Where the rocks closed in again, we halted on the threshold of the next gorge, in a fine grove of cottonwoods.

A significant roar came to us out of the gate to Red Canyon, rolling up on the air with a steady, unvarying monotony that had a sinister meaning.

It was plain that we were nearing something that was no paltry gem like the rapid we had so much admired in Horseshoe Canyon.
The remainder of that day and all the next, which was June 1st, we stayed at this camp completing records, investigating the surroundings, and preparing for rough work ahead.

On Friday morning the cabins were packed carefully, the life preservers were inflated, and we pulled out into the current.

The cliffs shot up around us and rough water began at once.