With a short rope fastened to the iron bar or hand-hold on the stern, this end was lifted on to the cross-piece, the bow sticking into the water at a sharp angle.  The short rope was tied to the stump, so we would not lose that we had gained.  The longer rope from the bow was thrown over the roots of the tree above, then we both pulled on the rope, until finally the bow was on a level with the stern.  She was pulled forward, the ropes were loosened and the boat rested on the cross-pieces.  The motion-picture camera was transferred so as to command a view of the lower side of the barrier, then the boat was carefully tilted, and slid forward, a little at a time, until she finally gained headway, nearly jerking the rope from our hands, and shot into the pool below.

We enjoyed the wildest ride we had experienced up to this time in running the lower end of this rapid.  The balance of the day was spent in the same camp below the rapid.  Our tent was put up in a group of box elder trees,—­the first trees of this species we had seen.  Red cedar trees dotted the rocky slopes, while the larger pines became scarce at the river’s edge, and gathered near the top of the canyon’s walls.  The dark red rocks near the bottom were covered with a light blue-tinted stratum of limestone, similar to the fallen rocks found in the rapid above.  In one land-slide, evidently struck with some rolling rock, lay the body of a small deer.  We saw many mountain sheep tracks, but failed to see the sheep.  Many dead fish, their gills filled with the slimy mud from the recent rise, floated past us, or lay half buried in the mud.  These things were noticed as we went about our duties, for we were too weary to do any exploring.

The next morning, Monday, October the 2d saw us making arrangements for the final run that would take us out of Lodore Canyon.  No doubt it was a beautiful and a wonderful place, but none of us seemed sorry to leave it behind.  For ten days we had not had a single day entirely free from rain, and instead of having a chance to run rapids, it seemed as if we had spent an entire week in carrying our loads, or in lining our boats through the canyon.  The canyon walls lost much of their precipitous character as we neared the end of the canyon.

A short run took us over the few rapids that remained, and at a turn ahead we saw a 300-foot ridge, brilliantly tinted in many colours,—­light and golden yellows, orange and red, purple and lavender,—­and composed of numberless wafer-like layers of rock, uptilted, so that the broken ends looked like the spines of a gigantic fish’s back.  A sharp turn to the left soon brought us to the end of this ridge, close to the bottom of a smooth, sheer wall.  Across a wide, level point of sand we could see a large stream, the Yampa River, flowing from the East to join its waters with those of the Green.  This was the end of Lodore Canyon.

CHAPTER VII