--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - Griffin, Charles collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 32 number: 10 published: 1929-08 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: "Charles Griffin, “Cutting the Gordian Knot of Inaccessibility,” *Improvement Era* 32, no. 10 (August 1929): 795–803." source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32010unse 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: improvementera32010unse start_page: 795 end_page: 803 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1929-08) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera32010unse 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. --- # Cutting the Gordian Knot of Inaccessibility Improvement Era Vol. XXXII AUGUST, 1929 No. 10 Cutting the Gordian Knot of Inaccessibility By Charles Griffin Plummer, M. D. PLAYERS and audience in a mighty historic human drama rendezvoused in a vast sand-swept amphitheatre in the wide Colorado river wash, beneath the turquoise-blue vault of Arizona's polychrome "Painted Desert," June 14 and 15, 1929, to dedicate the new Grand Canyon bridge crossing the Colorado river gorge in Marble Canyon, six miles below old "Lee's Ferry." On one stage the commemorative ceremonies were shown. Another presented a hitherto unparalleled marriage pact, wherein the bride gave the happy groom as her "dot" — the "highest vehicular bridge in the world." While on the third, the centre of attraction for all eyes, was por- trayed in gripping, heart-reaching pageantry, the story of Arizona's settlement by "Mormon" pioneers. Five thousand whites and Indians from at least 13 states paid the price of strenuous effort to enjoy the privilege of being guests at this unique celebration. Five great Rocky Mountain states, Arizona, Colorado, Nevada, New Mexico and Utah, were represented by lead- ing citizens and state officials, four states sending their governors to aid in commemorating the event. Said Governor John C. Phillips of Arizona, smiling broadly as he stepped forward to sever the colorful ribbon barrier flaunting a challenge at him from the middle of the bridge, "Governor Dern. it's a long time between — er — er — hold on, governor, I didn't mean that! I meant to say, this is the first time Utah and Arizona have actually clasped hands officially across the gorge of the Colorado. Arizona extends greetings to you and Mrs. Dern as well as to all the other good people of Utah. Today we pay more intimate homage to our sister states by means of this new steel bridge and we bid you welcome into closer, more harmonious relationship — " or in words which meant as much. Other notable men there were who came as guests and as par- ticipators in the vital ceremonies of the celebration, President Heber 796 IMPROVEMENT ERA Aug., 1929 J. Grant of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and with him President Anthony W. Ivins of the First Presidency. President Grant spoke of the vigorous fight for law and order made by the Church throughout the early days of its history. He told his audience much about past achievements and forecast a future of still greater brilliancy. He acknowledged his pleasure in being permitted to be in attendance on so historic an occasion. President Ivins related dramatic personal experiences of his as a member of the first band of settlers sent into the lower part of Arizona, in 1875, by the order of Brigham Young. They had been told to conquer the desert and make settlements — and this thing they accomplished. Three days before staging this memorable drama, Eagle Scout Ray L. Richards and myself crossed over the river on this huge one- span steel causeway to the east side of the gorge to the Navajo reservation. Navajo-land! What a wealth of romance and mystery stirs one by the mere mention of that name. How I always revel in the delight of contacting these bronzed nomads of Arizona's desert mesas, who are so filled to the brim with the immensity, the reality, of their surroundings. They always appear to live life! Sitting there in our car, we were nonentities, occupying a niche in their environment. We trailed the desert in an automobile — they rode the wild horse with all the grace and skill of those almost born in the saddle. We were interlopers. They possessed their country and dwelt as happily therein as wards of our government are allowed to live. We studied the wide sweep of the great Colorado wash, which at this spot is 12 to 13 