December 8th. The old trapper came to our camp before we started, bringing on his shoulder a quarter of fat elk, also a little flour. He was a gigantic, rawboned, and grisled old volunteer soldier. We gave him in return some clothing of which he was in need and a belt full of cartridges, as he had a big rifle with the same sized chamber as mine. While talking with him, Starr and Davis were busy and soon we had a meal. The elk meat all went, the balance of the flour was reserved for gravies. The old trapper gave me explicit and correct information about the settlements below. He was trapping for fine furs only, mink, martin, fisher, and otter. Said it would not pay to go after beaver unless one had pack animals and these could not winter in the valley. He told me that he had not believed the Sergeant’s story about the boat at first, and throughout his visit was evidently completely puzzled as to what motives could have induced us to attempt such a trip in such a way and at such a season. I sent him home on horseback with Sergeant Server, who told me after returning that he had been given another “Holy meal.” Meantime we worked on down the river with renewed strength among rocks and tortuous channels. Worked until after dark and camped at the head of “Mad River Canyon.” 15 miles. The voyage down the Grand Canyon of the Snake, “Mad River Canyon,” was a series of nightmares. Steadily deepening and narrowing, the canyon walls closing in with oppressive gloom, the river became almost completely unnavigable. It was necessary to handline the boat down boiling rapids, drag her over the ice of frozen pools, portage the equipment, in this manner advancing 6 to 7 miles a day. Doane writes that it was ...very cold in the shaded chasm. Otter, fat and sleek, played around us on the ice and snarled at us from holes in the wall, all day long, safe from molestation in their fishy unpalatableness. We had no time to shoot for sport, nor transportation for pelts, and no desire for any game not edible. All day and as late at night as we could see to labor, we toiled to make six miles. [Illustration: The upper end of the Grand Canyon of the Snake, Doane’s “Mad River Canyon.” The wicked white water of the Snake brought disaster to the Expedition on December 12, 1876, near the lower end of the gorge, when “all of a sudden the boat touched the icy margin, turned under it, and the next instant was dancing end over end in the swift, bold current.”] On December 11, Doane concluded to split his party.