The Canyon Rim. There are several rather remarkable and surprising points of difference between the Canyon on the rim, and the Canyon in its depths. Above, the whole Canyon region, save during the rainy season, is waterless, and while not barren, owing to the growths made possible by winters' snows and summers' rains, it is a veritable desert as far as water, whether in streams, creeks, rivulets or springs, is concerned.
Drainage of the Canyon. On both sides of the Canyon, all the surface water of the rains drains away from the Canyon for miles, and not until it has flowed, perhaps from within a few feet of the edge of the abyss itself, from twenty to a hundred miles, does it empty into the drainage channels which, burrowing down into the earth, reconvey the water back, by circuitous routes, into the depths of the Canyon, there to add to the flow of the Colorado.
Rain at El Tovar. Take rain that falls, for instance, at El Tovar itself, within sight of the Canyon. After a heavy storm, the visitor may see it dashing down the Bright Angel Wash (up which the railway runs) to Bass Station, where it turns and enters the narrower section of the Wash. It flows in a general southwesterly direction, and enters the Coconino Wash, which discharges into the open plain, once the bed of the great inland Eocene Sea. Here it disappears.
An Underground Stream. In this plain are some breaks in the rocky bed, which allow the water to flow down to join the underground current of the Havasu (or Cataract) Creek, which runs on the northern slope of Bill Williams Mountain. This underground stream (as explained in the chapter on Havasu Canyon) emerges at the head of the village of the Havasupai Indians, in a thousand springs, and then flows on, over several precipices, to the lower levels, thus making the exquisite waterfalls that have rendered this Canyon world-famous. It finally reaches the Colorado some fifteen miles away, where its clear blue waters are soon lost in the muddy flood of the "Red."
Water in the Canyon. After one has ridden in the hot summer sun over this waterless region, and seen the waterwagons of the miners and sheep men, and the great train of water-tanks being hauled for the guests at El Tovar, it is a surprise and a wonder to find below, in the heart of this rocky-walled Canyon, a mighty river dashing its headlong way to the west. Many a time, after a week of riding horseback on the plateau above, until every particle of moisture seemed to have evaporated from my body, have I gone down the trail to the river and camped there, enjoying a swim several times a day, and rowing up and down one of the quiet stretches, between the rapids, where boating is not only possible but reasonably safe. In the Bright Angel and the Shinumo on the north side, and the Havasu on the south side, one may swim, or at least soak and paddle, in cooling waters, where waving willows, giant sycamores, and green cottonwoods sway above the streams, and rich verdure of great variety lines their banks. What a wonderful contrast,--above and below!
Difference between the Rim and the River. Another remarkable difference, or surprise, is found when one leaves the rim above, where the weather is lovely and there is not a sign of rain, and go below to the river, which gives evidence of a great rise. How can the river rise without rain? Yet it seems to, and one almost doubts the evidence of his own senses.
Experience on the River. Engineer Stanton tells of an experience as his party went through the river: "About 2:30 P. M. we heard a deep, loud roar, and saw the breakers ahead in white foam. With a great effort we stopped upon a pile of broken rock that had rolled into the river. When we went ahead to look, much to our surprise, the whole terrible rapid that we had expected to see had disappeared, and there was only a rushing current in its stead. While we stood wondering, there rose right at our feet those same great waves, twelve to fifteen feet in height and from one hundred to one hundred and fifty feet long across the river, rolling down stream like great sea waves, and breaking in white foam with terrible noise. We watched and wondered and at last concluded that this was the forefront of a vast body of water rolling down this narrow trough from some great cloud-burst above. (We learned afterwards that there had been such a cloud-burst on the head-waters of the Little Colorado.) Believing that discretion was the better part of valor, we camped right there on that pile of rocks, fearing that, although our boats would ride the waves in safety, we might be caught in one of these rolls just at the head of a rapid, and, unable to stop, be carried over the rapid with the additional force of the rushing breakers."
High and Low Water. The piles of driftwood found on the rocks in the Canyon reveal a difference of upwards of two hundred feet between high and low water. This, however, does not refer to the general condition of high water, but to exceptional cases. As, for instance, I myself once saw a mass of rock, the whole face of the cliff, containing doubtless millions of tons, fall into the trough of the stream. The whole course was at once dammed up, and the river rose sixty feet in one hour before the principal mass of rock was made topheavy by the power of the flood. Then it rolled over with the force of the millions of tons of water behind it, and crumbled as it rolled. The mighty wave dashed on, carrying everything before it. In less than another hour the rock mass had disappeared, and the water had resumed its normal level. A rise of fifty to seventy feet is not so very unusual in the heart of the gorge, where it is narrow and the waters would necessarily pile up. To see such a rise, without any evidence of a rain above, is a wonderful experience that one occasionally enjoys.
Snow on the Rim. Another remarkable contrast is observed by winter tourists. On the rim at El Tovar, Grand View, or Bass Camp snow may fall during December, January and February, and sometimes in March, though it quickly disappears. This is not surprising when one considers the high altitudes. The weather is then sometimes quite frigid, but it is a dry cold which rapidly yields to the warm midday sun. Do not imagine from this general statement that winter, as we know it in the East, is the usual thing at the Canyon. Quite the reverse. There are more sunshiny, warm, windless, stormless and no-snow days than otherwise, taking one year with another. Real winter weather often stays away until well into January. Some years it is a negligible quantity. At no time need it be feared by the traveller.
