, was talking to the man in charge of
the drilling operation, Forcier. Wilson had just helped salvage a truck
that had spent the night in Houserock Wash. He said that we could get
out to the highway if we turned off a couple of ruts in the fields and
kept to the west of the main wash. To reach this turn-off, we had to
pass a running stream where a Forest Service truck was caught in water
almost covering the wheels. This left no room to pass. After some wading
and inspecting of the terrain, Wilson took his four-wheel drive vehicle
up over the bumps and crossed the stream a hundred feet above the road.
I also had my Jeep in four-wheel drive and followed him in low range. We
drove for what seemed like miles in water filled ruts. This was safer
then getting out on the soggy meadowland. When we came to a truck that
had stalled in the water, Wilson tried to go around and became mired. He
had a chain long enough to reach my Jeep while it was still on firm soil
and I pulled him out driving backwards in low range. Then he pulled the
other truck out of the water. I was able to go on by myself and finally
reach the highway.

*Nankoweap Basin
[September 21, 1963 to September 22, 1963]*

At the last museum seminar of the season, I ran into Dirk and we planned
a trip for him to Nankoweap Basin. At first I thought that I would go
down Saddle Canyon to the ruins between Buck Farm and Saddle Canyons,
but Dirk did not relish the idea of tackling the bad trail by himself,
not to mention the wilderness for 36 hours, so I guided him down the
Nankoweap Trail although I realized that there would hardly be time for
me to accomplish anything new. We slept in the dining room at the
hunting camp near Saddle Canyon and got started walking at 6:30 a.m. The
trail starts down into Saddle Canyon just east of the buildings and then
slopes to the west to the bottom. About one-third of the way up to the
Saddle Mountain Pass, the trail can be followed, then for a quarter of a
mile it leaves the main drainage and follows the divider between the
main gulch and the ravine starting below the saddle. After that it
becomes lost in brush and rocks. It was tough bushwhacking, but we made
the saddle in one and a half hours. On the way back we kept out of the
bed more and got down to the car, a 1200 foot descent, in an hour and 10
minutes.

I had carried a rope with the intention of trying the Redwall in the
ravine closest to the saddle. We saw that it would be a gamble, and if
we were unable to get down there, all the time for work Saturday
afternoon at the bottom of Nankoweap would be gone. (I latter found out
that no rope is needed.) It was rather important to Dirk since he was
going back to Germany by the first of October. We hiked from the saddle
to the beginning of Tilted Mesa in two and a half hours, faster than I
had done it before by myself. It took six and a half hours overall from
the hunting camp to Nankoweap Creek compared to eight and a half on the
way out. I can't say that I am improving much at finding the best route
through the rock slides. I even had some trouble leading Dirk down the
deer trail which is now preferable to the ruined horse trail down the
Redwall. Even on the return the next day, I still missed parts of the
deer trail. We did notice something that had escaped me before. Someone
has marked parts of this deer trail with cairns, especially the lower
part where it is still in the Bright Angel Shale. Just above the
Tapeats, we used the old route to the east and followed the good trail
construction through the broken part. We camped a quarter of a mile
upstream from where I had stopped before because both of us were
interested in going upstream.

After lunch, Dirk went with me up to the south arm. Here he had began
making observations of terraces while I hurried on trying to spot the
large window through a fin of Redwall. As I passed the mouth of the arm
going between Mount Hayden and Woolsey Point, I noted again that one can
see the Goldwater Bridge. I wanted to return to camp by six, so I turned
back at four just short of the arm that heads between Mount Hayden and
Sullivan Point. I should have seen the lens shaped window if it had been
in this arm. I realize now that I should have gone up the south arm. I
did note that there is a good spring not far from the O of the word
National on the Nankoweap Quad map. After staying on the surface for a
half mile, it disappears, but a bigger spring keeps the flow permanent a
little below the junction with the south arm.

The night was clear and cool but still we had a few mosquitoes. Dirk
lost his can opener, probably to a pack rat. As we were crossing a low
terrace near the main stream on our way out, we each saw a sherd. The
climb to the top of the Redwall took us longer than it had taken me when
I was by myself, but we did the rest quite a bit faster. It was seven
hours overall from the creek to the saddle. There were a lot of yellow
jackets along the route on the ledge of Supai, and while I was preparing
to take a picture, one of them stung me on the top of the head. After I
brushed it off, it kept on attacking. I got away as fast as I could.
This time I saw a minnow myself in the little pool of the creek where we
filled our canteens. The hunting camp is the closest approach for a car
to reach the saddle. I would now like to try going down to the top of
the Redwall through Saddle Canyon and then go around into Little
Nankoweap from there. It would be a good two day trip to circle Saddle
Mountain on foot. (I did this in 1969, in one long day - from 4:00 p.m.
to 2:50 p.m.)

*Rope Trail trip to the Colorado River at Supai
[September 28, 1963 to September 29, 1963]*

We left Flagstaff shortly before 5:00 p.m. and after stops at Williams
and Seligman, we reached the Hualapai Hilltop and were ready to hike by
nine. I had voted in favor of sleeping by the car and going down in the
morning, but the club had preferred the idea of walking down to the
creek first. It took us three hours and with an inadequate supply of
flashlights, there was plenty of stumbling. It seemed that the trail had
become much worse because of the August rains, but when we returned by
daylight, we could see that it was only because we had taken the worst
way over the rocks. After getting to sleep about 1:30 a.m., I awoke
about 5:30 a.m. and felt weakened all day because of the poor rest that
night.

Most of the party took time getting ready to move on to the campground
below Havasu Falls, but the five who had agreed to see the rope trail
were on their way fairly early. We were by the south travertine deposit
by eight. Jay Hunt knew just where to start up, about 50 yards northeast
of the travertine itself. You climb the talus and follow a trace of a
trail until you come to an angle in the wall. Someone, perhaps Wampler,
has scratched an arrow on the rock pointing up. You then walk over to
the travertine and walk northeast following cairns to the Esplanade. You
head for the butte in the Hermit Shale labeled 4540 on the west half
map. It's easy to swing around it to the south and then go a few yards
north to head a ravine which parallels the rim above. You then angle up
to the south into the only prominent ravine along the entire cliff. An
indistinct trail takes you up the talus to the broken lower half of the
Coconino until you see a long rope.

I was sure it was best to spread out in the rest of the climb, so when
the others stopped for some breath, I went on ahead. Hunt had trusted
his 200 pounds to these ropes previously, but I felt better when I had
tested the first one with as good a jerk as I could give it. It is about
three-fourths inch in diameter and gives a good grip. You have to go up
hand over hand for only about three feet before there are adequate toe
holds for a rest. At the top of this pitch, the rope is tied in a very
interesting natural hole right through the solid rock which happens to
be in the direct line. From below, it isn't apparent how the upper rim
can be reached, but when you get close, you see a neat split in the rim
about four feet wide. There is another rope to help you negotiate a
chockblock, but here the chimney is narrow enough to allow a back to the
wall climb. We were really careless not to have noticed this break when
we were here before. I have a feeling that I looked down here as far as
the chockblock without seeing the rope and assumed that there was a long
drop below the block. Now the top is well marked by a cairn and a three
foot finger of limestone propped in an upright position. (Built by
Hunt.) The small pebbles near the top of the chute are almost impossible
not to dislodge, so each climber should get to the top before the next
one enters the chute.

The other four in the group: Jay Hunt and his son John, Wayne Brown, and
Allyn Cureton went on up and over to the Apache descent north of
Manakacha Point while I went down the ropes again to go along the
Esplanade to the Apache Trail down the draw to Supai. This would be new
for me. There was a clear horse trail along the base of the talus and
although it had a lot of bends, it was faster then the route over the
top. I was ready to go down into the draw an hour and a half after I had
left the others. It took me just one and a half hours to go from the
floor of the valley to the top of the rope trail, above the Toroweap
Formation but below the Kaibab. The latter offers nothing but an uphill
walk here.

I was able to climb down to the bottom of Apache Trail Canyon through
the ravine just west of the 40' line on the map. I rested and had lunch
waiting for the others for an hour. At 11:30 a.m., I had been able to
shout and receive an answer. When they had not come along by 12:30 p.m.,
I thought it distinctly odd. I began to wonder whether they had found no
fastening for the rope at the crucial place on the ramp down the
Coconino and had to return to the route with the fixed rope. I went up
the main wash and then went out by a tributary leading up to the ramp.
This time my shouts didn't draw any answer and I thought my guess
confirmed. When I got back down to the bed of the wash, they were only
100 yards behind. They couldn't hear because they were already down in
the bed of the wash. We found plenty of rain pools left from the wet
weather of three weeks before as we proceeded down the bed. We left the
bed for the trail at the correct place, for once. The trail bypasses
drops in the creekbed two or three times both to the right and the left
before it finally leaves the bed to follow the ledges along the north
side. There is a crude gate a few yards to the right at the correct
place and a string of rain pools in the middle of the bed.

It was warm as we approached the village, but I decided that there might
never be a better time for going up the Ladder Trail. The others went on
with the understanding that we would assemble again at the church. I
found the scramble to the top very short and easy, requiring about eight
minutes, but I also felt faint from the heat and exertion. I had to lie
down for a few minutes. If I ever go back to Mount Sinyala from the
village, this will be my route. However, I can drive my Jeep to the rim
above the Apache Trail in less than five hours from home, so I'll be
more likely to use this route to investigate the possible break in the
rim at Mile 148.5.

We were all back to the village by 2:15 p.m., but instead of starting
for the river; Jay, Allyn, and I seemed to feel a bit disorganized. I
seemed under the weather from a combination of heat and lack of sleep,
so instead we fooled around the village and campground chewing the fat
with the hiking club. After a good night, we headed for the river about
6:40 Sunday Morning. Hunt knew the way after five previous trips to the
river in two years. There are a few places where the trail is hard to
find, but if you get stranded in a mess of vines, you can be sure you
have missed it. It is always better than that somewhere else. Three
creek crossings are necessary upstream from Beaver Falls and five below.
There are several places where you wade without crossing the creek. At
one of these places, Hunt had to swim. A student named Brant Gaedge, who
joined us for this hike, couldn't swim a stroke, but I was able to lead
him and Allyn around near some dams and arrive back on the bank in front
of Jay. We were held up a couple times when one of the party would have
an idea about the route that didn't pan out, but even then we got from
the campground to the Colorado River in less than two and a half hours.
The trail below Beaver Falls is just as good as it is upstream, and the
entire trip is a fine one. It was a great relief to find the walking so
simple in contrast to my all day ordeal with the vines and wild oats in
1946. However, I did see some things then that I missed this time. In
trying for the best route then, I located two mine shafts on the right
below Beaver Canyon. I'm also rather sure that either going or coming
back I missed the trail that goes high and descends below the falls. I
remember scrambling down rather near a branch of the stream which had
separated from the main flow above the falls.

On the present occasion, we went to the west of the narrows at the mouth
and got down to the riverbed. It was most interesting to see the clear
water of the creek, no more than a foot deep over the bar, flow into the
shallow river. The Colorado was still muddy from the summer rains. Jay
and Allyn went to look for the bighorn skeleton that Hunt had found when
he came down the river from Hermit Creek a year ago last spring, and I
took Brant back with me at a leisurely pace because I wanted to get some
pictures. We missed the trail several times and needed about three hours
to reach the campground. It took us four hours to go from the camp to
the car, but here we had to wait a couple hours for Allyn and Jay. They
had been unable to locate the horns, but they had taken a swim and
palavered with the Indians before they came on to the rim.