miles wide, with keenly observant eyes. Bounded on the west by the Paria Plateau, widely known as "The Sandhills," and Echo Cliffs on the east, it offers material for long and careful observation. The sun was just painting the rugged, angular cheeks of these vermilion cliffs with its last slanting rays. Painting is the only word I can use. the only one which actually describes what was going on right there in the heart of Arizona's magically, mysteriously "Painted Desert." "The Sandhills" were bathed in a glamorous haze of soft, violet-blue, accentuated here and there by faint touches of peach- blow and old rose, the dantiest of reflective tints from the miles and miles of rich red-vermilion rock faces in front of us. Every- thing in the near and far distance was enveloped in that tint which the Chinese call, "The color of distant Nature," freshly applied Aug.. 1929 CUTTING THE GORDIAN KNOT 797 every flash of time from the Master Painter's own gigantic palette of colors. Throughout the millenniums which have marked time while this vast plateau water-shed has suffered far-reaching erosional downfall at the hands of those untiring destroyers, wind, water, ice, heat, cold, the jagged sky-line of Echo Cliffs has pierced the eternal blue heavens doming the "Painted Desert," without apparent change. It has never moved. "The silent caravan that never passes by, The caravan whose camel-backs are laden with the sky." The Western Navajo Trading Post is a newcomer recently established on an upper plateau of the foot-hills about a mile east of the bridge. A garage and service station cluster about this the most westerly Indian trading post on the reservation. They make a veritable outpost on the Indian frontier. It is a real trading post, too, buying from and selling to the Navajo and Hopis who come to gaze at the bridge in untiring wonder. They never cease being interested in the terrific noise made by dropping such huge rocks as they can carry into the middle of the bridge and hurling them down, 487 feet, into the swiftly passing river. What a cannonade one hears there at times! From where we sat gazing in rapture at this magnificent scenic panorama we were continuously reminded of our utter insignificance in the limitless spaces of Nature. Brilliantly illumined vermilion cliffs to the west, to the east and now on the north we saw piercing the sky another uplift equally beautiful. These make a back- ground for the "Lee's Ferry" refuge. Their rock walls also line Glen Canyon for many miles up-stream. Where Glen Canyon ceases, right at the mouth of the Paria river just below the old ferry, Marble Canyon begins, and is bridged by the new structure below. John Doyle Lee appropriately named this famous spot "Lonely Dell." It is a dell, almost a paradise, hidden away within a growth of tender green vegetation — and it is lonely, no doubt about it. Being quite 150 miles from a railroad, it affords seclusion to anyone seeking isolation and entire freedom from worldly con- tact. Now that the bridge is completed and all travel must be diverted over the new highway, it will become still more secluded. Just at the point where Marble Canyon begins, below the old ferry on the Navajo side of the canyon, we could easily trace the old dugway formerly traversed when the ferry was being operated. It is the narrowest, most angular and most dangerous dugway of all 798 IMPROVEMENT ERA Aug., 19:9 canyon regions. The Colorado drainage basin is the very birthplace of perfect canyons — and it takes many, many diverse characteristics to make a perfect canyon. I was told years ago that whenever Navajos or Hopis came to the upper end of this dugway with freight and supplies for the ferryman, they left their old buckboards with from four to six mustangs attached, at the top of the grade. It was four miles to the river's edge. They tramped this distance, hollooed a wild, weird call to the ferryman and, with a disgusted wave of the hand over one shoulder, said, as plainly as an Indian could say it, — "come an' git your old freight — it's on the top o' the hill!" Not one of these intrepid trailers was ever known to have driven a load down that dugway, — he was too wary of the greedy, on-rushing Colorado flowing swiftly by a few hundreds of feet below him. The geologic, the climatic, the ethnologic anomalies making up the scene held us fast in our places. The comings and goings of Navajos and Hopis in gala attire, on foot, on ponies often carrying double, in