and I start early to climb the mountain ridge to the
east, and find its summit to be nearly 3,000 feet above camp. It has
required some labor to scale it; but on its top, what a view! There is a
long spur running out from the Uinta Mountains toward the south, and the
river runs lengthwise through it. Coming down Lodore and Whirlpool
canyons, we cut through the southern slope of the Uinta Mountains; and
the lower end of this latter canyon runs into the spur, but, instead of
splitting it the whole length, the river wheels to the right at the foot
of Whirlpool Canyon in a great curve to the northwest through Island
Park. At the lower end of the park, the river turns again to the
southeast and cuts into the mountain to its center and then makes a
detour to the southwest, splitting the mountain ridge for a distance of
six miles nearly to its foot, and then turns out of it to the left. All
this we can see where we stand on the summit of Mount Hawkins, and so we
name the gorge below, Split Mountain Canyon.

We are standing 3,000 feet above the waters, which are troubled with
billows and are white with foam. The walls are set with crags and peaks
and buttressed towers and overhanging domes. Turning to the right, the
park is below us, its island groves reflected by the deep, quiet waters.
Rich meadows stretch out on either hand to the verge of a sloping plain
that comes down from the distant mountains. These plains are of almost
naked rock, in strange contrast to the meadows,--blue and lilac colored
rocks, buff and pink, vermilion and brown, and all these colors clear
and bright. A dozen little creeks, dry the greater part of the year, run
down through the half circle of exposed formations, radiating from the
island center to the rim of the basin. Each creek has its system of
side streams and each side stream has its system of laterals, and again
these are divided; so that this outstretched slope of rock is
elaborately embossed. Beds of different-colored formations run in
parallel bands on either side. The perspective, modified by the
undulations, gives the bands a waved appearance, and the high colors
gleam in the midday sun with the luster of satin. We are tempted to call
this Rainbow Park. Away beyond these beds are the Uinta and Wasatch
mountains with their pine forests and snow fields and naked peaks. Now
we turn to the right and look up Whirlpool Canyon, a deep gorge with a
river at the bottom--a gloomy chasm, where mad wa