*Eminence Break to above President Harding Rapids
[October 12, 1963]*

The Jeep isn't fast but I was at Cedar Ridge by 9:30 a.m. It was almost
two by the time I drove down the grade to the neck of Tatahatso Point,
so I had taken four and a half hours to reach a place which is an easy
hour and ten minutes drive from Cedar Ridge Trading Post. I had only the
Nankoweap Quad, and I couldn't orient myself since Shinumo altar is not
shown nor are the red shale ridges south of the road west of the Trading
Post. Roughly, what I did wrong was to cut south through the gap between
the long ridge and the outlier butte of red shale. I got south almost as
far as Saddle Mountain before I concluded I was headed wrong. After that
I ran around, mostly north and west whenever I could find a track, and I
dead ended at a group of hogans. Finally, I decided that I would head
north far enough to get on the road out to the tram anchorage at Mile 33
and then work south. Finally I located on the map where this road comes
through the Eminence Break. After a bit more fumbling, I located Black
Spot Reservoir and was still bothered to see the main road going right
down into the water and out the other side. I had to cruise over hill
and dale to come to the continuation west. All the stock tanks were well
filled after the August and September rains. From here on, there was no
confusion.

My impression of the walls along the south side of Tatahatso Point,
formed from the distance of Saddle Canyon, was wrong. There is only one
place to leave the rim, right where the road comes near the rim at the
break itself. Even here only one of the three ravines at the top is easy
to scramble down. After a few yards you go across to the left wall and
proceed down the narrowing slot on a mixture of bedrock and talus. An
interesting feature of the rock near the top is the presence of beds of
crystals. Imperfect hexagonal crystals about two and a half inches long
protrude horizontally from the vertical matrix as thick as bristles in a
brush. They remind one of a bed of nails and there are many yards of
this material weathering out. At one time there must have been cracks
several inches wide filled with the mineralized water that formed the
crystals.

About 50 yards down from the rim, at the narrowest part of the ravine,
there is a freak bridge. At various places, I have seen single rocks
wedged in a crack with plenty of space beneath, but here a column formed
of two blocks each roughly cubical about 15 feet on the edge toppled
from above into this nearly straight walled corridor. The blocks landed
so as to form a nearly horizontal bridge with about ten feet clearance
beneath. They must have come from quite a height near the rim to the
southeast and it's hard to understand why the impact didn't shatter
them. One would think that nature would have to try another million
times before it could do the same trick again.

There was no cairn on the rim as there is at the top of the Hopi Salt
Trail and the Piute Trail into the Little Colorado River Gorge, but down
a few yards I found three small rock piles. I built a small one on the
rim, but any that were left farther down have been obliterated by the
frequent slides. After I took a couple pictures at the rim, I discovered
that all the film was gone although the counter showed a dozen more. The
catch was defective and I had rolled quite a few blank frames onto the
spool. That shook my resolution to go down and cross the river to the
bridge. I settled for a reconnaissance.

The gully is easier and safer than the Piute Trail and I would take
about anyone along on a trip down to President Harding Rapids. Instead
of keeping to the bed all the way down, I would recommend following a
ledge below the top cliff of Supai on the left to get on a consolidated
talus. The walking is easier here, but you should arrive in the middle
of the bed about the place the first Redwall shows. Here where two
branches join and cut through to the river, go up the small faulty gully
to the south. You can go around the next slot that cuts through to the
river at a higher level, on the red sandstone. A short walk to the south
puts you on the edge of the final scramble down to the river. I don't
feel sure what happened here, but I think a huge chunk of the sandstone
slipped down over the Redwall and buried the rim of the lower Redwall on
the right side of the break. At least you are able to walk all the way
down to the river on this very red sandstone. It may even be the Hermit
Shale that's along the top of the Supai Formation.

I checked both slots cutting through the top of the Redwall toward the
river, but there are long vertical drops below the promising beginnings.
To reach the gravel covered bed leading out to a view of the river in
the northern most slot, I had to do a bit of climbing down some rather
smooth limestone. I let myself slide a few inches at the bottom, but not
before I noticed that there were plenty of rocks to pile up as a mount
to help me back up later. On the return, I had to use one rock as a
stepping stone. It took me two hours from the rim down to a place where
I could see that there was a simple way down to the river from the top
of the Redwall. By then I had decided to go home that night. It took an
hour and three-quarters to go from there back to the car. I got around
the south edge of Black Spot Reservoir before dark and had no trouble
keeping on the right road the rest of the way along the north side of
the shale ridge all the way back to Highway 89 at Cedar Ridge.

On the return up the ravine formed by Eminence Break to where I had
parked the car, I picked up a very fresh looking piece of pottery. To me
it looked like something the Hopi might have shown at the museum a
couple of years ago. I put it in my pocket with the thought that the
Hopi must still use pottery canteens. When I showed it to Bob Euler and
Chuck McNutt, they were both quite excited about it. They agreed that it
was Jedito black on yellow, about the finest pottery that the Hopi ever
made. It was made from 600 to 300 years ago, and Bob was particularly
interested because it was the first evidence he had seen that the
Indians were still using this area after the main era of pueblo and
cliff dwelling construction around the year 1200. This sherd showed that
some Hopi had been here possibly as recently as 1600. Perhaps the bridge
of poles has been there only 300 years. Bob's first thought about the
poles was that they couldn't have withstood the weather more than a few
decades (Actually, they're 1100 years old).

My trip down from the car and back had taken less than four hours, but I
had found a fine route to the river (considerably shorter and faster
than the route in 29 Mile Wash), the crystal beds, a bridge that may be
quite unique, the rare sherd, and something else that would be easy to
miss. I happened to pass a block of Coconino that had fallen from the
cliff above and lodged in the gully although it was as big as a living
room. The flat side was almost vertical and the sun was within 15
minutes of putting this face in the shade. In the oblique light I saw a
couple dozen fine fossil footprints of the type I had photographed
during my descent at Mile 19 from the right rim. There were two sets of
the large tracks about the size of my hand. Again there seemed to be two
very different shapes of feet on the same animal. Besides the large
prints, there were dozens of smaller ones on the same large slab. I
would guess that this is the most remarkable collection of footprints
found to date in the Coconino Sandstone. I'm trying to get our
paleontologist, Doctor Beus, to come with me the next time I go down
this trail.

*Eminence Trail, sites on the right bank, and Mile 43.2
[October 27, 1963]*

Sid Dowd, a geology student, went with me and we reached the rim at the
Eminence Break about 10:10 a.m. This time I had a camera and got two
pictures of the keystone arch about 50 yards from the trail head. This
time we agreed that the two blocks had been standing in front so that
rockfalls would be safer, but I wasn't prepared to find Sid as slow as
he proved to be. He was very deliberate in his movements, but still he
dislodged more rocks than I did. He took twice as long in getting to the
big rock containing the fossil footprints. Here he accepted my request
not to go any further when he had done all the work in getting
impressions with his Plaster of Paris. I got a couple impressions with
only modeling clay and also got a couple of pictures outlining the
tracks with chalk. The largest tracks were about seven and a half inches
long and about half that wide. On what we took to be the front half of
the foot, on the inside edge, there were four protuberances which made
depressions that were smooth and round. The distance between prints of
the feet on the same side was 22 inches and the parallel lines through
the set of tracks going in the same direction showed still more. This
second set was mostly covered by pads of rock that had yet to weather
away. The three or four prints that did show seemed not quite the same.
In fact, Sid judged them to be from a different sort of animal. I
checked the slide I had taken of fossil prints in the Coconino at Mile
19, and there is no resemblance.

When I continued down, I left the bed below the top cliff of Supai on
the left and went past the peculiar rock capping a column of clay and
boulders shaped like a shoe repairman's last. A little south of here I
went down to the main bed and continued as I had two weeks ago. On the
return I kept to the east above the Redwall and came back to the
shoemaker's last without dropping down. I believe I prefer this route. I
found a faint deer trail as I approached the final descent to the river,
and when I started down over the red shale it was quite distinct. About
three-fourths of the way down the buried Redwall, I even noted a place
where the trail was bordered by rocks lined up by human hands.

The walking was very simple along the left bank of the river and in less
than 20 minutes I had passed President Harding Rapid and was even with
where I thought I should see the bridge of driftwood poles high in a
ravine on the opposite side of the river. I checked the Quad map that
Lynn Roberts had marked for me and was convinced that I was at the right
place. Just to make sure, I walked on until I could see the smooth wall
stretching on to the west. Just below Mile 43 were two ravines in the
lower Redwall. I crossed just below a riffle near here and had no
trouble going up on a ledge to the right of the ravine. I went east and
entered the ravine where a crumbly type of rock or hard clay formed a
chimney. I was able to put my back to the west wall and wriggle up to a
shelf about 12 feet above. The ravine widened here with a large
chockblock above, so the only way was to go out towards the river and
around a corner. Where the exposure became severe, the ledge also
narrowed. It seemed that the only future in this direction called for
climbing a series of breaks with very poor holds, and I was not at all
sure that the bridge was above. I backed out and descended the easy
chimney. On checking with Bob Euler, I learned that this was the place
and that he had been turned back by the chimney that I had climbed. He
seems to think that you go along the ledge that I had reached to the
bridge without further climbing (he's wrong).

Next I checked the other ravine, about 200 yards to the northwest. The
ascent was equally easy up to a crack about 10 inches wide with small
chockblocks to keep one from getting into it. I experimented with one
elbow and the other hand in this crack and managed to go up about four
feet, about half the distance seemed difficult, but twice I turned back
at the same place. I know that Allyn could go up here handily. Just
before I reached this bad spot, I found a shallow cave with three
slender sticks placed carefully in it. Two of them were near the ceiling
and had been cut to fit into crevices. I broke the third one and brought
it out for possible study.

There were plenty of deer tracks along this northeast facing talus. The
grass seemed especially green. Evidently the deer can come in the way I
did and swim the river. I had been a little worried about the
temperature of the water, but it was no colder than many swimming pools
and I got across on the air mattress in a very few minutes. The walking
is fine along the beach and I'm sure I could average at least 15 miles a
day with the air mattress to get me past the paces where the water comes
to the cliff. I was able to walk from the river to the car in two hours
and 25 minutes without undue pushing. It is a fine way to the river and
both the route down and the river itself are most scenic.

*Vishnu Creek, Newberry Butte, and to the Colorado River at Mile 99.8
[November 9, 1963 to November 11, 1963]*

Starting from Grandview Point at 8:50 a.m., I reached the river via the
spur trail down from the Tonto at Mile 80.8. May 5, 1958 was the date
when I finally reached the river here and I found that my memory for all
the details was a bit fuzzy. I went out on the spur just below the
Tapeats and got my bearings. One has to drop farther down into
Cottonwood Canyon than I had remembered. About 200 feet down you turn
west. Plenty of trail still shows although it makes very short switches
in a rather narrow ravine for a few yards then goes over a notch into
the wide ravine that continues to the Colorado River. The trip from the
car to the river took just less than three and a half hours which puts
this trail about even with the Tanner for length. The part down to
Horseshoe Mesa probably gets more foot traffic than any other
non-maintained trail in Grand Canyon.

Ever since I read that the Cal Tech Party went some distance up Vishnu
Creek, I had thought of the possibility of using this trail and then
crossing to Vishnu as a convenient way to points north of the river.
After a leisurely lunch, I blew up my mattress and paddled off. The
current helped very little and I was shivering some before I made the
mouth of Vishnu. I could have broken the voyage at a beach if I had felt
it necessary. When we had looked at Vishnu from the ridge above
Grapevine Creek, the best way seemed to be a fault line from near the
base of the Tapeats going north. When I got to the mouth of Vishnu, this
plan didn't seem so good. I decided first to see whether the creekbed
would be feasible. Within five minutes walk from the river, I came to an
overhanging chockblock that had no bypass. After backing up almost to
the river, I climbed up the fault line to the east. After going over
several small ridges where ravines came down, I went down and followed
the bed again. After a few bends, I again ran into a fall in one of the
bends to the west. This lower part of Vishnu is impressively narrow
every time the creek gets away from the fault. It was a long rise and I
spent 45 minutes getting to the top only to find that I couldn't follow
the base of the Tapeats more than a few yards. Neither could I get back
to the creekbed here, but there was a safe slope down 50 yards to the
west. When I backed up and tried to follow the jagged ridge in that
direction, I came to two well built cairns. Some oldtimer had solved the
same problem in the same way. Making my way along here was rather
ticklish with a pack, but I was careful and finally reached the simple
scramble down to the creek again.

