It was growing cold.

The cliffs and palisades near at hand showed dimly behind the falling rain; beyond them waved and eddied the storm mists through which the mountains revealed and concealed proportions exaggerated into unearthly grandeur.
Deep in the clefts of the box canons the streams were filling.

The roar of their rapids echoed from innumerable precipices.

A soft swish of water usurped the world of sound.
Nothing more uncomfortable or more magnificent could be imagined.

We rode shivering.