Getting What Sleep We Can

Tom Waits: The Long Way Home

At daybreak we walk down the bank of the river on a little sandy beach to take a view
of a new feature
in the canyon. Heretofore, hard rocks have given us bad river; soft rocks, smooth water; and a series of rocks harder than any we have experienced sets in. The river
enters the granite!
We can see but a little way into the granite gorge, but it looks threatening.
After breakfast
we enter on the waves.
At the very introduction, it inspires awe. The canyon is narrower than we have ever seen it.
The water is swifter. There are but few broken rocks in the channel,
but the walls are set on either side with pinnacles and crags.
Sharp, angular buttresses, bristling with wind and wave polished spires,
extend far out into the river.
Ledges of rocks jut into the stream, their tops sometimes just below
the surface, sometimes rising few, or many feet above; and island ledges,
and island pinnacles, and island towers break the swift course of the stream into chutes, and eddies, and whirlpools. We soon reach a place where a creek comes in from the left, and just below, the channel is chocked with boulders, which have washed down this lateral canyon
and formed a dam, over which there is a fall of thirty or forty feet;
but on the boulders we can get a foothold, and we make a portage.
Three more such dams are found. Over one we make a portage.
At the other two we find chutes through which we can run.
As we proceed, the granite rises higher, until nearly a thousand feet
of the lower part of the walls are composed of this rock.

About eleven o'clock we hear
a great roar ahead, and approach it very cautiously. The sound grows louder and louder as we run, and at last we find ourselves above a long, broken fall, with ledges and pinnacles of rock obstructing the river. there is a descent of perhaps seventy-five or eighty feet in a third of a mile, and the rushing waters break into great waves on the rocks, and lash themselves into a mad, white foam. We can land just above, but there is no foothold on either side by which we can make a portage. It is nearly a thousand feet to the top of the granite, so it will be impossible to carry our boats around, though we can climb to the summit up a side gulch, and, passing along
a mile or two, can descend to the river. This we find on examination;
but such a portage would be impracticable for us, and we must run
the rapid or abandon the river. there is no hesitation.
We step into our boats, push off and away we go,
first on smooth but swift water,
then we strike a glassy wave and ride to its top,
down again into the trough, up again on a higher wave, and down and up on waves higher and still higher, until we strike one just as it curls back, and a breaker rolls over our little boat. Still, on we speed, shooting past projecting rocks, till the little boat is caught in a whirlpool and spun around several times. At last we pull out again into the stream, and now the other boats have passed us. The open compartment of the Emma Dean is filled with water, and every breaker rolls over us. Hurled back from a rock, now on this side, now on that, we are carried into an eddy in which we struggle for a few minutes, and are then out again, the breakers still rolling over us. We find the other boats have turned into an eddy at the foot of the fall and are waiting to catch us as we come, for the men have seen that our boat is swamped. They push out as we come near, and pull us in against the wall. We bail our boat, and on we go again.

The gorge is black and narrow below, red and gray and flaring above, with crags and angular projections on the walls, which, cut in many places by side canyons, seem to be a vast wilderness of rocks. Down in these grand, gloomy depths we glide, ever listening, for the mad waters keep up their roar; ever watching, ever peering ahead, for the narrow canyon is winding, and the river is closed in so that we can see but a few hundred yards, and what there may be below we know not; but we listen for falls, and watch for rocks, or stop now and then, in the bay of a recess, to admire the gigantic scenery. And ever, as we go, there is some new pinnacle or tower, some crag or peak, some distant view of the upper plateau,
some strange-shaped rock, or some deep, narrow side canyon.
Then we come to another broken fall, which appears more difficult than the one we ran this morning.

A small creek comes in on the right, and the first fall of the water is over boulders, which have been carried down by the lateral stream. We land at its mouth, and stop for an hour or two to examine the fall. It seems possible to let down with lines at least part of the way from point to point along the right-hand wall. So we make a portage over the first rocks, and find footing on some boulders below. Then we let down one of the boats to the end of her line, when she reaches a corner of the projecting rock, to which one of the men clings and steadies her, while i examine an eddy below. I think we can pass the other boats down by us and catch them in the eddy. This is soon done and the men in the boats in the eddy pull us to their side. On the shore of this little eddy there is about two feet of gravel beach above the water. Standing on this beach, some of the men take the line of the little boat and let it drift down against another projecting angle. Here is a little shelf, on which a man from my boat climbs, and a shorter line is passed to him, and he fastens the boat to the side of the cliff. Then the second one is let down, bringing the line of the third. When the second boat is tied up, the two men standing on the beach above spring into the last boat, which is pulled up alongside ours. then we let down the boats for twenty-five or thirty yards by walking along the shelf, landing them again in the mouth of a side canyon. Just below this there is another pile of boulders over which we make another portage. from the foot of these rocks we can climb to another shelf, forty or fifty feet above the water.
On this beach we camp for the night, We find a few sticks which have lodged in the rocks. It is raining hard and we have no shelter, but kindle
a fire and have our supper. We sit on the rocks all night,
wrapped in our ponchos, getting what sleep we can.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 14, 1869