I had already found a little water flowing in the lower end of the
creek, but now I walked a dry bed for quite a little distance. The bed
was more open here with plenty of gravel. I was quite surprised when I
rounded a bend and saw a 30 foot waterfall with an audible flow of
water. Fortunately, there was a bypass to the west that was noticeably a
trail. I wondered whether the prospector who had built the cairns along
the ridge had improved a deer trail. The water was coming from a spring
where the Bass Limestone begins. Now the valley opened up and I could
see some Hakatai Shale above the limestone, with the succession of
Shinumo Quartzite and Tapeats still higher. There are several ways out
of this canyon to the east but the walls on the west are forbidding. I
recognized the place where I had managed to get down in the spring of
1958. It had taken two and a half hours to get from the mouth of Vishnu
Creek to here. I was beginning to see the futility of trying for the top
of Wotan's Throne the next day, but I climbed to the top of the Tapeats
to the east and looked ahead. Where I had camped on my way back from
Asbestos in early April by a running stream, not a drop showed and I
could see ahead to a high fall in the Tapeats, also perfectly dry. I was
quite sure there would be no water above, so I retraced my steps to the
spring I had just left. This is northwest of the middle of Newberry
Butte. I started getting super at 5:15 p.m. and was in bed an hour later
for a solid 8 hours. I slept fine but while I was making up my mind to
get out and start the new day, I tried to decide how to spend it. I had
noted a possible break in the cliffs of Newberry Butte around on the
southeast face and I was interested in testing that route. I also wanted
to go up the Redwall between Vishnu Temple and Freya Castle and then
either go on down Unkar Creek or follow the top of the Redwall along
north of Rama Shrine and down into Asbestos Canyon. I finally decided to
give Newberry a try and then see how much time was left.

Since I had been over the saddle to the north of Newberry five years
ago, I went around the south end. For some reason I passed up the chance
to go up the talus leading to the lowest shelf of Redwall. Instead I
made my first approach northeast of the route I had picked. Taking just
my camera and canteen, I started up but within a few minutes, I decided
that this was not the place for a climber like me. Back at the south end
of the shelf, it was easier. There were several places where only one
route seemed at all safe. When I was over halfway up, I saw to my dismay
that the route I had picked for the final pitch was out of the realm of
the possible for a non-technical climber. But I saw one more chance that
was invisible from below, a chimney over to the southwest at the end of
the shelf. I went over to it without undue hope for I could see a
chockblock halfway to the top. The rest took care and one had to look
for the holds, but by bracing against both walls, the ascent was safe.
At the end of this chimney, I was on top, a narrow plateau covered with
sparse grass and low brush. I marked the crucial chimney with a small
cairn and built another at the highest point. The widest part of the top
isn't much more than 50 yards across and one can walk about 200 yards to
cover the length. Success in getting to the top was doubly sweet since I
felt more pessimism in going up Newberry than in anything else that I
could do. It takes about 40 minutes to get from the talus to the top.

After lunch and some reading of Time magazine, I decided to go out to
the rims south of Newberry and look at the Colorado River. I intended to
make a sweep of the rim and wind up going down into Vishnu Creek again
for the return upriver to the trail. While looking down to the canyon
east of Newberry, I was impressed by the possibility of making a descent
to the river there. I couldn't see it all, but it looked quite
promising. If I got stopped, I thought that I would still have time to
go either back and down into Vishnu or over to Asbestos before dark. In
going back along the rim of this canyon which can be called Newberry
Creek, I noted a well built cairn. I was the second I had seen that day,
the other being at the top of the knoll below the southwest end of the
butte. Some cairns marked claims and many marked routes down some cliff,
but anybody 's guess is as good as mine concerning cairns built where
there is nothing worth marking. Perhaps they merely showed that a
prospector had turned back at a certain place.

The places one can pass a uniform cliff near the bottom of the Tapeats
and get down into the open bed of Newberry Creek are three that I now
know. I passed by the most convenient from the west since I was not sure
it went on down. I came down the main branch where I had looked for
water in 1958. Again I found some in small rain pools probably left from
three days before, but right below this the bottom dropped out. I had to
follow the ledges to the east until I came to a break at a projecting
point. From the bed I could see how I could have come down more directly
from the west and I also saw a good way from the east. Walking down
Newberry Creek was easy until you came to the Inner Gorge where the
creek drops over a precipice. I had foreseen this and climbed a short
way to the west where a long scree slope led toward a narrow ravine with
a vertical west wall. When the scree gave out, it was touch and go as to
whether I would be able to proceed. In the narrow slot, it was possible
to brace against both walls or find slight holds. When I was only abut
200 feet above the river, the ravine made a sudden bend to the left and
dropped over an impossible fall. Again it was possible to climb over a
small ridge on the right, and great was my relief to see a scree slope
clear to the river.

My original plan had been to cross the river here and go up the slope
where the creek comes down from within the horseshoe of Horseshoe Mesa,
but I had enough suspense for one day. I changed my plan to that of
going downriver to the beach just upstream from where Cottonwood Creek
drops over its last fall. I remembered this from 1957 and knew how to go
up and down into Cottonwood and then climb out of Cottonwood to the same
trail I had come down on Saturday. From a distance, it had looked like a
simple beach walk down from Mile 79.8 to 80.4, but I found that there
was a good deal of climbing up and down. It would have been easier for
me to take to the river and walk when I came to the beaches. I could
have taken that much cold water without pain. It took only two hours for
me to get from the rim of Newberry Creek down to the river and then
six-tenths of a mile along the bank and across to my campsite on the
sand near the mouth of Cottonwood Creek.

At the present low water, the pools between riffles have almost no
current. I timed a bit of driftwood at what I estimated to be five feet
in ten seconds. This works out to be roughly one-third of a mile per
hour. I could travel upriver on the air mattress with care, walking
whenever I came to a good beach.

Climbing from the bed of Cottonwood Creek to the base of the Tapeats to
the west Monday morning was considerably simpler than much that I had
done in the other two days, and I was able to go from my camp to the car
at Grandview Point in five and three-quarter hours including a lunch
stop that took 45 minutes. The day was cool and I came out feeling fine.

I am still interested in climbing Wotan's Throne without a rope, but I
believe the best approach is by way of Unkar Creek. I think it would
require four days from the south rim, one to reach the last water in
Unkar, two to get to the top of Wotan and return. This would also mean
carrying two gallons of water. Maybe I'll give up this idea and go back
to the approach from Cape Royal. If the ropes were placed one day, one
could go over and back the next.

*Horse Trail Canyon and the Little Colorado River Gorge to Cameron
[January 1, 1964 to January 3, 1964]*

For over five years, I have been interested in the Little Colorado River
Gorge. In fact I went by the mouth in 1955. On later treks I went up
Salt Trail Canyon, six and a half miles from the mouth, and I also came
down the Blue Spring Trail, 13 miles from the mouth, and continued down
to the junction with the Colorado River. Last year, with the help of the
river map, I found the Moody, Dam Site, Hopi, and Piute Trails. Going
along the bottom from Mile 16 to Mile 57 at Cameron seemed like the next
project. Sleeping out in cold weather isn't too pleasant, but this
season would make the walking easier because only the spring water below
Mile 21 would be flowing, and most of the mud would be frozen.

Ellery and Maxine Gibson took Roma to Cameron and joined me in the Jeep
for the rest of the trip to Horse Trail Canyon. This is the one just
south of Big Canyon and comes down to the bed from the east. The
approach road leaves Highway 89 just north of the Moenkopi Wash Bridge
and angles northwest. While we were at it, we drove to the end of the
road near the junction of Big Canyon with the Little Colorado River at
Mile 7. The road ends above Mile 9 and we had a fine view of the blue
water in the Redwall trench. I could see where I had reached the top of
the Redwall from the west at Mile 10.5 before I located the Blue Spring
Trail.

I may not know the best approach by car to the head of the Horse Trail.
After talking to an Indian at one hogan, we went on south to the next
one. The people here didn't seem very communicative, but Ellery and I
went on down the shallow valley until we were rather sure we had the
beginning of the trail to the river. We shook hands and he returned to
drive the ladies home.

The first sheer drop came about 80 feet above the top of the Coconino.
After a search, I found some trail work along a ledge to the right. It
led to a ravine where the trail went down by switchbacks to the valley
below. I missed the trail here, but I think it stays to the left of the
bed. The cartographers could have given some indication of the detours
of the trail on such a large scale map. Perhaps they had not covered
this trail personally. There was another abrupt fall about 200 feet
above the river. Here the trail follows a ledge to the left and then
descends in a crack where a block has split away from the cliff. It was
not at once obvious that the trail goes north on a ledge below the fall,
behind a leaning rock, to a minor ravine where the talus takes it down
to the river. From where I had left Ellery to the bottom it took me less
than two hours, and I had spent 15 minutes finding the trail. One who
wants to reach Blue Spring without a rock climb should use this
approach. It reaches the river three miles below the Piute Trail and the
Horse Trail is easier besides.

I expected to be back for water samples from the springs, but I went
downriver to close the gap left between my foray upstream from Blue
Spring and the foot of the Horse Trail. When I had reached Mile 15.5, I
knew I had overlapped my former coverage since the Redwall was
definitely showing from there on, and I also remembered the upstream
view as shown in a picture I had taken on the former occasion. I now had
the map with me and jotted down my time at all the main bends and other
landmarks. My Wednesday evening camp was at Mile 17. I broke through the
ice for water which I treated with Halazone and found mesquite logs for
an all night campfire. Some find the taste of the minerals in this
spring water disagreeable, but when it was ice cold, the flavor didn't
bother me.

There was more open water as I went upriver in the morning, but I had no
trouble finding stepping stones whenever I needed to cross. There were a
few soft places in the mud, but it was mostly frozen. There would be
long stretches of smooth sand, some pebble and boulder bars, and
occasionally real barriers of rockfalls across the entire bed. Some of
the blocks were as big as rooms and boaters would find them a serious
hazard. Most of these barriers would be no more than 100 yards long but
one at Mile 37.5 might be called Hell's Half Mile. With the bed
averaging three times as steep a grade as the bed of the Grand Canyon. A
major flood must form a rapid here more impressive than Lava Falls.
During Thursday and Friday, I walked rather steadily with time out only
for a few pictures and for marking the progress on the map. I found that
I could average about two miles an hour.

After seeing what I thought was the last of the Redwall at Mile 16.8, I
was really surprised to find it showing again about Mile 24 and some was
about 60 feet above the riverbed. In this limestone are two caves, one
only about eight feet deep and below high water. The other was more
spacious, about 20 feet deep with a clean sandy floor and a flat
ceiling. The only surface sign of former occupation was a burnt stick.
It would have been a fine place to camp as a campfire in the wide mouth
would have been cozy. My campsite Thursday night was almost as good, at
Mile 36.8 against the cliff on the south. It was at the top of a grassy
slope 30 feet above the bed, but there was the biggest collection of
driftwood I saw in two days of walking. I was really comfortable behind
the big fire I kept going all night.

