Still We Are In Our Granite Prison

Charles Lloyd: Days of Wine and Roses

Rain again this morning.
Still we are in our granite prison, and the time is occupied until noon in making a long,
bad portage.
After dinner, in running a rapid, the pioneer boat is upset by a wave. We are some distance in advance of the larger boats,
the river is rough and swift,
and we are unable to land,
but cling to the boat, and are carried downstream, over another rapid. The men in the boats above see our trouble, but they are caught in whirlpools, and are spinning about in eddies, and it seems a long time before they come to our relief. At last they do come; our boat is turned right side up, bailed out; the oars which fortunately have floated along in company with us, are gathered up, and on we go, without even landing.
Soon after the accident the clouds break away, and we have sunshine again.
Soon we find a little beach, with just enough room to land. Here we camp, but there is no wood. Across the river, and a little way above, we see some driftwood lodged in the rocks. So we bring two boat loads over, build a huge fire, and spread everything to dry. It is the first cheerful night we have had for a week; a warm, drying fire in the midst of the camp, and a few bright stars in our patch of heavens overhead.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 19, 1869