SPLIT MOUNTAIN CA$X)N. 39 
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 
Canon, a deep gorge, with a river in 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 is 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 mel 
low, perspective haze, through which snow fields shine. 
June 25. This morning, we enter Split Mountain Canon, 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 mouth of 
a great cave. 
The cave is at the foot of one of these rapids, and the waves dash in 
nearly to its very end. We can pass along a little shelf at the side until 
we reach the back part. Swallows have built their nests in the ceiling, and 
they wheel in, chattering and scolding at our intrusion ; but their clamor is 
almost drowned by the noise of the waters. Looking out of the cave, we 