buckboards, in "jitneys," big touring cars, singly and in packtrains moving the entire family and all its belongings, its only "hogan" (home), with dogs and burros ambling contentedly along behind, — we were stirred to the very depths of our beings. Right here something happened. It aroused us to wide-awake attentiveness. A dainty bit of Navajo femininity about 16 years old, clad in the mode of flapperish addicts, pumps, rolled silk hosiery, knees 'n all shown to the wide open spaces, strutted before us in dust half way to her ankles. She was on her way to the "Squaw dance," in preparation for the evening's entertainment, and it was to be staged within a willow-brush enclosure out on the desert not far off. A Navajo rug enveloped her upper parts to the very tip of her quaint, up-tilted little pug nose — and oh, it was hot! But what cared she! She was "IT" to every white and Navajo male (and she knew it, too!) as well as the envy of every Indian woman of less attractiveness. Instantly I made up my mind that if I wanted to keep the least bit of the old romance that I had been nourishing for many years regarding these nomads and their desert mesas — we must leave the spot at once. So we "came to," and drove back to the white man's side of the river, chose a camp-site on the very brink of the chasm, prepared and ate a very hearty supper. Before dark an early copy of the official program of the cele- bration came into our hands. We read every word with unbounded eagerness. We had driven 450 miles to take an observer's part in commemorating man's ingenuity in surmounting this rock-ribbed Aug., 1929 CUTTING THE GORDIAN KNOT 799 Photo by Chas. Griffin Plummet, M. D., Salt Lake City Doing an old-time quadrille in pioneer costumes, with "Mike" calling the figures to the assembled multitude at the staging of the "Mormon" pageant, June 15, 1929, in the dedicatory ceremonies of the Grand Canyon bridge, about five miles below "Lee's Ferry," Arizona. water-barrier. We wanted much to know where to be and when to go to see and hear everything. Before worming into our sleeping-bags, which were placed at an advantageous location for observing a growing moon mount the sky-scape to light up the gorge, as well as listening to the Hopis' night bird of the desert, called "Hoetska," chirping, singing, whisper- ing to his mate hidden away under the silvery moonlight out there, we planned for an early-morning picture-making hike. After that we would drive to "Lee's Ferry." The Paria river empties into the Colorado just below this old crossing. The word "Paria" is composed of two Piute (pah-i-ute is the Indian spelling) words — "Pah" meaning water and "Ria" meaning elk, whole word, place where elk drink. The Paria heads up against the Paunsaugunt, which forms our own Bryce Canyon. Years ago I traveled the entire length of the Paria, except through the box canyon where the Buckskin Gulch empties into it. Each night we slept on the rim-edge of the great gorge I studied the sky at intervals. About 10 o'clock I noticed a thin, white, 800 IMPROVEMENT ERA Aug-, m* vaporous veil appear in the sky about 500 feet above the earth, hanging directly over the course of the river. It had a haunting, spectral movement as a light current of air fanned it, yet it held bravely to its position throughout the night. About 4:30 in the morning, a little while after Venus bounded into view from a deep notch in Echo Cliffs — my white cloud vanished. Venus (the Hopis call her, "Wugo-sha~ho,") presaged the warming of the air by the sun's rays, — to the death of my night cloud. I had met the family of Jeremiah Johnson living at "Lonely Dell," on a previous trip — but I missed something out of the land- scape. The old "Bar-Z" ranch-house was gone! It burned two years ago. How I missed the kindly, hospitable old doorway, the friend- ly welcome of the wide, cheery fire-place ensconced within a typical "cow-camp" kitchen. An exchange of greetings and introductions and we were wel- comed to the old quarters of the "Bar-Z" ranch yards. We soon had our bed-rolls open and beds laid for a night out under the stars. Then we quietly sought out the very best "ole swimmin' hole" in the Paria — and found it! What a night of song and romantic whisperings by birds and insects we enjoyed! A long-tailed chat, Burroughs' "polyglot chat," he of the many tongues, chattered and sang to us throughout the livelong night. He is the great ventriloquist of birddom. First he gave us the quacking of a duck, then