So Will It Be

Grateful Dead: Me and My Uncle~~~Big River...11/2/77

We are now ready to start on our way down the Great Unknown.
Our boats, tied to a common stake, are chafing each other as they are tossed by the fretful river. They ride high and buoyant, for their loads are lighter than we could desire. We have but a month's rations remaining. The flour has been resifted through the mosquito-net sieve. The spoiled bacon has been dried, and the worst of it boiled. The few pounds of dried apples have been spread in the sun, and reshrunken to their normal bulk. The sugar has all melted and gone on its way down the river, but we have a large sack of coffee. The lightening of the boats has this advantage: they will ride the waves better, and we shall have but little to carry when we make a portage.

We are three-quarters of a mile in the depths of the earth, and the great river shrinks into insignificance as it dashes its angry waves against the walls and cliffs that rise to the world above. They are but puny ripples, and we but pygmies running up and down the sands, or lost among the boulders.
We have an unknown distance yet to run, an unknown river yet to explore. What falls there are, we know not. What rocks beset the channel, we know not. What walls rise over the river, we know not. Ah, well, we may conjecture many things. The men talk as cheerfully as ever. Jests are bandied about freely this morning, but to me the cheer is somber and the jests are ghastly.

With some eagerness, and some anxiety, and some misgiving, we enter the canyon below, and are carried along by the swift water through walls which rise from its very edge. They have the same structure as we noticed yesterday--tiers of irregular shelves below, and above these, steep slopes to the foot of marble cliffs. We run six miles in a little more than a half an hour, and emerge into a more open portion of the canyon, where high hills and ledges of rock intervene between the river and the distant walls. Just at the head of this open place the river runs across a dike; that is, a fissure in the rocks, open to depths below, has been filled with eruptive matter, and this, on cooling, was harder than the rocks through which the crevice was made, and, when these were washed away, the harder volcanic matter remained as a wall, and the river has cut a gateway through it several hundred feet high and as many wide. As it crosses the wall there is a fall below, and a bad rapid, filled with boulders of trap; so we stop to make a portage. Then we go on, gliding by hills and ledges, with distant walls in view; sweeping past sharp angles of rock; stopping at a few points to examine rapids, which we find can be run, until we have made another five miles, when we land for dinner.
Then we let down with lines over a long rapid and start again. Once more the walls close in, and we find ourselves in a narrow gorge, the water again filling the channel, and very swift. With great care and constant watchfulness, we proceed, making about four miles this afternoon, and camp in a cave.

--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 13, 1869

ZOROASTER RAPID
SUMNER BUTTE / ZOROASTER TEMPLE
WOTANS THRONE
BUDDHA TEMPLE

The Outlaw Josey Wales: So Will It Be

We Look Up To See But A Little Patch Of Sky

We remain at this point today for the purpose of determining the latitude and longitude, measuring the height of the walls, drying our rations, and repairing our boats.
I walk down the gorge to the left at the foot of the cliff, climb to a bench, and discover a trail deeply worn in the rock. Where it crosses the side gulches, in some places, steps have been cut. I can see no evidence of its having been traveled for a long time. It was doubtless a path used by the people who inhabited this country anterior to the present Indian races--the people who built communal houses, of which mention has been made.

