206 



AMERICAN FORESTRY 



state. These mules are really possessed of an unusual 

 degree of intelligence. Without dwelling at length in 

 the usual established way upon the subject of these long- 

 suffering beasts, it is only fair to say that while their 

 appearance is not enticing, before the trip is over, for one 

 reason or another, their riders invariably clasp them 

 around the neck several times with an impassioned hug. 

 The trail from the rim down to the camp on the pla- 

 teau of the Granite Gorge, if taken leisurely, will prove to 



LOOKING EAST FROM HOPI POINT 



The Major Powell monument on the rim of the cliff may be seen to possess some of the inconspicuous- 

 ness which was striven for. The materials are the country sandstone, which fact helps to make the 

 structure blend into the landscape. The location selected commands a superb view and is yet not 

 prominent in the general surroundings. The monument was designed by the author, Mark Daniels, 

 former Superintendent of National Parks. 



be a succession of astounding pictures which may be 

 enjoyed with few distractions, and will bring you to the 

 camp in time to admit of a bath before dinner. The 

 plunge is a luxury seldom anticipated but always 

 appreciated. About 400 yards below the camp there 

 is a pool hollowed out of the sandstone, through which 

 the small stream runs. The sides of the pool are smooth 

 and clean and the bottom is sandy. Never was cool water 

 more welcome to tender, burning feet than the crystal- 

 clear water of this little pool. The spot, too, is in the 

 shady depths of a tributary canyon, and screened from 

 the outside world by towering walls of stone. The luxury 

 of it relegates enameled tubs and crash towels to the 

 realm of darker ages. When the stars come out and the 

 moon ri^o. the place takes on the aspect of a fairy land, 

 weird beyond the dreams of childhood. The next morn- 

 ing begins the dangerous and terrifying part of the trip 

 ig the rim of the Granite Gorge. The sun comes out 



and the increasing heat brings back, with each step, a 

 deeper longing for a return of the cool shades of the 

 night before. If the heat is not disagreeable, the reck- 

 less way in which the mule steers you around sharp 

 curves, with swinging rudder hanging over cliffs of 

 dizzy heights, is apt to prove very much so. The trail 

 is none too smooth, and this, coupled with the fact that 

 it frequently runs within a few feet of the cliff, is well 

 calculated to confine attention to that portion of the 

 landscape which is within strik- 

 ing distance. But to one who is 

 accustomed to mountain trails, 

 the scenery is superb. Views up 

 and down the canyon are to be 

 had at every projecting point, 

 with here and there a glimpse 

 of the river below. If a day 

 spent on this trail, with the river 

 over a thousand feet below, and 

 the rim over three thousand feet 

 above, will not jar one's mind 

 back into a normal sense of the 

 relative importance of things, 

 probably nothing will. Mr. Irvin 

 S. Cobb's retort to a certain gen- 

 tleman of San Francisco about 

 expresses the effect such a trip 

 has upon most people. 



Mr. Cobb, so the story goes, 

 was in conversation with this 

 gentleman when it came out that 

 Mr. Cobb had just arrived from 

 a sojourn at the Grand Canyon. 

 In order to leave no doubt in the 

 minds of those present of his 

 own descriptive ability, and to 

 prove that at least two of those 

 present could wield the king's 

 English with eloquence, the gen- 

 tleman in question began a 

 lengthy and glowing description 

 of the canyon. After introducing 

 all of the superlatives at his command, he wound up by 

 asking Mr. Cobb if that great yawning chasm, with its 

 unfathomable depths, its towering bastioned walls, 

 et cetera, didn't make him, Mr. Cobb, feel small as he 

 stood upon its noble brink. Mr. Cobb hesitated a moment, 

 and said in his drawling way, "It sure did. In fact, when 

 I got back to my room, I had to climb upon the bureau to 

 shave." 



No conscientious or honest description of the Grand 

 Canyon is complete without a note or two on that genus, 

 homo touristii, which does its traveling "en costume." 

 Whether this particular variety of the species carries a 

 complete outfit for each stopping place or not cannot 

 be stated, but that the same one will bob up in a different 

 costume in several different places in the same season 

 I can testify. It is not uncommon to see one solemnly 

 stalking the terrace of the hotel on the brink of the can- 

 yon fully arrayed in the accepted theoretical version of a 