The scenery all along the Little Colorado River from its mouth to Mile
31 is terrific. It is somewhat similar to Marble Canyon but is narrower
and has more spires and clefts. The low winter sun didn't reach me in
the bottom until 10:45 in the morning the first day and not until 11:35
the second. The winter full moon is correspondingly higher in the sky,
and the brilliant pale light on the spires was out of this world. The
familiar Grand Canyon colors of the various formations seem to be
progressively obscured by desert varnish as one goes upstream. From Mile
31 on there is a difficulty in separating the formations by their
colors. I had trouble identifying the last of the Supai about Mile 39
because even where there were fresh breaks, the Supai didn't seem very
red and the Coconino didn't seem very light. I haven't been through the
narrows of Zion, but I would guess that the trek through the Little
Colorado River Gorge is at least as interesting. I am surprised that I
have never heard of a predecessor making this trek. (Ben Beamer did -
B.B. in cave.)

On the south side of Hellhole Bend at Mile 36, I saw something new to
me. Rocks the size of basketballs had fallen right in the middle of the
bed which is about 70 yards across. They had buried themselves in the
mud with only a pit and some rock fragments to show what had happened.
About 30 feet from the south wall was the really interesting sight. A
block the size of a VW car was just showing at the bottom of a crater
forming a near circle 15 feet across. The feature that really caught my
eye was the sharp rim of the crater that stood a foot above the
surrounding riverbed. Where else could one find a block weighing several
tons falling several hundred feet into soft clay? It was late afternoon
and the light was so bad that I didn't get a picture. These rockfalls
must have been more recent than the last good flow of the river. Besides
noting that the Redwall goes under about Mile 16, the Supai at Mile 39,
and the Coconino at Mile 49; I was interested in the great thickness of
the Coconino. If I have it identified correctly, it appears about Mile
38 to be 600 feet thick. It had impressed me as being thicker along the
Tanner Trail than farther west, but I was surprised to see its much
greater depth ten miles farther east. The Coconino especially shows the
stresses which formed the monocline. There are great clefts and again
whole pyramids of precariously shattered blocks. Contrasting with these
crushed and faulted stones, directly across the canyon at Mile 41.5 is
the smoothest vertical cliff I can recall having seen. Above a short
talus, the formations coalesce into one shear wall to the full height of
the Plateau. The narrowest part of the whole canyon occurs where the
USGS strung a cable at Mile 46.8. From below I could well believe the
statement that the cable is 700 feet long where the canyon is still 1000
feet deep. The canyon rims drop rapidly to the east, and at the Coconino
Dam Site, Mile 48.7, the Coconino Sandstone forms an inner gorge with
vertical walls about 70 feet high. The width of the bed here is only 35
feet and the foot bridge at the top of this slit is no longer. This
notch would be worth a visit during a major flood.

The bottom of this gorge seems like a world apart and still there were
quite a few deer tracks as well as coyote footprints. There were plenty
of chickadees also. I encountered a live porcupine near the Dam Site and
before that I had found a dead ringtailed cat. There are a few escape
routes that I know from the map and also noted in passing. I had been
down and up the Piute Trail last summer. The Indian Maid Trail to the
east rim at Mile 33.5 looked much easier from below than it had from the
opposite rim last year. The oblique sun showed a promising cleft at the
top. The bottom of the Moody Trail on the other side at the same place
appeared to offer problems and I already knew that the top requires a
rope. (I latter found a way without using a rope.) The Dam Site Trail at
Mile 47.5 seemed worth another try. Possibly there is a cleft at the top
which would obviate the need of a rope. The Sheep Trail at Mile 45 is
the only one which has been worked over and is still good enough for a
man on horseback. (There is a place near the bottom of the Horse Trail
where the retaining wall has fallen and one has to use both hands to get
around a corner.) There were human footprints leading from the Sheep
Trail to the gaging station a half mile upstream. After walking for two
days through this sublime abyss, I was relieved to be nearing
civilization. Wing and Womack, when they were planning their rubber boat
ride down from Blue Spring, had heard rumors of a fall in the upper part
of the gorge. I encountered nothing worse than the broken rock barriers.
Several of these would stop a party with horses but should be no problem
for men on foot. At Mile 40.4, there is another sort of barrier. A pool
of water two or more feet deep crosses from wall to wall. Fortunately,
the ice was strong. Moenkopi Wash was flowing, keeping a stream above
ground for about three miles. I had to wade nine inch deep water one
time when I found myself on the wrong side of the stream. The low walls
of the last five miles would be of interest to a geologit, but I was
quite happy to see the Cameron Bridges and finally reach the car at 4:15 pm.

*	The Moody Trail and Rockfall Crater
[January 11, 1964]*

The Moody Trail is just north of Hellhole Bend. I had forgotten the
exact approach although I had been there just last spring. As it turned
out, I parked the car at the nearest place on the reservation road going
north from the highway just west of the Little Colorado Scenic View. I
stopped the car about two miles from the highway just after I had
crossed a small but rather steep side draw. A deeper draw was just north
of the parked Jeep and a trail goes north along the one the road crosses
and soon meets the other one at their junction. I used this trail for a
short distance and then headed toward the rim in a northeasterly
direction. Before I reached the rim, I met a deeper draw and crossed it,
a waste of time because I found that it was the one I wanted. It comes
out to the rim just south of Hellhole Bend, and the head of the Moody
Trail (as I knew it) starts north from its mouth. I finally climbed down
into the cleft Doug Shough and I had found last year with a piece of
heavy wire hanging down it.

In order to be safer, I fastened two ropes together and tied them to a
solid projecting rock higher up. My half inch rope reached all the way
past the difficult climbing. I used my rope for holds, but there was
footing every two or three feet so there was no need to rappel or to
think about Prusiking back. A good climber could do this with no help,
but there might be some chance taking. When I was below this ravine on
the scree going down to the north, I could see two slots through the
rocks parallel to the one I had descended but higher and farther west.
On the way back, I picked up the cairn marked trail and found that they
mark the real Moody Trail. One goes up as if to enter the western one of
the pair and then switches to the other. At the place to make the
switch, there are some improvements on nature, some stepping stones and
even a bridge made of three parallel juniper logs. I chose to use the
route under the bridge which was about three seconds slower. Someone has
fastened a cable to facilitate things near the top, but I found it just
as easy to negotiate without gripping the cable. One goes under a big
rock that has bridged this cleft right near the top. The entrance to
this slot is marked by two fair-sized cairns. I am a little ashamed that
Doug and I didn't find this route last year. It is about one third of
the way from the top of the rim to the bottom of the ravine that we had
followed out to the drop off.

On the way down I scrambled down the broken Coconino and went over
several minor ridges towards the north. I really had remembered from the
previous week that the best way through the Supai cliffs was farther
north, nearly to the unbroken wall, but I thought I would investigate a
short cut. I started down through the Supai just south of a big ravine.
It was interesting to wriggle under a chockblock in a narrow crack but
very soon I came to an impossible drop. On my way back up to the crack,
I noted some fossil footprints, but they were so imperfect that I didn't
even try for a picture. The largest print was about two inches across
and they seemed to be of a type described by Gilmore.

It was already 11:45 a.m. when I reached the riverbed, so I knew I
wouldn't get to investigate the Indian Maiden Trail going to the
opposite rim. In fact, I ate my lunch as I walked along toward the
rockfall crater. It's not as far around Hellhole Bend as I had thought
and I reached it by 12:30 p.m. I took a number of pictures and
measurements with a tape measure. The crater is over 50 feet from the
south wall, right at the edge of the bed. The block that fell here is
about seven by seven feet and a depth that I would estimate as five
feet. The crater measures 23 feet in diameter and the rim rises about
two feet above the riverbed. The rock is Coconino Sandstone and there is
a fresh scar in that formation just below the limestone. I would
estimate that this scar is at least 800 feet above the riverbed. The
size of the scar would indicate that much of the fall lodged on the
Supai ledges 200 feet from the bottom. The Moody Trail stays up near the
solid cliff on the way to the cleft.

*Hermit Trail and along the Redwall to Hermit Creek
[January 25, 1964]*

Ever since I found that one can come up Hermit Creek and get out on the
top of the Redwall, I had intended to come down the trail and find a way
through the Supai, then follow the edge of the Redwall gorge back south
to where I had been. I was saving this trip for a day when nothing else
would be more attractive, and when snow stopped me from going back to
the rock climbing in the Little Colorado River Gorge, I decided that the
time had come. Brant Gaedge accepted my invitation and came along.

We reached park headquarters before 8:30 a.m. and had a good visit with
Jim Bailey. He gets around. He has been part way down the trail which
comes off the rim near Yunosi Point and goes down to the place where
Beaver Creek cuts down into the Redwall. Allyn and I were on this trail
from Supai to the head of Beaver Canyon. He also gave me another puzzle.
Jim Bailey found a piece of window glass out on the Grand Scenic Divide.
His rather fanciful explanation of this was that someone had thrown a
piece of broken glass off the rim at Bass Camp on a windy day and it had
been blown clear out where he found it.

Brant and I had to walk through fresh snow until we were below the
Coconino, and even down here there was some left in the shade. There was
about a half inch clear down to the top of the Redwall. We had to watch
our footing on the rockslides. Some places tempted us to start down,
especially near Santa Maria Spring, but I figured that the cliffs not
seen well from above would be a real obstacle. We found a good way down
on the south side of the promontory which is south of Lookout Point. A
spur trail is outlined towards the end of this point. The walk down the
south side of this point is simple. Walking along the edge of the
Redwall to the south varied. In a few places one had to be careful, but
mostly it was simple side hill walking with the false sage as the main
obstacle.

I had just remarked to Brant that finding an old prospector's cairn
would be interesting when we saw our first for the day. We had to keep
on until we were above the arm that goes to the east towards Hermit
Basin before we could find direct sunshine. I dropped the lunches and
the canteen here and went on to make sure I had come to the place where
I had climbed the Redwall. I had indicated on the map that I had come up
this east arm of Hermit Creek, but I soon decided that this was wrong. I
continued to the longer arm that points toward Dripping Springs. On the
way I found another cairn and, while I was returning, still another.
Someone in the old days was using this route, probably to reach the
nearest water. Along here I also found one horn from a bighorn ram. It
looked old, and as there was no evidence of any other part of the
skeleton, I assumed that someone had carried it a while before dropping
it here. Although Brant had stayed with the pack and I was afraid he
might be getting impatient, I continued and went down the bed of the
creek until I was sure I was repeating my former route.

When Brant and I were eating, I showed him a tick. I hadn't realized
that they hatched this early.

The return was uneventful. It takes about 75 minutes to go from the
creekbed in the Redwall back to the trail. It took us an even hour to
cover the last one and a half miles up to the rim. We noted that the
fossil footprints where the sign points them out. Most of them are
pretty small and unimpressive, but one set that hasn't weathered out of
the rock are about as large as the ones that I found in Marble Canyon.
The stride may even be a little longer. They are still all covered with
convex pads of rock, so there is no way of comparing them with the one
Sid Dowd and I had measured and recorded.

*Moody and Indian Maid Trails
[February 8, 1964]*

Dan Milton and Don Elston, two of the local astrogeologists, took me up
on my suggestion that they might like to go down the Moody Trail with me
and study the rockfall crater. Fifteen year old Jeff Elston came with
them and three more came with me to inspect the Indian Maid Trail: Jay
Hunt, Allyn Cureton, and Migs Hubbard. The latter is a college student
who studied last year at Grenoble, France and has climbed in the Alps.
His wind and footwork were very good and he seems like a very fine
companion.

We parked at the same place I had left the Jeep on January 11 and needed
30 minutes to reach the head of the Moody Trail. I had the time
estimated almost to the minute, two hours from the car to the bottom of
the Little Colorado River. The geological party walked across the three
pole bridge at the base of the slot in the rim, and on the way back, the
rest of us followed their example. We lost track of the cairns near the
bottom and wasted a few minutes finding the way through. After showing
the map to Milton and Elston to help them locate the rockfall, I went
over it with Hunt and the rest to review the supposed location of the
Indian Maid Trail.

