But as everything
about the canon is built on such a grand scale and the eyes not
being accustomed to such sights it is impossible to comprehend
it - to measure its dimensions correctly or note every detail of
form and color at the first glance. As the guide remarked, "God
made it so d - big that you can't lie about it."
To comprehend it at all requires time to re-educate the senses
and make them accustomed to the new order of things. But even a
cursory view will always remain in the memory as the event of a
lifetime in the experience of the average mortal.
Distance in the canon cannot be measured by the usual standards.
There are sheer walls of rocks that are thousands of feet high
and as many more feet deep, but where the bottom seems to be is
only the beginning of other chasms which lie in the dark shadows
and descend into yet deeper depths below. The canon is not a
single empty chasm, which is the universal conception of a canon,
but consists of a complex system of sub and side canons that is
bewildering. Out of its depths rise an infinite number and
variety of castellated cliffs and sculptured buttes that
represent every conceivable variety of architecture. They have
the appearance of a resurrected city of great size and beauty
which might have been built by an army of Titans then buried and
forgotten.
A trip into the canon down one of the trails makes its magnitude
even more impressive than a rim view. The distance across the
chasm is also much greater than what it seems to be, which is
demonstrated by the blue haze that fills the canon. The nearby
buttes are perfectly distinct, but as the distance increases
across the great gorge the haze gradually thickens until the
opposite wall is almost obscured by the mist.
The myriads of horizontal lines which mark the different strata
of rocks have the appearance of a maze of telegraph wires strung
through the canon.
A ride leisurely on horseback along the rim trail from Thurber's
old camp to Bissell's Point, seven miles up the canon, and back
is easily made in a day. It presents a panorama of magnificent
views all along the rim, but Bissell's is conceded to be the best
view point on the canon. From this point about thirty miles of
river can be seen as it winds in and out deep down among the
rocks. The Colorado river is a large stream, but as seen here a
mile below and several miles out, it dwindles into insignificance
and appears no larger than a meadow brook. The river looks
placid in the distance, but is a raging, turbulent torrent in
which an ordinary boat cannot live and the roar of its wild
waters can be distinctly heard as of the rushing of a distant
train of cars.
A second day spent in riding down the canon to Grand View Point
and back is equally delightful. Looking across a bend in the
canon from Grand View Point to Bissell's Point the distance seems
to be scarcely more than a stone's throw, yet it is fully half
the distance of the circuitous route by the rim trail.
There are three trails leading into the canon and down to the
river, the Bright Angel, Grand View and Hance trails, which are
at intervals of eight and twelve miles apart. They are equally
interesting and comparatively safe if the trip is made on the
back of a trained pony or burro with a competent guide.
The Hance trail is a loop and is twenty miles long. It is seven
miles down to the river, six miles up the stream and seven miles
back to the rim. It was built single handed by Captain John
Hance, who has lived many years in the canon. The trail is free
to pedestrians, but yields the captain a snug income from horse
hire and his own services as guide for tourists who go over the
trail.
Captain Hance is an entertaining raconteur and he spins many
interesting yarns for the amusement, if not the edification, of
his guests. The serious manner in which he relates his stories
makes it sometimes hard to tell whether be is in jest or earnest.
His acknowledged skill in mountaineering, and felicity in
romancing has won for him more than a local reputation and the
distinguished title of Grand Canon Guide and Prevaricator.
He relates how "once upon a time" he pursued a band of mountain
sheep on the rim of the canon. Just as he was about to secure
his quarry the sheep suddenly turned a short corner and
disappeared behind some rocks. Before he realized his danger he
found himself on the brink of a yawning abyss and under such a
momentum that he could not turn aside or stop his horse.
Together they went over the cliff in an awful leap. He expected
to meet instant death on the rocks below and braced himself for
the shock. As the fall was greater than usual, being over a mile
deep in a perpendicular line, it required several seconds for the
descending bodies to traverse the intervening space, which gave
him a few moments to think and plan some way of escape. At the
critical moment a happy inspiration seized and saved him. On the
instant that his horse struck the rock and was dashed to pieces,
the captain sprang nimbly from the saddle to his feet unharmed.
To prove the truth of his statement he never misses an
opportunity to point out to the tourist the spot where his horse
fell, and shows the white bones of his defunct steed bleaching in
the sun.