the cackle of old biddy after she had laid her "daily dozen," the barking of the family pup fol- lowed and then "Tabitha" caterwauled with her nearest feline neigh- bor. Finally we were startled by the imitation of a child crying for its mother. A catbird, a mocker, a thrush, a magpie, a bluebird — he is all in one and he rendered their songs in a wild potpourri of melody as the moon nodded "Good night!" to us over the rim of "The Sandhills." Thus we were sung into rapturous repose that night far up in "Lonely Dell," that haven from all worldly cares. Happy the night, I thought as I rolled out of bed. " — happier the day!" Ray said as he got ready for breakfast. We returned to our camp at the celebration rendezvous early in the day and again consulted our program. The big event to us. the one which held our undivided attention, was, — "Pioneer Day — Pageant of the Settlement of Arizona in six epochs. Epoch 1, The Call to Make Settlement of Arizona by Brigham Young. Epoch 2, The Settlement. Epoch 3, Moving with the Spirit to the Desert. Epoch 4, The Conquered Colorado. Epoch -5, Growth and De- velopment. Epoch 6, The Future and Conclusion/' As we read on we beheld another startling announcement. — "The Wedding of the Northwest and the Southwest: Miss South- Aug.. 1929 CUTTING THE GORDIAN KNOT 801 west, Miss Betty Kastner, Prescott, Arizona: Mr. Northwest, Mr. Kenneth Judd, Fredonia. Heber J. Meeks, Kanab, Utah, officiating." A wedding was to be solemnized — and we were to be guests! What an astonishing marriage contract was to be uttered we knew not. I re-adjusted my glasses that I might read again that number. Yes, there it was — and at once I began to picture that groom in my mind's eye, and I just wondered what and how much he could and would pledge to this maiden. Was she as old and as settled, perhaps, as one of the century plants which grows with such delight in her Arizona, or was she a "flapper," a modern of the moderns? Well, — she certainly was! Said this preacher in an enthralling ceremony, the exact words of which I do not have, but he meant about what I am making him say, every word of which was gaily repeated by the groom, — "Miss Southwest, I present thee, among others of my possessions, with a timeless passport over Utah's end of the United States Highway No. 89, leading from Salt Lake City, 'The Center of Scenic Amer- ica,' into and through thine own beloved State of Arizona to Nogales, on thy southernmost border, the termination of this, one of America's most notable highways. "I offer thee the beauty, the grandeur, the magnificence of at least two National Parks and two National Monuments directly on this highway and its branches, for thy relaxation, for thy diversion, and for thy entertainment. All these natural resources are linked up with thine own Grand Canyon, the uniqueness of which as a region of indefinable lure and grandeur can be found nowhere else than in this highway system just being completed. "I further proffer thee Opportunity — agricultural — industrial — educational — sociologic — civic — all for thy greater, loftier un- foldment." Miss Southwest stood her tallest, looked her prettiest, spoke in her most seductive, endearing tones, and showing no embarrass- ment when accepting her groom's prodigal offerings, replied, — "And I, too, O worthy, O great Northwest, groom of mine, have something to bestow upon thee. It is my 'dot,' my dowry, which I have made ready for thee. It is this long-dreamed steel bridge spanning my Marble Canyon of the Colorado river. This shall bind us, O Groom of the Northwest, — this shall unite thy Bride of the Southwest with thee so long as steel and stone shall stand. With this bridge, I thee wed, with all its connections both north and south — with all my Arizona I endow thee. May this union bring to us all that we hope, all that we need henceforth for time unending." Did that gay Groom of the Northwest kiss his dainty Bride 802 IMPROVEMENT ERA Aug.. 1929 of the Southwest? Ah, what would you have done? When the moment arrived for the traditional osculatory adventure, a tense, eager quiet stole upon that audience of thousands of whites and Indians. Every man, woman and child stood on tip-toe to witness the sealing of that strange pact. At the very apex of that stillest instant, "Smack!" — long, tenderly, deliciously holding — it sounded off into the open spaces, widely proclaiming, — "United we stand, divided we fall!" What a joyous climax to a ceremony of