park is below us, its island groves reflected by the deep, quiet waters.
Rich meadows stretch out on either hand to the verge of a sloping plain
that comes down from the distant mountains. These plains are of almost
naked rock, in strange contrast to the meadows,--blue and lilac colored
rocks, buff and pink, vermilion and brown, and all these colors clear
and bright. A dozen little creeks, dry the greater part of the year, run
down through the half circle of exposed formations, radiating from the
island center to the rim of the basin. Each creek has its system of
side streams and each side stream has its system of laterals, and again
these are divided; so that this outstretched slope of rock is
elaborately embossed. Beds of different-colored formations run in
parallel bands on either side. The perspective, modified by the
undulations, gives the bands a waved appearance, and the high colors
gleam in the midday sun with the luster of satin. We are tempted to call
this Rainbow Park. Away beyond these beds are the Uinta and Wasatch
mountains with their pine forests and snow fields and naked peaks. Now
we turn to the right and look up Whirlpool Canyon, a deep gorge with a
river at the bottom--a gloomy chasm, where mad waves roar; but at this
distance and altitude the river is but a rippling brook, and the chasm a
narrow cleft. The top of the mountain on which we stand is a broad,
grassy table, and a herd of deer are feeding in the distance. Walking
over to the southeast, we look down into the valley of White River, and
beyond that see the far-distant Rocky Mountains, in mellow, perspective
haze, through which snow fields shine.

_June 25.--_This morning we enter Split Mountain Canyon, sailing in
through a broad, flaring, brilliant gateway. We run two or three rapids,
after they have been carefully examined. Then we have a series of six or
eight, over which we are compelled to pass by letting the boats down
with lines. This occupies the entire day, and we camp at night at the