We found ourselves on top of an irregular plateau of solid rock, with no earth or vegetation save a few little bushes and some very small cedars in cracks in the rocks.  Branching canyons, three or four hundred feet in depth, and great fissures ran down in this rock at intervals.  Some were dark and crooked, and the bottom could not be seen.  Between these cracks, the rock rounded like elephants backs sloping steeply on either side.  Some could be crossed, some could not.  Others resembled a “maze,” the puzzle being how to get from one point to another a few away.  The rock was a sandstone and presented a rough surface affording a good hold, so there was little danger of slipping.  We usually sat down and “inched” way to the edge of the cracks, jumping across to little ledges when possible, always helping each other.

The rock at the very edge of the main canyon overhung, in places 75 to 100 feet, and the great mass of gigantic boulders—­sections of shattered cliffs—­on the steep slope near the river gave evidence of a continual breaking away of these immense rocks.

To the north, across the canyon up which we had climbed, were a great number of smooth formations, from one hundred to four hundred feet high, rounded on top in domes, reminding one of Bagdad and tales from the Arabian Nights.  “The Land of Standing Rocks,” the Utes call it.  The rock on which we stood was light gray or nearly white; the river walls at the base for a thousand feet above the river were dark red or chocolate-brown; while the tops of the formations above this level were a beautiful light red tint.

But there were other wonders.  On the south side of the Colorado’s gorge, miles away, were great spires, pointing heavenward, singly and in groups, looking like a city of churches.  Beyond the spires were the Blue Mountains, to the east the hazy LaSalle range, and nearest of all on the west just north of the Colorado lay the snow-covered peaks of the Henry Mountains.  Directly below us was the Colorado River, muddy, swirllng, and forbidding.  A mile away boomed a rapid, beyond that was another, then the river was lost to view.

Standing on the brink of all this desolation, it is small wonder if we recalled the accounts of the disasters which had overtaken so many others in the canyon below us.  Many who had escaped the water had climbed out on to this death trap, as it had proven to be for them, some to perish of thirst and starvation, a few to stagger into the ranch below the canyon, a week or more after they had escaped from the water.  Small wonder that some of these had lost their reason.  We could only conjecture at the fate of the party whose wrecked boat had been found by the Stone expedition, a few miles below this place, with their tracks still fresh in the sand.  No trace of them was ever found.

For the first time it began to dawn on us that we might have tackled a job beyond our power to complete.  Most of the parties which had safely completed the trip were composed of several men, adding much to the safety of the expedition, as a whole.  Others had boats much lighter than ours, a great help in many respects.  Speaking for myself, I was just a little faint-hearted, and not a little overawed as we prepared to return to the boats.