About ten we started up the east slope with the idea of getting back to
the bottom by one since I had promised faithfully to be home by 5:30
p.m. to make our dinner engagement by six. Jay and I led the way up the
draw. He kept to the bed until he came to the steep part and then took
off to the north. I had the idea that it would be healthy not to be
directly below him among the loose rocks and went to the south. (This
guess was born out during the rest of the day. While the rest of us
occasionally dislodged a baseball-sized rock that rolled a few feet and
stopped, Hunt started about six landslides. On the return, I was leading
down a chute about 100 feet below him. He started three rocks the size
of small suitcases that passed me about eight feet away going hard
enough to splinter against a big rock that had offered me a little
protection. I just flattened against the vertical wall and hoped for the
best. He says he worries about my safety when I'm alone, but he
increases the danger for the entire party by dislodging four times as
many rocks as any of the others.) Hunt's route proved better than mine,
but on the way down I learned that I should have moved farther south
still and I would have had the best way of all. When you reach the cliff
at the head of the talus, you should go down into the bed of the wash
but not continue up the main bed to the north against the base of the
cliff. The best way is to follow a minor gully to the north up to a well
built cairn. Here you reach a well consolidated slope with several other
cairns.

These seemed to point toward the main drainage coming down from the
angle east of where the Indian Maid Trail is shown on the map. I had
become convinced that the map is always right, so I insisted that we use
the time to check the slot through which the map shows the trail going.
Hunt voted for the main draw, and I suggested that we split up two by
two for the investigation. He preferred to come with me toward the notch
on the map. This looks worse the closer you approach it. I went ahead
while the others stopped to eat a can of peaches. Overhangs formed by
chockblocks bar the main crack, but I found that one can go up quite a
bit farther east of the main ravine. After doing some hand and toe work
over as much exposure as I like, I waited for Allyn. He passed me and
went on above by a route that I wouldn't attempt, but I found a safe way
to reach his level. I passed him and went up behind a chockblock and
came to a most peculiar bit of climbing. One could put a knee up on a
shelf slightly far away for a good balance. By bracing against the
sloping roof, one could make these moves deliberately. Allyn went up
here ahead of me. He reported three possibilities ahead and went off to
check one to the west. He soon gave up this route and joined me where I
had gone ten yards higher to the east. I came to a place where there
were no good holds and the next part would be done by friction grips.
Allyn passed me and showed how this could go, but 30 feet farther around
a corner he reported that he was stopped. We had also come to the time
limit I had set, or he might have gone up a very narrow chimney between
the two routes we had given up. This would have been safe, but the
vertical split was so narrow, I didn't see how anyone could move at all
in it. Allyn thought that he could just possibly go up here, but our
considered verdict is that no Indian Trail ever reached the rim here.
Jay Hunt and Migs had stayed below watching this operation through
cracks in the vertical rocks.

On the descent, we looked harder at the main draw and wished we had
discarded the map and had spent our time going up where it seemed most
reasonable. You can see that one could reach a place just below the top
cliff with ease. Then we are hoping that around the bend to the left,
there is some sort of climbable notch. What convinced us that the whole
route is no false alarm is that Allyn found pottery fragments on the
part where we had seen several cairns. The geologists had found some of
the same type when we were coming down the Moody Trail, so one of my
questions is answered. The survey crew were not the first to find these
routes. I haven't shown these sherds to the anthropologists yet, but I
can say that they look more weather-beaten than any other pieces I have
seen.

Hunt impressed us when we had gotten back to the bottom by breaking a
thin sheet of ice and sitting down in a foot of water. Allyn took off to
see the rockfall crater for himself. He thought he might be able to
catch us before we reached the car. He ran from the foot of the Moody
Trail to the crater and back in 40 minutes including time for a short
conversation and some pictures. He reached the car four minutes after
Migs and I got there. Hunt had left us to sprint to the car when we were
a few hundred yards away. We changed a flat tire and got back to
Flagstaff in plenty of time.

Next week when I'm on the other side of the Little Colorado River with
the Jeep, I want to find the head of the Indian Maid Trail. If it is
like the others, there should be a cairn at the top. An interesting
question to ask the mappers would concern their basis for putting the
Indian Maid Trail to the rim where they did. Perhaps they found the
bottom and took the word of an Indian for the rest.

*Horse Trail to Blue Springs and the Indian Maid Trail
[February 15, 1964 to February 16, 1964]*

Bob Sehley took two high school students, Geofry Elston and Allen
Sinclair in his truck and Doug Shough drove Michael Hubbard and me in
his. We found a better way to approach the head of Horse Trail. About a
mile northwest of the clay dam that is near the road after you pass the
head of Waterhole Canyon, you turn left on an indistinct track. We
parked just above the place where Horse Trail Canyon becomes
steep-walled. Where the bed starts its steep course, the trail stays to
the left at first then crosses over. This time we found old pottery
which he recognized as common in 1120. This time we got from the car to
the river in one and a half hours and we were able to come up the next
day in less than two. The only part of the trail which is not in
evidence is along the lower part of the valley through the Supai before
you come to the final drop. No one hesitated in passing the place where
the trail construction has fallen. Allen Sinclair didn't pay enough
attention as we walked the ledge below the fall and went under the
leaning rock. He came up last, supposedly under the eye of Bob Schley,
but he went too high and missed the trail. He was able to climb out with
his pack on his back elsewhere, but he delayed the party for 20 minutes.
Mr. Schley had to wait for him and I became worried when we reached the
vicinity of the rim and went back to check.

After walking about two miles downriver, we dropped our packs and
proceeded to Blue Springs. Bob had a lot of trouble with blisters, and
he was glad that I had brought tape. I noted a place where there was a
collection of driftwood on a terrace to the left and on the return we
picked up our packs and walked back to it for camping. At Mile 14.7, we
came to a series of good springs. Around the bend on the same side of
the river (right), there are more small springs down to Mile 14.5. There
were two sand boils which kept black sand in motion. I could poke a
stick down into one of these springs for several feet without
resistance. The entire area is fractured and all these springs may come
from the same vein of water. I would estimate the total flow as greater
than that of Bright Angel Creek. One little spring comes out of a
shallow cave. Bob collected some of the crusted salt which he thought
tasted very much like salt he had found in Paho Cave in Walnut Canyon,
salt which had been carried here and left with the prayer sticks. For
several hundred yards, the Little Colorado River passes through a narrow
trench of the upper Redwall, and we were forced to wade. The water was
not cold although there had been plenty of ice above these springs. Just
beyond the narrows along the right bank were two deposits of travertine,
one old and dry and the other wet and growing.

Bob wasn't interested in the Indian Maid Trail, but Doug drove us,
including Jeff Klston, in the direction of the Moody Trail. We could see
the roads coming down from the highway on the south side of the river.
After we had passed the rocky hills and had passed to the south of the
peculiar knob of rock that looks a bit like an igneous intrusion, we had
to go still farther south. Just north of a high but breached dam, we
started walking west to the rim. We felt pretty smart for our first view
of the canyon showed us the Moody Trail. We were within a hundred yards
of the ravine where we thought the Indian Maid Trail should head.

None of the three or four slots in the rim just west of the bed of the
draw looked inviting and there were no cairns visible along the rim. We
went over and inspected the ravine where the map shows the trail coming
up, but it was worse from above than from below where I had judged it as
impossible. I went back to look harder at the other set of slots and
decided to try the one which is second from west to east. I asked the
boys to stay above. Only about 40 feet down was the hardest place of
all, where I had to slide over a small chockblock and kick under it to
find a step or two. The rest was very steep but there was always a very
acceptable route. Down below in the upper part of the Coconino, the
cliff in the main ravine was impossible but there was a persistent crack
along the east wall. Here also I began finding a sequence of cairns.
Although I was going beyond the time limit I had set, I continued until
the rest of the way to where we had been last Saturday would have been
simple walking. I found a pile of stepping stones in two or three places
and in another there was a juniper log that served as a step.The
students on the rim followed my progress and when they saw me starting
back up, Doug and Migs went after the truck. Jeff Elston built a couple
good cairns at the head of the Indian Maid Trail.

This determination of the trail to go through a slot different from the
one shown on the map proves to me that the cartographers located the
trail from hearsay. They probably asked a Navaho where it went up to the
east rim and were told that it was through a slot to the west of the
main streambed. They jumped to the conclusion that it was through the
big ravine visible from the opposite rim and put it on the map without
checking it out for themselves. It was truly satisfying to find this
most unlikely trail after last week's frustration.

*Navaho Mountain and North Trail
[February 28, 1964 to March 1, 1964]*

This trip over to Navaho Mountain was part of a complicated hiking club
jaunt. Twelve people came to Rainbow Bridge by boat and eleven of them
were to go out by the west trail while an equal number who came by car
would return by boat. The six riding in my car were Jay Hunt, Arvid
Burnam, Allyn Cureton, Joann Turner, Helen May, and I. We arrived at
Navaho Mountain Trading Post about 8:15 on Friday evening and after a
short visit with Mr. Cameron, we headed through the moonlit pasture
towards the Jeep road to the top of the Mountain.

Doctor Hunt and Allyn had been this way before but didn't remember
clearly that we should climb to the top of the ridge above the draw to
the south. I should have known this from the map, but instead we wasted
time trying to follow a trail that petered out in the pasture. The
walking was fine and cool on the road which is surprisingly smooth but
so steep in places that I wondered whether my Jeep station wagon could
make it. The silhouette of the sandstone crags against the moonlit sky
was unforgettable.From a distance, Navaho Mountain seems to be an almost
featureless dome, but when you are on it, you discover benches and
ravines. We reached the area of War God Spring in two and a half hours
from the Trading Post.

We camped by the beginning of a large log lodge, but in the morning I
found that the center of activity is lower to the east. It consists of a
cabin with a rigid pole to support a canvas roof, a sheep corral, and a
leanto like something boy scouts might build. There were patches of snow
covering most of the ground, and in the time I spent looking for a
spring I didn't find it. One part of the snow seemed to have turned to
solid ice, and this may have been the spring. I'll have to ask someone
what this spring is like. I was carrying two quarts of water, more than
the average for the party, and I was rather surprised to find that it
lasted until we were down in Oak Canyon the next afternoon. Allyn
informed us that his thermometer recorded a temperature of 20 degrees on
Saturday morning. I was warm in my down bag except underneath. When I
put a layer of pine needles on the air mattress, I overcame that
problem. The next night in Surprise Valley, I began the night with oak
leaves under my bag. Helen May had much the lightest pack since she was
carrying only a sheet-blanket combination to sleep in. She amazed me by
appearing to sleep fine in what would have left me a frozen corpse. We
kept a fire of large logs burning all night, and I spent some of the
short night trying to warm my feet by the coals.

The road west of War God Spring drops slightly and then goes up a very
steep slope. Here the switchbacks are so abrupt that I hardly see how
even a short military Jeep could turn. Arvid suggested that one go up
one stretch forward and then back up the next. The view is wonderful to
the south from this upper series of switchbacks. The forest is still
ponderosa pine below here, but above, along the less steep climb, you
are in a fir and aspen combination. The summit is more pronounced than I
had believed. There are two aluminum buildings, both locked, and two
towers for shortwave radio. For the last mile above the switchbacks, the
snow had been rather fatiguing, crusted along the road and about nine
inches deep.

There is a mountain register in a rock pile on the very top, placed
there by the Tucson hikers. I recognized some of the names, and I was
surprised to see so many since 1961. Some of the signers had come by
Jeep, and a few had gone down the north side to Rainbow Bridge.

