filled with great boulders at the base of a sheer cliff on the
right--another unrunnable rapid.

Taking the camp material from the boats, we carried it down and
pitched our tent first of all, then, while Emery prepared supper,
Jimmy and I carried the remaining duffle down to camp. One of the
boats was lined down also. Then after supper we enjoyed the first rest
we had taken for some time.

Camp Ideal we called it, and it well deserved the name. At the bottom
of a tree-covered precipice reaching a height of 2700 feet, was a
strip of firm, level sand, tapering off with a slope down to the
water, making a perfect landing and dooryard. A great mass of
driftwood, piled up at the end of the rapid, furnished us with all
fuel we needed with small effort on our part. Our tent was backed
against a large rock, while other flat rocks near at hand made
convenient shelves on which to lay our camp dishes and kettles. It
started to drizzle again that night, but what cared we? With a roaring
fire in front of the tent we all cleaned up for a change, sewed
patches on our tattered garments, and, sitting on our beds, wrote the
day's happenings in our journals. Then we crawled into our comfortable
beds, and I was soon dreaming of my boyhood days when I "played
hookey" from school and went fishing in a creek that emptied into the
Allegheny River, or climbed its rocky banks; to be awakened by Jimmy
crying out in his sleep, "There she goes over the rapids."

Jimmy was soon informed that he and the boats were perfectly safe, and
I was brought back to a realization of the fact that I was not going
to get a "whaling" for going swimming in dog-days; but instead was
holed up in Lodore Canyon, in the extreme northwestern corner of