I climbed up the river wall to the high, sandy terrace above. This
great wall of packed boulders is one of the most characteristic
features of the lower river. It is thrown up by the action of ice
in the spring floods, and varies all the way from twenty feet at
its beginning to fifty and sixty feet farther down. One of the
remarkable things about it is that the largest boulders lie at the
top, some of them so huge as to weigh tons. On the terrace, moss
berries and blue berries were so thick as to make walking slippery.
The river grows more magnificent all the time. I took one
photograph of the sun's rays slanting down through a rift in the
clouds, and lighting up the mountains in the distance. I am
feeling wretched over not having more films. How I wish I had
brought twice as many.
"While running the rapid George and Job were nearly wrecked. Job
changed his mind about the course a little too late and they had a
narrow escape. They were whirled round and banged up against a
cliff with the bottom of the canoe tipped to the rock and held
there for a while, but fortunately did not turn over till an
unusually tempestuous rush of water reached up and lifted the canoe
from its perch down into the water again.
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