We had come to the summit from the spring in about one and a half hours.
We left the top at 9:50 a.m. and headed northwest. I broke trail through
the knee deep snow. It was tiring, but we soon came to a view towards
the west. We were above Horse Canyon, and it was obvious that we could
have descended here. Hunt thought this was the place, but we convinced
him that his directions were 90 degrees wrong. We turned north and when
we got to a clearing on the rim, we could see Rainbow Bridge and all the
rest of the amazing country in this part of Utah. Several stretches of
Lake Powell contrasted with the prevailing red of the surrounding rocks.
We could see three distinct mountain systems to the northeast. After
consulting the map of Utah, I still can't be sure of the
identifications. I took the nearest to be the Abajo Mountains.There was
a high dome farther north, and then some snow covered peaks quit a lot
farther away. I thought of the La Sals and also the Henrys, but I'll
need help when I get the pictures developed. There was so much haze to
the south that we couldn't see the San Francisco Peaks.

We made faster time when we started down the steep slope to the north.
The snow was still deep, but the only effort needed was to pick
ourselves up after stepping on a smooth snow-covered pole or a rock
slab. Hunt went for several hundred yards without rising from a sitting
position. I preferred staying on my feet, but we made about equal speed.
Some of us had boots that kept out the snow, but snow caked down in my
shoes around the heels, and when we came to a rockslide 2000 feet lower
than the summit, by Allyn's altimeter, we all agreed that it was time
for lunch and a change of socks. We got a good fire going, but the wind
at 8400 feet was still cold. Helen May held us back on the descent as
well as on the ascent, and her small pack was passed around among the
men. Allyn did almost all the guide service on the way down.

After we ate, I suggested that the ridge to the west would lead us clear
down, but after I had gone about halfway to it, I decided that the
ordeal of reaching it wasn't worth the effort. The red slabs were
particularly hard to negotiate covered as they were with three inches of
snow. I saw that the ridge to the east was about as good, and much
nearer to us. I shouted my advice and returned to the group. The walking
down through the junipers with no more snow was ideal, far better than
the party had done 15 months before, when they followed the bed of the
ravine. Cliffs formed on both sides of our ridge, and I was a little
worried that we might not be able to get to the bed on either side of
the ridge at the end. When we were about 300 yards short of the junction
of the arms of Oak Canyon, the west arm being in the red rocks and the
east being light colored sandstone, I led the way down to the east. My
hunch was right. We got down with very little difficulty but saw no
place where we could get down the cliff farther on. We still had to
fight through a few thickets. We soon came to a seep spring that
increased below to quite a little brook. Near the source was a
considerable sheet formed of solid ice. The other three men accepted the
challenge and scooted down this slide and also slide over a five feet of
ice fall below.

Not far below the junction of the two branches, the creek goes down into
a narrow slot. We followed Hunt's suggestion and went over the low ridge
to the east although it would have been shorter for the ones headed for
Rainbow Bridge if we had crossed and had climbed the ridge to the west.
We followed a minor draw where we found a couple cairns north to the
main trail. It was 3:15 p.m. when we reached the trail, about two hours
earlier than the three strong hikers made it in 1962. Hunt agreed that
we had followed a much better route.

It was now too late for Cureton and me to learn much about Oak Canyon,
so we left the others and headed for an early camp next to Nasja Creek.
We had a comfortable night and started on at 7:50 the next morning. We
got to Bald Rock Creek by nine and continued to make good progress. Jim
David and I had followed the road, so when we had the chance, we turned
up the valley just east of Navaho Begay and found the inner trail. There
is more fine scenery here. When we came to a new pipeline road, I led
Cureton to the right. We spent over an hour learning that this is not
the road to the trading post, but we turned around and found a way past
several hogans back to the road. We reached the car just after four and
drove to Rainbow Lodge just in time to welcome the first of the hikers.
Above the upper switchbacks on the south side of the summit, I picked up
a piece of porous rock that looked like pumice. However, the geologists
say that it's sandstone.

*Attempted descent north of Cardenas and a shortcut in the Tanner Trail
[March 21, 1964]*

Doug Shough and I started out shortly after six, but we had to turn back
after driving three miles when the generator burnt out. We took the
Falcon and still got to the Lipan Point parking lot with a quarter hour
to spare. Francois Leydet had said that he might see us off so we waited
until nine before starting down the Tanner Trail.

The snow was deep enough to make the trail hard to find. We followed
deer tracks part of the way because they use short cuts that seem to
avoid the snow. Before we left Lipan Point, we tried to see which would
be the best way to reach the top of the Redwall above Cardenas Bridge.
The ridge is low between Escalante and Cardenas Buttes, but I was afraid
there would be a lot of insecure walking on the north side, so we went
over the higher place between Cardenas and the point farther east.
Fifteen minutes of hard walking got us from the trail to the pass and
about 12 minutes of route finding got us down to the top of the Redwall.
There is a well built cairn about two feet high halfway down the Supai.
Going west along the top of the Redwall was just as awkward as it would
have been to come from west of Cardenas, a route that seems more direct.

I looked at the area below the Redwall west of our descent area. From
above, it appeared that the Tapeats was a continuous cliff, so I decided
to go through that formation to the east directly below the Redwall
descent and just north of the natural bridge. We had gone off the rim of
the Redwall just last spring, but the details were already vague in my
mind. This time I noticed that you go north of the last of the Supai
that tops this promontory and continue past a place where the Redwall
narrows and shows a faulting or slump with the surface lower to the
north. After getting on this slump block, you go off the rim to the east
and soon find a ravine sloping northeast that takes you through the Redwall.

Directly below was an easy way through the Tapeats and from above there
seemed to be a way to get through the great basalt cliff which totals
approximately 500 feet here. I had seen deer droppings on my way through
the Tapeats and I could even make out a deer trail in the lava scree
below. I hoped to go around to the east along a ledge and hit a scree
slope that would lead me through the basalt. The footing along these
slopes was covered with basalt chips and was about as precarious as it
ever gets. This took me around the corner into a ravine containing some
good vegetation, but beyond, there seemed to be no way to continue. I
wondered whether the deer, still common here to judge from droppings,
visit this place to browse and then turn back. At any rate, I had to
turn back. (Doug Shough had decided to leave me at the top of the
Redwall and start back since he was having trouble with a sprained
ankle. It had been injured at a square dance several days earlier and
had seemed all right on Friday.)

After a bit of backtracking, I got to the top of the basalt and then
needed only a few feet of hand and toe climbing to get to the top of the
Tapeats. It was easy to go along the top of the Tapeats to the base of
the Bright Angel Shale cliff and then east to the Tanner Trail. The
basalt scree was interesting. From a distance it seems to be uniform,
but I carried out three small pieces only a few yards apart. Some may
have copper value. Several years ago, Keith Runcorn was interested in
getting samples of the Precambrian lava for paleomagnetic study. At that
time I didn't know how accessible this location on the south side of the
river was from the Tanner Trail.

So far the trip has been mostly frustrating, crossing off a hoped-for
route to the river west of the Tanner Trail. Where the Tanner Trail goes
along below the cliff in the Bright Angel Shale I had noticed an old
trace of a trail going up toward a place in the cliff where the talus
reaches to within 25 feet of the rim above. There is a picture in an old
book (National Geographic, August, 1914, page 118 and also Kolb book of
1914, second picture on back) with the caption, On the Tanner Trail. I
thought it must have been taken just above this shale cliff, but I
couldn't imagine a horse getting down that 25 foot drop. On the former
occasion when I had investigated the switchbacks leading to the low part
of the cliff, I had given up the idea that a trail had ever existed
here. This time I studied the notch in the shale and hoped that there
might be a way up for a man. When I got to the place, I noticed more
deer droppings. There were two possibilities: a chimney climb to the
south or a steep ramp a few yards to the north. It must average 60 or 70
degrees with the horizontal, but the shale leaves many two inch steps
and there are some places to hold for further safety. I had to be
careful, but I got up all right. Above here the walking was very poor
but entirely possible. After I had gone up and to the south for 100
yards, I came to a distinct trail. When I backtracked along it, it led
to the same place I had come up. The last 50 yards are gone because of
the numerous rolling rocks, but I could follow it up to the south until
it connected with the present Tanner Trail about halfway up the Redwall.
I'm satisfied that my conjecture concerning the picture was correct.
They must have built quite a wall to provide footing for a horse down
the 25 vertical feet I had just climbed. The only other explanation of
the trail above and below this place would be that someone had the idea
of doing this but never finished the job. (Later I found the real
answer. Around the corner to the north, there is a very simple scramble
down. Thi was obviously the horse trail.)

I overtook Doug getting a nap at the foot of the steep climb to the rim
and we reached the car by 4:10 p.m. I could still use some more time and
study on the area below the Redwall to the west of the point where I
came through the Redwall by the natural bridge, but I have practically
given up hope of finding a better route to the Unkar ruins than via the
Tanner Trail and along the river from there. (See the log from Cardenas
to Hance Rapids.) The positive discovery of the day was the short cut in
the Tanner Trail. Ticks are thick at this time of the year in some parts
of the canyon but I didn't see a single one in this area. For the first
time I did notice droppings on the Tanner Trail that looked more like
bighorn sheep than deer.

*Along the Redwall rim and down Royal Arch Creek to the beach east of
its mouth
[April 18, 1964 to April 19, 1964]*

Time slips by. I had been looking into Royal Arch Creek beginning in
July of 1958 with further visits in October, 1959 and November 1960. I
had learned that you can go down the long east arm of the creek and on
through the Redwall to see Royal Arch, possibly my most interesting
discovery, or rather rediscovery, in the Park. I had found the way
through the Supai to the top of the Redwall southeast of Apache Point.
But still there was the investigation of the route along the Redwall rim
above the creek on the west and the bench mark shown on the map to the
east of the mouth of Royal Arch Creek. I had seen what I was sure was an
artificial cairn from a half mile away, but I wanted to prove that the
mappers could have gone along the steep talus below the Redwall on the
east side of the creek. (Evans came from Garnet Canyon along this
bench.) I had kept this in mind and still had no realization that it was
three and a half years since my most recent visit to this interesting
amphitheater.

Francois Leydet met me at the Visitor's Center at Grand Canyon Village
and we proceeded to the Park boundary sign on the Topocoba Road. When it
was too late, we discovered that neither of us had a compass, but we hit
the rim in the neighborhood of Point Quetzal and then stayed near the
telephone line. We wobbled a bit after we left the line behind and wound
up looking up at the rim to the west of Apache Point. Colin's cache was
just where we left it almost exactly a year ago and we rather thought we
were the first visitors since then. The sun was not shining steadily,
but Francois figured that he could follow the rim to the vicinity of
Point Quetzal and then head for the drainage we had come up from the
cars. He succeeded in this very neatly while the next day when I had the
advantage of the sun, I managed to get into the wrong valley and had to
walk northwest after I hit the road.

I didn't break any speed records, an hour and three-quarters from the
car to the cache on the saddle out to the point, 35 minutes from there
around the point to the break in the Toroweap and Coconino, over an hour
and a half from there to the Redwall rim above Royal Arch, and an hour
and twenty minutes from there to the place where the Redwall gorge
begins. In another hour I was ready to leave the bed and start
scrambling along the talus to the bench overlooking the river east of
the mouth of the creek. This was at the angle where the blue line comes
down from the east to the letter k in the name Creek. The mile from here
to the bench mark above the river took me another hour.

My memory for the route had faded somewhat, and I couldn't find the
cairn I had built as a guide in getting down the Supai west of Elves
Chasm. However, I think I must have found the same place that took me so
long in 1960. There seems to be options to get through the other ledges,
but the one about two-thirds of the way down the Supai seems to have
only one way down. I used the same crack on the return. Down on the
Redwall rim, the burro trail is just as distinct as it is on the
Esplanade and it requires less detouring and climbing up and down. I was
a little surprised that there was no water in any of the holes where the
bedrock showed in the Redwall ravines. There was a little rainpool near
where I got down into the main arm of the creek and I soon came to the
place that had persuaded me to leave my pack behind on the first trip
for it is a slight hindrance in getting down in a few places. However,
200 yards below this barrier, there's a break in the Redwall to the west
where a burro could come down for a drink at the pools below. On the
return, I used this route to save some distance and found manure part
way down to the creekbed. There were no signs of burros further down,
but I continued to see plenty of bighorn signs down the creek and out on
the broad shelf where the bench mark is.