Trails in Winter. The trails for half a mile, or even a mile, down into the Canyon, during a part of the winter, are sometimes covered with light snow. As soon as the snow line is passed, the climate begins to change. The cold is less penetrating, and by and by one enters what might be called a temperate zone. Warmer and more comfortable it becomes, until, on reaching the river, the word "delicious" alone conveys the rich sense of satisfaction that one feels all over the body in the delightful sensation experienced. No time is so agreeable for a long stay in the depths of the Canyon as in the heart of winter. A semi-tropical climate below, while above, within three hours easy ride, a snowy winter may be reigning supreme!
Winter in the Canyon. Robert Brewster Stanton, who made his successful trip through the Canyon in wintertime, comments on this as follows: "It has been the fortune of but few to travel along the bottom of the great chasm for a whole winter, while around you bloom the sweet flowers, and southern birds sing on almost every bush, and at the same time far above, among the upper cliffs, rage and roar, like demons in the air, the grandest and most terrific storms of wind and snow and sleet that I have ever witnessed, even above the clouds among the summit peaks of the Rocky Mountains."
Change in the Flora. This climatic diversity above and below is noticeable all through the year to the man or woman of sharp eyes, in the difference of the flowers, the shrubs, and the trees. Above are the pines, the cedars, and junipers of the cooler climes. The further down one goes, the greater the change becomes. The pines drop out, then the cedars and junipers, and when one reaches the patches of growth in the lowest depths, the agave, and other plants and flowers that we find only in semi-tropical climates here grow profusely.
Indian Garden. Another difference between the "above" and the "below" is found in the fact that a garden is almost unknown on the rim, and that there are many down below. On the Bright Angel Trail is the Indian Garden, where, for many years, the Havasupais used to cultivate their corn, beans, onions and melons. Along the Shinumo, on the north side, Mr. Bass has a garden where all these things grow; where peaches, plums, grapes, and apricots have thriven abundantly, and where now he is planting figs, lemons, oranges and grape-fruit. The Havasupais, in the depths of their Canyon, grow the finest, largest and most tender corn in the world, peaches and figs galore, and all the ordinary vegetables. Boucher also has fruit and vegetables on the level near the river, on his trail. At Lee's Ferry also, Elder Emet has his gardens and orchards, as well as fine alfalfa fields. Nothing is more delightful than to come, after a hot journey down the trail, to these unexpected oases in the heart of the canyons.
Soil on the River and in the Canyon. The soil of the "above," too, largely differs from the soil of the "below." On the plateaus above, there are millions of acres, most of which careful examination shows to be covered with disintegrated rock and comparatively little vegetable soil, except below the surface. The winds and rains have carried away the softer and lighter soil, and allowed the heavier and harder rocks to remain. This process goes on all the time. In the depths of the Canyon, however, except on the steeper slopes, the soil remains.
The Silence on the Rim. A remarkable contrast between the rim and the Canyon is sometimes found in the absolute silence above, and the roar of the river below. It often occurs that not a sound of any kind can be heard on the rim but one's breathing and the beating of his own heart. One morning I lay for an hour before I arose, and during the whole of that time, though I listened again and again, not the slightest sound reached my ears save the two named.
Song of the River. Now descend to the river and, day or night, early or late, June or December, hot or cold, wet or dry, fair or stormy, the roar and rush, fret and fume of the water is never out of one's ears. Even when asleep it seems to "seep" in through the benumbed senses, and tell of its never-ending flow. After a few weeks of it, one comes away and finds he cannot sleep. He misses it and finds himself unable to sleep away from the accustomed noise.
The Wind. In nothing is the difference of "above" and "below" more marked than in the wind. Last night on the rim the wind blew almost a gale. The pines sang loudly, and one could hear their roar for miles. A dozen times I awoke and listened to their weird music. If you go outdoors, the wind plays with your hair, and tosses garments to and fro with frolicsome glee, or even, at times, with apparent angry fury. There are times when the wind comes toward you, on the rim, with a rapidity and force that are startling. Every one has had the experience of hearing a military band approaching from a distance.
As it comes nearer, the sound grows louder and louder, and if it approaches with great rapidity, as for instance, in an automobile or a speeding electric car, the music assails the ear with an increasing force that is a surprise. It is just so with the noises of the wind at the rim of the Canyon.
Now leave the rim and walk down the trail a couple of rods. All is quiet and still. The change is startling m its suddenness. The wind may be blowing far above you, and if you listen, you will hear its effect in the trees, but here, where you stand, you are protected and sheltered.
Diversity of Color. Perhaps the greatest difference between the rim and the interior of the Canyon is found in the diversity in color and feature between them. While there is a fascination to the long, wide stretches of plateau on the rim, and the forest has its attractive points, there are not many prominent features (looking away from the Canyon) that would occupy the attention of travellers. There is little striking in color, in scenery, in rocky contour. Plains, trees, sky, clouds, sunset,--and nearly all is said. But immediately one stands on the rim and looks below, all is changed. Here is feature after feature that compels not only attention but reverent homage. Color such as is seen nowhere else in the world on such a grand scale; massive walls that have no counterpart; rock forms that dazzle and bewilder; and an unfoldment of the stone of creation that is alike a joy and a pain, a delight and a sorrow, a something seen at a glance, and that requires a lifetime to comprehend.
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