the beginning of the most violent descent in Lodore Canyon. It would
have been difficult enough without this last complication; the barrier
seemed next to insurmountable, tired and handicapped with heavy boats
as we were.

With a weary sigh we dropped our boats to the head of the rapid and
prepared to make the portage. Our previous work was as nothing to
this. Rounded limestone boulders, hard as flint and covered with a
thin slime of mud from the recent rise, caused us to slip and fall
many times. Then we dragged ourselves and loads up the sloping walls.
They were cut with gullies from the recent rains; low scraggy cedars
caught at our loads, or tore our clothes, as we staggered along; the
muddy earth stuck to our shoes, or caused our feet to slip from under
us as we climbed, first two or three hundred feet above the water,
then close to the river's edge. Three-fourths of a mile of such work
brought us a level place below the rapid. It took nine loads to empty
one boat.

Darkness came on before our boats were emptied, so they were securely
tied in quiet water at the head of the rapid, and left for the
morning.

The next day found Emery and me at work on the boats, while Jimmy was
stationed on the shore with the motion-picture camera. This wild
scene, with its score of shooting currents, was too good a view to
miss. With life-preservers inflated and adjusted, Emery sat in the
boat at the oars, pulling against the current, lessening the velocity
with which the boat was carried down toward the main barrier, while I
followed on the shore, holding a rope, and dropped him down, a little
at a time, until the water became too rough and the rocks too