Not very far down the creek is a shallow cave a little above the bed on
the west. I recognized the same burnt stick and some charcoal that I had
seen before. Even if a flood could reach this cave, I believe the
resulting eddy might deposit wood rather than remove it. I didn't seem
to recall all the slight difficulties in detail. At one place I waded
through a pool that was almost hip deep where before I was able to walk
on rugosities along the east wall at a level lower than the standing
water.On the return I found that I could go up to the west and follow a
ledge to bypass this pool. At another place I found that I could climb
up more directly. I didn't leave the bed quite as soon as I should have
and had the most precarious footing of the day in crossing a clay
exposure. You should be careful to avoid going along the talus
immediately below the main Redwall cliff because this would not only
have worse footing, but you would be too high when you come out facing
the river. The walking took care but it was no worse than heading
Forster Canyon along the Esplanade or in getting around below Great
Thumb Point. For a short distance a definite bighorn trail was
discernible. Views of Royal Arch were hard to obtain and I probably
would have missed it if I had not been looking for it specifically. You
could get a good view from a point northeast of the dropoff below the
arch if there wasn't a fine monument standing in the way. Royal Arch is
rather well hidden from anyone who is not walking the creekbed.

The bench mark itself had impressed me as being at least three and a
half feet high when I was standing on the Redwall rim across the creek
to the west, but when I got to it I found that I could not put my hand
on the top rock. It is at least seven and a half feet high and about a
yard in diameter. I left my pack and canteen by it and went to see the
slump block almost a mile to the east where I had noted evidence that
bighorn can get down. It didn't look as formidable from above as it had
looked from below. I believe a man could get down here with a 30 foot
rope, and there is a good ledge between these drops. The sheep can
surely drop that far safely. However, I don't think that they could get
back up. Bighorn tracks and droppings were all over the place. Along the
top of the Redwall and higher, burro signs were also plentiful. I saw
two burros and heard another bray, but I failed to sight a bighorn.

After a supper of salty soup and sardines, I found that there was very
little water left in the two quart canteen. After sleeping for two and a
half hours, I finished the canteen and then began to feel the need for
more water. Rather than stew about this shortage, I packed up and used
the moonlight part of the way back along the talus to the creekbed. It
took me half again as long as it had by daylight, but after leaving the
bench mark at 11:15 p.m., I got plenty of water at 12:40 a.m. and
figured I had done the right thing in spite of some cactus I grazed
against while walking in the dark. The night was clear and I slept with
no danger of a flash flood. There were a very few mosquitoes at both
sleeping sites and again my down bag was a bit too warm.

On the return up the talus at the break in the Coconino, I was able to
follow more of the trail than ever before, and this time I found an old
shovel. However, I didn't note any fresh trail construction. One more
objective in this area remains for me -- to follow the trail along the
Esplanade south of Royal Arch Creek. If I had someone along to drive the
car from Apache Point to Bass Camp, I believe I could do this in one
long day. (I eventually did this without a car shuttle.)

*Topocoba Trail to Sinyala Fault and Matkatamiba Canyon to Supai along
the Redwall rim
[March 26, 1964 to March 30, 1964]*

The start of this trip was only two days after a heavy snow had occurred
in Flagstaff, 22 inches in fact, and more was predicted. I almost
dropped my plans but I have seen our weather man go wrong before. The
road to Hualapai Hilltop was my chief worry, but as it turned out, there
was only a little snow and mud on the road when I went and none when I
returned. The only hint of bad weather was on Sunday afternoon when an
overcast sky cut off most of the sun, but in the night it cleared.

My first project had been to trace the trail that goes away from the
Topocoba Trail up Havasu Canyon. On the way through Hualapai Canyon, I
got into conversation with a geology graduate student from Stanford. He
had a new temporary map of the Supai Quad including the area containing
the ramifications of Havasu Canyon south of the Topocoba Trail. It is
quite winding and the trail follows the bottom for almost 20 miles
before it comes out west of the main arm. Since this would have used up
two days, I decided to postpone it for another occasion. One concern was
the probability of finding enough water in bedrock pools so soon after
the storm. About a mile and a half up Lee Canyon from the junction with
Rattlesnake Canyon, there is a convenient break in the Supai cliff.
There was evidence that this observation was also made by the Indians
for I found a bit of trail construction. Horse trails led in both
directions from the top of this break. One went down into Putesoi Canyon
where it is still fairly deep and I came out east of Mount Wodo. One
look and I gave up thoughts of climbing this (we climbed it later). It
is for the birds and the hardware experts. There was water in the holes
in Putesoi and the nameless draw north of Wodo. I figured that all
canyons would have accessible water, but I filled my two quart canteen
anyway. In this belief I was quite wrong and I camped at a dry spot
south of the point which forms the south corner of the promontory
bounded by Manakacha Point on the north.

In the morning I followed the horse trail past the rope route. I knew I
could get water in the major canyon where the Apache Trail goes down to
Supai, but this would require quite a detour. In order to avoid this, I
followed a couple shallow canyon beds several hundred yards off the
trail, but there was no water. Just when I had accepted this delay, I
found plenty of shallow pools on the flat rocks northwest of Manakacha
Point. They were too shallow for dipping the canteen, but I tried a
trick I have thought of before, sucking the water into the mouth and
squirting it into the canteen. It works all right, but after you have
gotten the water by that method, you can be sure your friends won't
borrow your canteen. This much carried me through to the spring in the
Sinyala Fault. Just south of Carbonate Canyon, I came to fresh
footprints. Jim Smith, the Stanford graduate student said he had hiked
along here two days before. It's nice to know whose tracks you're
following. He was on a one day trip from the campground and had to turn
back as soon as he got a view of Mount Sinyala.

Speaking of tracks, it seems that there are more bighorn sheep in the
area I covered than there are deer. For a long time I found the old
scat, but farther into the wilds I saw plenty of hoof prints. Still I
made no sightings. Allyn Cureton told me today that last summer when he
was on a speed test, he saw one about 50 yards away when he was at the
south end of the Kaibab Bridge. They may be coming back in spite of the
burros.

The spring in the fault arm of Sinyala Canyon had no more water in it
that Allyn and I had found in late May of 1959. There were three pools
deep enough to dip a canteen but only enough flow to wet the rocks
between the pools. This is a good many vertical feet above the top of
the Redwall, but there seems to be a limey stratum. Another irregularity
of the Supai extending at least north from the Sinyala Fault to the
exposure above the river is a considerable thickness of crossbedded
sandstone. I would guess its depth as around 80 feet. It forms hanging
valleys on either side of the saddle between Matkatamiba Mesa and the
mainland. The tilt of the exposed surfaces is more uniform than that of
the Coconino Sandstone. Another geological difference of this area is
the prevalence of a shallow stratum of deep brown cemented conglomerate
at the top of the Redwall. Similar material shows along the Hance Trail
on the east side of Red Canyon. There is an unusually large amount of
beautiful chert at the top of the Redwall and I noted one piece of this
conglomerate or breccia that had been polished flat. The pieces of chert
were still sharp and of various colors contrasting well with the
chocolate brown of the cement. On Saturday I had no trouble getting up
the fault to the east. When horses use the spring, I believe they come
down from the east. A game trail shows in many places. Near the saddle I
found two horse or burro skeletons. I was sure of the count because two
skulls were only yards apart while the other bones had been spread down
the gully, probably by storm waters. It would be very unlikely for two
to die of natural death so close together. Possibly they were shot in
the early days of the National Park. Only about 50 yards farther on
there is a low wall high enough for a windbreak. Tucked under some of
the rocks is a still legible Maxwell House Coffee can upside down over a
tin cup. Inside this container was a cloth sack that used to hold salt,
all of which had been extracted by small animals. On the ground nearby
is a short chain of iron links, each about two inches long. Who can
explain the very small cache of salt and a purpose for the chain.

During the previous day while I was following the horse trail along the
Esplanade through familiar territory, my feet were sore and the pack
with food for six days was making my shoulders ache. Walking by myself
was lonesome and I was wondering whether I really enjoyed this type of
activity. However, when I topped the rise of Sinyala Fault and looked
down into the Matkatamiba Basin, the old lure of the unknown came back.
It was a different world from the Esplanade above. Early in the morning
you could hardly avoid stepping on the delicate white pasque flowers.
There were some others in bloom also, and the humming birds were getting
busy. I didn't resent the presence of wild burros, the animal that
offers good trails and indicates the availability of water. Sure enough,
about three-fourths of the way from the saddle to the Redwall gorge,
there was some shale exposed in the wash and a seep spring. Some water
was running down the moss, but where it was dripping I counted 20 drops
in ten seconds. I would guess that it is permanent. It took me an hour
to climb from the Sinyala Spring to the saddle and another hour to get
down to the Redwall rim above Matkatamiba. Walking was interrupted by
picture taking, but in another hour and a quarter, I was looking down on
the Colorado River. It struck me again how deep and narrow the inner
gorge is compared to the granite gorge of the tourist area.

The distance from the mouth of Matkatamiba to the slot at Mile 148.5 is
short on the map, but it took me almost an hour. Of course some of the
time was used in going off the burro trail to get pictures from the
brink. The principal project for the entire trip was to determine the
climbing possibilities through the Redwall at Mile 148.5. The very first
place I looked over the edge I could see two places which would stop a
climber. They were far enough down so that there were no bypasses.
Later, I found another higher in the gorge. They are not terribly high,
10, 20, or 30 feet at a fall, but that is enough to cross this one out
as an Indian route. Then I turned my attention to the Supai cliffs to
the south. Aerials had made this look like an attractive route, much
shorter than the way I had come. There are about three bands of
sandstone cliffs, each not very high, which continue around the bay. I
was soon above burro tracks, but I was encouraged to find clear bighorn
hoof marks. By going up on the west and then after passing the first
band going along the ledge to the east, I was able to find breaks in all
three bands. There seemed only one easy way through the middle wall and
I found a rock pile as a step here. It took me an hour to get from the
Redwall to the Esplanade and after eating lunch, I got down in 40
minutes. There was a trickle of water in this bay , but I don't think it
would last through a dry season.

Even with a burro trail to follow, the miles didn't buzz by very
quickly. It took well over an hour to go from the slot at Mile 148.5 to
150 Mile Canyon, a truly impressive sight from across the river. In a
small gully above the Redwall rim about mile 150.7, I was surprised to
find a good little spring. From the clump of trees and the amount of
cans around it, I would regard this as reliable. Burros may foul up some
waterholes, but they also use their hoofs to deepen pools. This one had
enough of a basin to dip a large canteen into and the water was clear.
About the slowest progress of the day was between miles 151 and 152. The
talus is steep to the rim and is a mass of large boulders. You can't see
a burro trail through this chaos, and you have to go up and down to pass
small ravines. As I approached Sinyala Canyon, I could speed up so I
quit worrying about arriving at camp after dark. I was starting into
Sinyala by 5:30 pm and reached the spring by 6:25. Along the way, I
looked into Sinyala for obstructions in the Redwall. I could see at
least one impossible fall. Scratch another route to the river.