I return to camp about three o'clock, and find that some of the men have discovered ruins, and many fragments of pottery; also, etchings and hieroglyphs on the rocks.
We find tonight, on comparing the readings of the barometers, that the walls are about three thousand feet high--more than half a mile--an altitude difficult to appreciate from a mere statement of fact. The ascent is made, not by a slope such as is usually found in climbing a mountain, but is much more abrupt--often vertical for many hundreds of feet--so that the impression is that we are at great depths. We look up to see but a little patch of sky.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 11, 1869

granite rapid
kids don't try this at home (tanner rapid)
powell plateau with serpentine rapid
plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose
elvis and elvira above hance rapid
that very end of the world we were seeking

I Still Might Run In Silence

Glen Campbell: Gentle On My Mind

And now the scenery is on a grand scale. The walls of the canyon, 2500 feet high, are of marble of many beautiful colors, and often polished below by the waves, or far up the sides, where showers have washed the sands over the cliffs.
At one place I have a walk, for more than a mile, on a marble pavement, all polished and fretted with strange devices, and embossed in a thousand fantastic patterns. Through a cleft in the wall the sun shines on this pavement, which gleams in iridescent beauty.
I pass up into the cleft. It is very narrow, with a succession of pools standing at higher levels as I go back. The water in these pools

is clear and cool, coming down from springs. Then I return to the pavement, which is but a terrace or bench, over which the river runs at its flood, but left bare at present. Along the pavement, in many places, are basins of clear water, in strange contrast to the red mud of the river. At length
I come to the end of this marble terrace, and take again to the boat.
Riding down a short distance,
a beautiful view is presented.
The river turns sharply to the east, and seems enclosed by a wall, set with a million brilliant gems.
What can it mean?
Every eye is engaged, everyone wonders. On coming nearer, we find fountains bursting

from the rock, high overhead, and the spray in the sunshine forms the gems which bedeck the wall. The rocks below the fountain
are covered with mosses,
and ferns, and many beautiful
flowering plants.
We pass through many side canyons today that are dark, gloomy passages back into the heart of the rocks that form the plateau through which this
canyon is cut.
It rains again this afternoon. Scarcely do the first drops fall when little rills run down the walls. As the storm comes on the little rills increase in size until great streams are formed. Although the walls of the canyon are chiefly limestone, the adjacent

country is of red sandstone; and now the waters, loaded with these sands, come down in rivers of bright red mud, leaping over the walls in innumerable cascades.
It is plain now how these walls are polished in many places.
At last the storm ceases and we go on. We have cut through the sandstones and limestones met in the upper part of the canyon, and through one great bed of marble a thousand feet in thickness.
In this, great numbers of caves are hollowed out, and carvings are seen, which suggest architectural forms, though on a scale so grand that architectural terms belittle them.
It is a peculiar feature of these walls that many projections are

set into the river, as if the wall was buttressed for support. The walls themselves are half a mile high, and these buttresses are on a corresponding scale, jutting into the river scores of feet. In the recesses between these projections there are quiet bays, except at the foot of a rapid, when there are dancing eddies or whirlpools. Sometimes these alcoves have caves at the back, giving them the appearance of great depth. Then other caves are seen above, forming vast, dome-shaped chambers. The walls, and buttresses, and chambers are
all of marble.
The river is now quiet; the canyon wider. Above, when the river is at its flood, the waters gorge up, so that the difference between high and low water mark is often fifty or even seventy feet; but here, high water mark is not more than twenty feet above the present stage of the river. Sometimes there is a narrow flood-plain between the water and the wall.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 9, 1869

Molly Tuttle: Gentle On My Mind

Sometimes The Rocks Are Of Many Colors

Randy Travis / George Jones: A Few Ol' Country Boys

The limestone of this canyon
is often polished,
and makes a beautiful marble.
Sometimes the rocks
are of many colors
---white, gray, pink and purple,
with saffron tints.
It is with very great labor
that we make progress,
meeting with many obstructions,
running rapids,
letting down our boats
with lines from rock to rock,
and sometimes carrying boats
and cargoes around bad places.
We camp at night,
just after a hard portage,
under an overhanging wall,
glad to find shelter
from the rain.
We have to search for some time to find a few sticks of driftwood,
just sufficient to boil a cup of coffee.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 8, 1869

When people ask me who my favorite country singer is,
I say, You mean besides George Jones?
--Johnny Cash

And The Walls Are Vertical From The Water's Edge

Old and In The Way : Land of the Navajo...1/10/73

Canyon walls, still higher and higher, as we go down through strata. There is a steep talus at the foot of the cliff, and in some places, the upper parts of the walls are terraced.