such national interest and widespread prominence. Then there broke forth a long, a laughing, a cheery wish for a union of unmeasurable bliss and pro- ductiveness. Except in Sahara or Gobi, perhaps, could there have been a more isolated desert setting for a wedding ceremony? A lonely land it is, too, particularly if one be not in harmony with the desert, hearing its songs, and reading its stories that are being carried about on every vagrant breeze. It is far from man's usual haunts, yet not too far for one to make the trip in ease and comfort. What a unique marriage, what an unexampled "dot" — and of such wide utility, too: and just think of the size of that offering! Has any bride ever before honored a groom with such an exchange present? Only in the mighty Southwest, that land of alluring picturesqueness, could such an event have been celebrated. Arizona's "Painted Desert" hereabouts is supreme in its sky and earth paintings. Vast, vivid, brilliantly gorgeous picturings that hold one fascinated in one's tracks. Sometimes they are as evanescent as a gossamer cloud, again they endure for hours together. So few travelers in this region really see these displays. Yes, the Colorado had been conquered, and for a second time. First, by that indomitable band of "Mormon" pioneers who fought their way to its edge back in 1875. This, the second time, by the aid of the descendants of these same early empire builders who to- day are carrying on in pageantry and story the triumph of their fore- bears. But on this last occasion Old Colorado river has been con- quered by a more timely, a more glorified medium, the product of an advanced civilization. Man has surmounted all difficulties in getting across this age- defying chasm. This hitherto impassable barrier had defiantly maintained its integrity for unnumbered millenniums, all the time shouting that thrilling Allied Armies' war-cry before Verdun, "On ne passe pas!" The stories of wedding and bridge had enthralled me. That pageant in early-time costumes, "Moving with the Spirit of the Aug., 1929 CUTTING THE GORD1AN KNOT 803 Desert," depicting the long, arduous ancestral trek into a newer home-building land — what of that event? As though such pioneers had not had enough of pioneering! Who but descendants of devoted followers of Brigham Young would have exhibited the same zeal, the same effective organization to have carried off such a presentation on this program? They struggled into the world, faced persistent struggle, lived a continuous struggle in order to attain a maturity which fitted them for elemental conquest, in making effective Brigham Young's slogan and command, "The desert must be conquered!" — until today their first and middle names are "Struggle!" In dance, in song, in story, blithely, happily told and done, this symbolic pageant carried on in picturization, the gripping scenes of former days with intense emotional stress and great dramatic power. So realistic was it, Ray and I felt that we, too, had been trail builders, empire makers, as we drove homeward, over some of the same route taken in 1875, crossing many of the same divides and canyons and dry washes — but oh, how differently we traveled! We sped along comfortably in an automobile, making more miles in one hour than they could have made in three or four days. They fought deep sand on the plateaus above Kanab at the foot of those beauteous White Cliffs, and we hurried on over a splendid highway. I could not help wondering if those same tall, graceful plants, the "Spanish Bayonet," called "Oos" by the south- west Indians, grew in the same places — perhaps they saw the self- same plants that we admired so much just last June. They do live hundreds of years, blooming from the same root system, anchored to Mother Earth in deep, shifting, all-defying sand and they flower each year in unparalleled gorgeousness. Some poetic chap has named these handsome, cream-flowered spears, which grow from 6 to 10 feet in height, "The Candles of the Lord." And they lighted us on our way home even as they must have illuminated the trail of those earlier travelers over this self- same desert, and with the same loving, protective devotion. Henry Ford has settled the prohibition problem for his employees — no one working for him takes a drink at any time, any place. "I do not want a man working for me if he has the smell of liquor on his breath or if he is known to frequent bootleg joints," Mr. Ford is quoted in The Christian Herald.