Saturday had been so strenuous that when I crawled into the bag I was
tempted to take the Esplanade route to Supai, but if I did that I would
be canceling my second main objective of the trip. I hoped that water
would be just as accessible along the Redwall rim as it had been from
Matkatamiba to Sinyala. There had been rain pools in almost every wash.
Before I got to sleep, I had decided to get an early start and head for
the unknown. A fairly remarkable feature of Sinyala Canyon before you
get down to the Redwall slit is the presence of great blocks of
sandstone in the bed. I believe James says that blocks ranging in size
from small boulders to the proportions of a cathedral roll into the beds
of the wide canyons. I have always felt that he stretched that story a
bit, but a couple blocks in Sinyala Canyon would match a country church.

I found some rain pools in the very early morning when my canteen was
rather full, but after Mile 155, there were no more pools. I was
carrying my two quart canteen (Anything smaller than a gallon should be
regarded as a toy. -- Dan Davis) but I reasoned that it was the equal of
a gallon size during the hot months. After an early lunch at the mouth
of Havasu Creek, I began to worry about the water situation. I finally
got my canteen full again from a pool in the canyon that goes to the
south of Mount Sinyala. To reach the water, I had to climb down some
rather smooth limestone. After this detour, I found some right by the
trail. Another nice discovery along this canyon was a natural bridge or
arch. It is near the top of the Redwall in a fractured zone about
two-thirds of the way from the rim above Havasu Creek to where you can
get across. The dimensions are about 40 feet broad by 25 feet high and
it is obviously the result of a cave collapsing.

It is hard to get a good view of Mooney Falls from the east rim since
the fall is so nearly under another rim. I took a picture while lying on
my stomach for safety. There is a much better view of Havasu Falls.
After the slow passage around the previous side canyon, I was resigned
to a long grind to head Carbonate. I can see why Joe Wampler recommends
just going around and coming back even with Havasu Falls. It took me an
hour to reach the cross over and 40 minutes over the fine trail on the
other side. There were no rain pools at the head of Carbonate where I
had thought of stopping for the night. Instead I walked on to where the
Hualapai and Topocoba Trails join. It was a long day from 5:50 a.m. to
7:30 p.m. My rations weren't agreeing with me perfectly, and I had some
things to do at home, so I walked out Monday instead of checking the
trail to the rim from Beaver Canyon. It was a fine trip through, cool
and no ants or flies at the campsites. I did have to duck my head away
from about one mosquito, and I saw two ticks in five day.

*North between Escalante and Cardenas Buttes, down the Redwall between
Twin Promontories, and to the Colorado River down Escalante Creek
[May 2, 1964]*

Years ago Marston had given me the idea that there should be an Indian
trail to the Unkar area more direct than the Tanner Trail. I figured
that I had found it when I located the way through the Redwall and
Tapeats in the neighborhood of Cardenas Bridge on the east side of the
promontory that goes north below Cardenas Butte. However, the basalt
below the Tapeats practically cuts this possibility out. The footing
along the base of the Tapeats to the north and east would make travel
slow and going east requires a return to the top of the Tapeats and the
use of the Tanner Trail. On the present occasion, I intended to go
through the Tapeats and then north along the top of the basalt or else
in the same direction along the base of the Redwall until I can get down
the Tapeats and basalt.

I left the car and jogged down the Tanner Trail since the day was cool
and invigorating. I was carrying a full gallon of water with the
possibility in mind that I wouldn't reach the river before dark. This
time I left the Tanner Trail and went over the low ridge between
Escalante and Cardenas Buttes. It was much more direct than the route
Doug Shough and I had used earlier this spring. The Supai directly north
of the pass presented a problem. I was investigating a barely possible
climb down when I found a potsherd. I gave up this first chance and
followed a ledge and a faint deer trail to the northeast to the next
angle directly west of the summit of Cardenas. Here it was easy to walk
down to the top of the Redwall although I found no cairns as Doug and I
had along the other route. When I was passing the west offshoot of the
bridge promontory, I noted a gently sloping valley down the Redwall
between the twin promontories. I thought there must be a hidden dropoff
at the bottom, but I figured that I had plenty of time and this area
deserved some investigation. If it went through, I would be an hour
ahead of schedule, and if I had to come back up, I would be a half hour
behind. Within a few minutes I could see that it was an amazingly simple
walk-down, not even any loose rocks to avoid. I found the shale below
much more of an obstacle. At first I started to the west along the rim
of the Tapeats. There was no easy walking here as the shale slope came
right to the brink. Here the basalt and Tapeats cliffs were continuous
and I could see no improvement towards the west. There was one place
around the bend to the east and north that seemed worth inspecting.
Getting there along the steep and crumbling shale was precarious and a
close look was needed before I found the safe way down. The top 15 feet
were the hardest, but I found a crack with hand and foot holds. It also
took some looking to find the way down the basalt cliffs, but it was
there, north and down and then back to the south to the top of a long
talus leading t the bed of the drainage without a name that goes to the
river downstream from Unkar Rapids. I crossed the red shale hills of
this valley and went up to a break in the spine of Tapeats that
separated this basin from Escalante Creek. Near the base of the Tapeats,
I saw my first rattlesnake in over a year. It was small and sluggish
from the cold and failed to rattle until I disturbed it. On my previous
trip across this country, I had given the cliffs near the lower end of
Escalante Creek one look and then headed for the ridge leading to 75
Mile Creek. Since I was still ahead of schedule, I thought I would take
a chance and do some more scouting for routes. The west arm of the creek
led down to a fall but now I had deer tracks to guide me up and around
to the west. The bypass was both easy and not long. I was soon down by
the river, and if I had wanted to use my air mattress, I could have been
to the river party at Hance Rapids in short order. In order to avoid
catching a worse cold, I followed the route I already knew, along the
rising ramp from the mouth of Escalante to the cliff above 75 Mile, back
along the rim of 75 Mile until I could get into the bed, and back to the
river through the impressively narrow gorge. There was a distinct deer
trail from Escalante over to the bed of 75 Mile Creek, and in the narrow
canyon leading to the river, I found some stones piled below a short
fall indicating that a poor climber had come up this way. I walked the
bank to the Reilly-Litton Camp at Hance Creek, using the mattress for
100 feet around a point.

*	My broken wrist and the Little Colorado River
[May, 1964]*

I had two college students with me, Jim Griffin and another. We were
still trying to locate the Dam Site Trail. My interpretation of the
Little Colorado River Map made me think that it went down from the
jumping off place of a deep draw. We got down the bed and then followed
the bench away from the high fall. We could go down for about 15 more
minutes, but then we seemed to be baffled by cliffs. I made a foolishly
long step up to a shelf beneath a rock ceiling. My Kelty caught on the
edge of the roof and threw me off balance. I fell backwards on the slope
that went to the big precipice about 15 or 20 feet downhill. My reflex
action was to throw out my arms to keep from rolling downhill.
Unfortunately, my left hand caught between two rocks. When my body
weight came down, it broke my wrist into a double right angle. I knew it
hurt, but when I looked at my left hand in that very unnatural shape, I
felt quite a bit of shock. It took me about 15 minutes before I felt
like getting up and making a sling out of my shirt for the bad arm.

With a lot of care to move slowly, I got out of that area using the good
arm for climbing where I had used both hands on the way down. I had to
walk about 40 minutes after the accident to reach the car and then Jim
Griffin drove me to the emergency room at the hospital. Roma came from
home when she got the message, and then we had to wait for a doctor for
about 45 minutes. I was in a lot more pain from that injury than when I
broke my heels, but the wrist recovered much faster. It was stiff long
after I was able to use it. In fact, I believe I could tell which wrist
had been broken for almost a year, but I was limping with the bad heels
for several months.

*	Salt Trail Canyon with a broken arm
[June, 1964]*

I had told the editor of Arizona Highways, Raymond Carlson, that I was
willing to guide a professional writer and photographer down the Salt
Trail to the bed of the lower gorge of the Little Colorado River. He set
up a date with Jo Jeffers and Wayne Davis to meet me and have me drive
then to Salt Trail Canyon.

When the day came, my broken wrist had only 11 days to start mending and
I was carrying my left arm in a sling. It would hurt like sin as well as
possibly setting back the recovery if I were to fall with my arm in the
sling, but I went anyway. The plan was for Davis and his 20 year old
assistant to stay down at the bottom overnight while Jo Jeffers, her
husband, and I would get to the bottom and then come out the same day.

In spite of my very cautious progress, the college boy and I found
ourselves getting ahead of the other three. We had to stop and wait a
couple times. On the third delay, we waited so long that we turned
around and went up. We found that the other three had just come to a
decision not to go any further toward the bottom. This was down in the
Supai, about two-fifths of the way to the bottom. Carlson then asked me
to do the article on the lower gorge of the Little Colorado which
finally appeared in the September, 1965 issue of Arizona Highways.

*	Dam Site Trail, Dam Site, and Sheep Trail
[July 12, 1964]*

Jack Ryan, Duane Naff, and Geoffrey Elston went with me to see how
difficult the Dam Site Trail is. We had found the top two weeks ago when
my arm was much too weak to allow me to use it in the descent. This
trailhead is located at a fault that doesn't connect with any drainage
to speak of. It is about a fifth of the way down from the top of the
plateau to the west down to the bed of the wash to the east. The top 20
feet can be done without a rope, but it is a harder, more exposed climb
than any of the other trails into the Little Colorado River Gorge, or so
it seemed with my left hand not normal yet. I took off the pack and
canteen and handed then to Geoff who seemed to be about the quickest
climber in the group. About 30 yards lower there is a place where the
route is obscure, but a piece of cable gives some guidance. The rest is
straight forward talus, but one has to be careful not to roll rocks on
those below. The water wasn't running but there was enough standing in
pools so that a hike through would have been quite feasible. The footing
was just as good as it had been last January, and in the forenoon it
wasn't too hot, especially in the shade.

I stepped off the width of the Dam Site natural gate and this time I
came up with the estimate that it is only 27 feet wide and our combined
opinion would say it is over twice that in height, say about 70 feet.

About 300 yards to the east, we went up to the north. We saw a place
where a rod was placed in the rock with a heavy wire fastened to it.
Probably there had been a ladder here, but we were able to get up
without it, but again this was rather hard for me. We saw a lot more
ladders and signs of the work here than we had noted before from the rim
on the south side. It seemed to us that the engineers had gone wild with
the idea that they should make everything easy and fun. A bridge higher
on the south side made it possible to go along a higher ledge to the
east, and I suppose one could climb to the north rim in that direction.
A ladder to the north in the vicinity of the foot bridge across the
inner gorge seemed to connect with the north rim there, and a trail led
west to a break in the cliff.

On the south side was the most spectacular ladder of all. It is 60 or 70
feet long and leads up to the under side of a natural bridge. Another
short ladder goes on to the rim. Inspecting this natural bridge from the
south side would make an interesting short walk. The foot bridge across
the inner gorge didn't look too sound to us. The timbers may be rotten.
(We did this another time and went up the ladder and through the natural
bridge.) Cables on either side seemed strong, but they wouldn't give the
bridge any support until the bridge had fallen about eight inches at the
center. We were headed for the north rim if possible so we decided not
to attempt a crossing of the bridge.

There seemed to be a good chance to get up to the rim if we went
west.This worked out all right. In two places there were climbs that
were about as hard as I could negotiate. A pile of rocks built up for a
step showed us that we were not the first to try this. A bit west of
where we came up was an empty hogan which provided shade for our lunch stop.

On the way to the top of the Sheep Trail, we looked at the cable
crossing, and once again I thought that the engineers did a few things
for kicks. I believe it would be just as easy to drive to the head of
the Sheep Trail as to come to the south end of the cable and cross by
hand car. The Sheep Trail is still in fine shape and we got to the
bottom in short order. We got a gallon of water which we doped with
Halazone and then I took a dip in a hole. The water was only abut 30
feet across, but the center was too deep for me to touch bottom. The
hike back was warm but we got up the Dam Site Trail in less than 30
minutes and reached the car before 4:00 p.m.

*Volume 2 <47690.htm>*