About ten o'clock we come to a place where the river occupies the whole channel, and the walls are vertical from the water's edge. We see a fall below, and row up against the cliff. There is a little shelf, or rather a horizontal crevice, a few feet above our heads. One man stands on the deck of the boat, another climbs on his shoulders, and then into the crevice. Then we pass him a line, and two or three others, with myself, follow. We pass along the crevice until it becomes a shelf, as the upper part, or roof, is broken off. On this we walk for a short distance, slowly climbing all the way, until we reach a point where the shelf is broken off, and we can pass no farther. Then we go back to the boat, cross the river and get some logs that have lodged in the rocks, bring them to our side, pass them along the crevice and shelf, and bridge over the broken place. We go on to a point over the falls, but do not obtain a satisfactory view. Then we climb out to the top of the wall, and walk along to find a point below the fall, from which it can be seen. From this point it seems possible to let down our boats with lines to the head of the rapids and then make a portage. So we return, row down by the side of the cliff as far as we dare, and fasten one of the boats to a rock. Then we let down another boat to the end of its line beyond the first, and the third boat to the end of its line below the second, which brings it to the head of the fall, and under an overhanging rock. Then the upper boat, in obedience to a signal, lets go. We pull in the line and catch the nearest boat as it comes, and then the last. Then we make a portage, and go on.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 6, 1869

More Rapids And Falls Are Found

With some feeling of anxiety, we enter a new canyon this morning. We have learned to closely observe the texture of the rock. In softer strata, we have a quiet river; in harder, we find rapids and falls. Below us are the limestones and hard sandstones, which we found in Catarack Canyon. This bodes toil and danger. Besides the texture of the rocks, there is another condition which affects the character of the channel, as we have found by experience.
Where the strata are horizontal,
the river is often quiet; but,
even though it may be very swift in places, no great obstacles are found. where the rocks incline in the direction traveled, the river usually sweeps with great velocity, but we still have few rapids and falls. But where the rocks dip upstream, and the river cuts obliquely across the upturned formations, harder strata above and softer below, we have rapids and falls. Into hard rocks, and into rocks dipping up stream, we pass this morning, and start on a long, rocky, mad rapid. On the left there is a vertical rock, and down by this cliff and around to the left we glide, just tossed enough by the waves to appreciate the rate at which we are traveling.

The canyon is narrow, with vertical walls, which gradually grow higher.
More rapids and falls are found. We come to one with a drop of sixteen feet, around which we make a portage, and then stop for dinner.
Then a run of two miles, and another portage, long and difficult;
then we camp for the night, on a bank of sand.

--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 5, 1869

August 4, 1869

John Amorosano: Nine Day Hike--Tanner to Hermit

Today the walls grow higher,
and the canyon much narrower. Monuments are still seen on either side; beautiful glens,
and alcoves, and gorges,
and side canyons are yet found.
After dinner, we find the river making a sudden turn to the northwest, and the whole character of the canyon changed.
The walls are many hundreds
of feet higher, and the rocks
are chiefly variegated shales of beautiful colors---creamy orange above, then bright vermillion, and below, purple and chocolate beds, with green and yellow sands.
We run four miles through this,
wheel again to the west,
and pass into a portion of the canyon where the characteristics are more like those above the bend.
At night we stop at the mouth of a creek coming in from the right.
Here the canyon terminates abruptly in a line of cliffs, which stretches from either side across the river.
--John Wesley Powell
journal entry for August 4, 1869

Marshmallow Valentine

this is the place
where I made my best mistakes
this is the place
even angels don't understand
I've seen the disappointment
in her face
and the collection
of engagement rings
on her right hand
she sits alone
apart from the crowd
in a white dress she wears
like a question mark
friends speak of her fondly
enemies just think out loud
you think you're man enough
to please her
and you're fool enough to start
but you're not going to do a thing
to our little angel
there's nothing you're thinking tonight that tomorrow won't change

now the cabaret is frozen
and the laughter comes in cans
the lonely hearts club clientele
don't know what to do
with their hands
you think that you'll
be sweet to her
but everybody knows
that you're the
marshmallow valentine
that got stuck on her clothes
but you're not going
to do a thing
to our little angel
there's nothing
you're thinking tonight
that tomorrow won't change

so you mix your drinks and words
you make bad jokes
you make bad time
the floors are there to walk over
the walls are there to climb
you swear that you'll never
go back again once you're inside
you're never the bridegroom
she's always the bride
and you're not going
to do a thing
to our little angel
there's nothing
you're thinking tonight
that tomorrow won't change
you'll come in a sweetheart
and you'll go out a stranger
well you try to love her
but she's so contrary
like a chainsaw running
through a dictionary

so get your mind
off the sweet behind
of our little angel
you're not going to do a thing
you're not going to do a thing
you're not going to do a thing
to our little angel

Elvis Costello: Our Little Angel