150 years ago, John Wesley Powell’s journey down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon was meticulously documented, sparking intrigue among modern explorers. Inspired by Powell’s descriptions, Scott Thybony embarked on a quest to view the landscape as Powell once did, an adventure he recounts in a recent Canyon Commentary.
On a brisk winter morning, I found myself at Lees Ferry, a place where tranquility was only interrupted by the continuous flow of the Colorado River. As I set off with my gear, my destination was the Spencer Trail, ascending sharply to 1,500 feet within a mile. This trail, one of few breaks in the Vermillion Cliffs, was my path to relive a scene captured by John Wesley Powell, who ventured through the Grand Canyon on a scientific expedition in 1869.
Each switchback I conquered revealed breathtaking vistas of the river slicing through the towering escarpment. The Colorado River, with its vivid morning blue, emerged from Glen Canyon’s shadows, curving towards Marble Canyon. Although my pace was steady, fatigue met me just shy of the rim, prompting a brief pause for water before continuing upward.
At the trailhead stood a significant rock cairn, mirrored by another on the opposite riverbank, serving as a Navajo trail shrine. Historically, journeys were imbued with rituals; one account tells of a Hopi who hesitated to cross the river without first offering prayer sticks to its rushing waters.
Descending the trail, the panorama below unfolded, revealing Lees Fort’s stone cabin near the historic ferry crossing, alongside the US Geological Survey gaging station. This site, known as Mile Zero-Zero, marks the transition between canyons and was once the sole crossing for wagons over a vast distance. The landscape closely aligns with Powell’s depiction in his narrative, The Grand Cañon of the Colorado.
Powell described the view: “Stand on the Vermilion Cliffs at the head of Marble Cañon,” and observe the river winding through the landscape. He noted how the canyon walls appeared to converge into a dark line, giving the illusion that the river vanished beneath the plateau.
Returning to flat terrain, I drove past the boat ramp, where a line of rafts awaited eager passengers. The onset of a river trip often resembles a chaotic symphony, with equipment being sorted, inflated, and secured. A ranger meticulously checked off items from a list before the journey could commence, as passengers gathered, buzzing with anticipation and nervous energy.
During my time as a boatman, there was a distinct liberation in casting off, leaving the stability of land behind. The river’s pull symbolized an embrace of the unknown, poised on the brink of endless possibilities.
Scott Thybony, based in Flagstaff, shares his insights through Canyon Commentaries, produced by KNAU Arizona Public Radio, airing the last Friday of each month.
—
Read More Arizona News
