And, without expecting it, we happened on adventure.
Have you ever climbed down a canon with rocky sides, a straight and
precipitous five hundred feet, clinging with your finger nails to any
bit of green that grows from the cliff, and to footholds made by an axe,
and carrying a fly-book and a trout-rod which is an infinitely precious
trout-rod? Also, a share of the midday lunch and twenty pounds more
weight than you ought to have by the beauty-scale? Because, unless you
have, you will never understand that trip.
It was a series of wild drops, of blood-curdling escapes, of slips and
recoveries, of bruises and abrasions. But at last we made it, and there
was the river!
I have still in mind a deep pool where the water, rushing at tremendous
speed over a rocky ledge, fell perhaps fifteen feet. I had fixed my eyes
on that pool early in the day, but it seemed impossible of access. To
reach it it was necessary again to scale a part of the cliff, and,
clinging to its face, to work one's way round along a ledge perhaps
three inches wide. When I had once made it, with the aid of friendly
hands and a leather belt, by which I was lowered, I knew one thing--knew
it inevitably.
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