--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Merrill, Harrison R. collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 32 number: 6 published: 1929-04 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Harrison R. Merrill, “Dave Rust, Lover of the Grand Canyon,” *Improvement Era* 32, no. 6 (April 1929): 471–473." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3206unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera3206unse start_page: 471 end_page: 473 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1929-04) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera3206unse publication_year: 1929 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1929, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # Dave Rust, Lover of the Grand Canyon Dave Rust, Lover of the Grand Canyon By Harrison R. Merrill A PLACER miner stuck his shovel in the sand, straightened up slowly as if the process hurt, and looked around at the canyon walls which rose for hundreds of feet above him on both sides of the muddy river. He was slender, bronzed, and stripped naked to the waist. "Gee," he jerked out as he gazed around, "if it wasn't for the scenery I'd never slave like this. We won't get more'n fifty cents out of this half day's work. That's poor dirt and the gold's awful fine." His brother leaned against the "cradle" with which they had been working. "It is poor dirt, but then we strike better often enough to keep the wages fairly steady and fairly high -for these times." "Yeh, but I've got a better idea, Will," the slender young fellow declared. "This is a wonder river and a wonder can- yon." The speaker swept his arm towards the vari-colored cliffs. "Major Powell and Captain Dutton painted this country in words that will never die. People ought to see this country, it's worth it, and by cripes, I'm going to help them see it." That was fifteen years ago. The speaker was Dave Rust, and the river was the Colorado in what is known as Glenn's canyon. Since that time Dave Rust, prospector, miner, cattleman, school superintendent, and later, guide, has been attempting to help people "see" not only the Colorado at Glenn's canyon, but all the way down from Green river to the Toroweap. Dave Rust 472 IMPROVEMENT ERA ***. 19Z9 If Dave Rust has any gods other than Jehovah, they are Major Powell and Captain C. E. Dutton; if he has any temples, they are those of the Grand Canyon and Little Zion; if he has any cathedrals they are found in the Kaibab on Buckskin mountain; if he has any Bible dearer than the Hebrew version, it is made up of the reports of Major Powell and Captain Dutton. I met this worshipper of the Grand Canyon about six years ago. I had gone to Kanab, his home town, upon some errand with a friend, who suggested that he would like to have me meet Dave Rust and go with him to the Toroweap, a point on the Grand Can- yon where one could walk out on the rim-rock almost directly over the Colorado river a half a mile below in its flaming gorge. Rust proved to be willing to make the trip. We meandered out across a sandy desert towards Mt. Trumbull, purple and misty on the far horizon. Our cars had difficulty with the sand, but with a little help from us they were always able to push through. At last, just before sunset, we whirled through the sage down the Toroweap valley or wash to Vulcan's Thorne and the rim-rock, where I caught my first glimpse of nature's greatest effort at sawing the world in two. After our view of the breath-taking gorge and of the temples and minarets and towers and sweeps of savage color along the gorge up the river, we returned to the car for our evening meal. One gets hungry in the desert even in the presence of great splendor. And thirsty! We had a very limited supply of water as we were traveling light, and, consequently, become more famished than we likely would have done had the river not been locked away in a gorge a half mile deep. When we had eaten, our guide, who had said little, produced a book. "While it is yet light," said he, "and while you can get your eye full of this wild country, I want to read a bit from my Bible." He handed me the volume. It was the reports of Captain C. E. Dutton, printed and distributed by the government. "There was a man who had eyes to see and a heart to under- stand. Read a couple of pages, and you'll like this country even better than you do now." I opened the book at the marker and read the descriptions of the landscape upon which I gazed whenever I raised my eyes. It was written in Dutton's own inimitable style. The following morning I photographed Dave Rust standing looking down into the gorge which he loved. That was my first meeting with this son of the Old West. Since then I have met him several times, and always I have come away April, 1929 DAVE RUST, LOVER OF THE GRAND CANYON 473 feeling that to know the West, especially that in northern Arizona and southern Utah, one must, if the stay is to be brief, meet this man. "I have failed if I fail to assist you to love my country," said Mr. Rust on one occasion. "I count whatever money I may receive from any group of travelers as nothing, absolutely nothing, less than nothing, if they do not leave these breaks loving these gorges, these painted cliffs, and these dusty deserts." Although Glenn's canyon, more than one hundred and fifty miles long, down which he floats in collapsible canvas boats, between the impassable and impassive walls, is his first love, Mr. Rust has many. In fact, during the days immediately following the war, he often spoke of his fourteen points — view points, of course. These are scattered from the crest of Pine Valley mountain to the tip of the Plenry Mountains far to the east; and from the painted cliffs beyond Bryce to the Toroweap far beyond Kanab. Dave Rust loves Bright Angel Point and Point Sublime and Cape Royal, all on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. They are among his fourteen points, but are only three among fourteen. He thinks the other eleven are quite as good, and two or three of them even better. Every summer from the time the flowers bloom in profusion along the Colorado in April until snow is sifted into the Kaibab in the fall, this man who loves his country pilots people around from one of his beloved points to another or floats with them down the "silvery Colorado" on a two weeks' voyage among the grandest cliffs and in one of the grandest gorges nature has ever built. He took Governor George H. Dern, of Utah, on this trip through the canyon. Dave Rust is an understanding guide. One who knows when to talk and when to keep still. He prefers to allow his country to do the talking, but will assist when it is necessary. He can bake a biscuit to a turn and can stir up a banquet in the desert, but whatever he is doing he has one thought in mind: "You must love my coun- try. Powell loved it; Dutton loved it; I love it, and so must you." When Earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried. When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died. We shall rest, and, faith we shall need it — lie down for an eon or two, Till the Master of all Good Workmen shall set us to work anew! And those that were good shall be happy: they shall sit in a golden chair: They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets' hair; They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalene, Peter and Paul; They shall work for an age at a sitting and never be tired at all! And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame: And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame; But each for the joy of the working, and each, in his separate star, Shall draw the Thing as he sees it for the God of Things as they are! "L'Envoi," by Rudyard Kipling.