can look away up either of these canyons, through an ascending vista, to
cliffs and crags and towers a mile back and 2,000 feet overhead. To the
right a dozen gleaming cascades are seen. Pines and firs stand on the
rocks and aspens overhang the brooks. The rocks below are red and brown,
set in deep shadows, but above they are buff and vermilion and stand in
the sunshine. The light above, made more brilliant by the bright-tinted
rocks, and the shadows below, more gloomy by reason of the somber hues
of the brown walls, increase the apparent depths of the canyons, and it
seems a long way up to the world of sunshine and open sky, and a long
way down to the bottom of the canyon glooms. Never before have I
received such an impression of the vast heights of these canyon walls,
not even at the Cliff of the Harp, where the very heavens seemed to rest
on their summits. We sit on some overhanging rocks and enjoy the scene
for a time, listening to the music of the falling waters away up the
canyon. We name this Rippling Brook.

Late in the afternoon we make a short run to the mouth of another little
creek, coming down from the left into an alcove filled with luxuriant
vegetation. Here camp is made, with a group of cedars on one side and a
dense mass of box-elders and dead willows on the other.

I go up to explore the alcove. While away a whirlwind comes and scatters
the fire among the dead willows and cedar-spray, and soon there is a
conflagration. The men rush for the boats, leaving all they cannot
readily seize at the moment, and even then they have their clothing
burned and hair singed, and Bradley has his ears scorched. The cook
fills his arms with the mess-kit, and jumping into a boat, stumbles and
falls, and away go our cooking utensils into the river. Our plates are
gone; our spoons are gone; our knives and forks are gone. "Water catch
'em; h-e-a-p catch 'em."