There is a certain verse of wisdom which says that “Pride goeth before a fall,” but perhaps it was just as well for us if we were a little bit elated by our past achievements as long as we had to go through with the balance of our self-imposed task.  Confidence, in a proper degree, is a great help when real difficulties have to be surmounted.  We were full of confidence that day when we pulled away about noon into Whirlpool Canyon, Whirlpool Canyon being next on the list.  The camp we were about to leave was directly opposite Lodore Canyon, where it ran against the upended cliff.  The gorgeous colours were the same as those on the opposite side, and, to a certain degree, were also found in Whirlpool Canyon.

Our two and a half hours’ dash through the fourteen miles of rapid water in Whirlpool Canyon put us in a joyful frame of mind.  Rapid after rapid was left behind us without a pause in our rowing, with only a hasty survey standing on the deck of the boats before going over.  Others that were free from rocks were rowed in bow first, the big waves breaking over our boats and ourselves.  We bailed while drifting in the quiet stretches, then got ready for the next rapids.  Two large rapids only were looked over from the shore and these were run in the same manner.  We could hardly believe it was true when we emerged from the mountain so quickly into a little flat park or valley sheltered in the hills.  This was Island or Rainbow Park, the latter name being suggested by the brilliant colouring of the rocks, in the mountains to our left.  Perhaps the form of the rocks themselves helped a little, for here was one end of the rainbow of rock which began on the other side of the mountains.  Jagged-edged canyons looking almost as if their sides had been rent asunder came out of these mountains.  There was very little dark red here except away on top, 2300 feet above, where a covering of pines made a soft background for light-cream and gorgeous yellow-coloured pinnacles, or rocky walls of pink and purple and delicate shades of various hues.  Large cottonwoods appeared again along the river banks, in brilliant autumn colours, adding to the beauties of the scene.  Back from the river, to the west, stretched the level park, well covered with bunch-grass on which some cattle grazed, an occasional small prickly pear cactus, and the ever present, pungent sage.  Verdure-covered islands dotted the course of the stream, which was quiet and sluggish, doubling back and forth like a serpent over many a useless mile.  Nine miles of rowing brought us back to a point about three miles from the mouth of Whirlpool Canyon; where the river again enters the mountain, deliberately choosing this course to one, unobstructed for several miles, to the right.