20 EXPLORATION OF THE CANONS OF THE COLORADO. 
are seen in the distance, to the west; the plains of the tipper Green stretch 
out before us, to the north, until they are lost in the blue heavens; but half 
of the river cleft range intervenes, and the river itself is at our feet. 
This half range, beyond the river, is composed of long ridges, nearly 
parallel with the valley. On the farther ridge, to the north, four creeks 
have their sources. These cut through the intervening ridges, one of which 
is much higher than that on which they head, by canon gorges; then they 
run, with gentle curves, across the valley, their banks set with willows, box- 
elders, and cottonwood groves. 
To the east, we look up the valley of the Vermilion, through which Fre*- 
mont found his path on his way to the great parks of Colorado. 
The reading of the barometer taken, we start down in company, and 
reach camp tired and hungry, which does not abate one bit our enthusiasm, 
as we tell of the day's work, with its glory of landscape. 
June 6. At daybreak, I am awakened by a chorus of birds. It seems 
as if all the feathered songsters of the region have come to the old tree. 
Several species of warblers, woodpeckers, and flickers above, meadow-larks 
in the grass, and wild geese in the river. I recline on my elbow, and watch 
a lark near by, and then awaken my bed fellow, to listen to my Jenny Lind. 
A morning concert for me; none of your "matinees" 
Our cook has been an ox-driver, or " bull- whacker," on the plains, in 
one of those long trains now no longer seen, and he hasn't forgotten his old 
ways. In the midst of the concert, his voice breaks in: "Roll out! roll out! 
bulls in the corral! chain up the gaps! Eoll out! roll out! roll out!" And 
this is our breakfast bell. 
To-day we pass through the park, and camp at the head of another 
canon. 
June 1. To day, two or three of us climb to the summit of the cliff, 
on the left, and find its altitude, above camp, to be 2,086 feet. The rocks 
are split with fissures, deep and narrow, sometimes a hundred feet, or more, 
to the bottom. Lofty pines find root in the fissures that are filled with 
loose earth and decayed vegetation. On a rock we find a pool of clear, 
cold water, caught from yesterday evening's shower. After a good drink, 
we walk out to the brink of the canon, and look down to the water 
