Leaving Salt Lake City at noon, we sped through the fertile and
populous Jordan Valley, past the fresh and lovely Utah Lake, and up the
Valley of Spanish Fork. All the way the superb granite walls and summits
of the Wahsatch accompanied us on the east, while westward, across the
wide valley, were the blue outlines of the Oquirrh range. One after
another of the magnificent canons of the Wahsatch we passed, their
mouths seeming mere gashes in the massive rock, but promising wild and
rugged variety to him who enters--a promise which I have abundantly
tested in other days. Parley's Canon, the Big and Little Cottonwood, and
most wonderful of all, the canon of the American Fork, form a series not
inferior to those of Boulder, Clear Creek, the Platte, and the Arkansas,
in the front range of the Rockies.
Following Spanish Fork eastward so far as it served our purpose, we
crossed the divide to the head waters of the South Fork of Price River,
a tributary of Green River. It was a regret to me, in choosing this
route, that I should miss the familiar and beloved scenery of Weber and
Echo canons--the only part of the Union Pacific road which tempts one
to look out of a car window, unless one may be tempted by the boundless
monotony of the plains or the chance of a prairie dog.
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