Produced by Pat McCoy, Greg Bergquist and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) TRANSCRIBER NOTES: Italic type is indicated by the use of underscores (_). Other changes are noted at the end of the text. [Illustration: C. F. ADAMS. O. C. YOCUM. J. M. KEENE. C. H. GOVE. N. W. DURHAM. W. G. STEEL. J. M. BRECK, Jr. ] THE MOUNTAINS OF OREGON BY W. G. STEEL, Fellow of the American Geographical Society. PORTLAND, OREGON: DAVID STEEL, SUCCESSOR TO HIMES THE PRINTER, 169-1/2 Second Street. 1890. COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY W. G. STEEL. PREFACE. This little volume has not been written with the expectation of accomplishing a mission, or even attracting general attention, but simply to put into permanent form a small portion of information that is constantly appearing in newspaper articles. Such information usually comes from abler pens than mine, but it is all the more pity that it is not in proper shape for future use. If it amuses, entertains or instructs those who peruse it, its aim will be accomplished, and its author satisfied. There is, however, a word of explanation due for the manner in which it is arranged. It was not begun with the intention of publishing a book, but in response to numerous requests received for descriptions of Crater Lake and Mt. Hood. As it was impossible at the time to answer them satisfactorily, it was decided to print a letter on each subject, and issue as a small pamphlet. Before this was accomplished the discovery was made that the space allotted was entirely inadequate, so, acting on the advice of friends, this form was adopted; too late, however, to prevent the present arrangement. W. G. S. CONTENTS. PAGE Crater Lake 12 Exploration Department, Oregon Alpine Club 73 Game Protective Department, Oregon Alpine Club 77 Illumination of Mount Hood 3 Josephine County Caves 34 Mount Rainier 55 Night on the Summit of Mount Rainier 43 Oregon Alpine Club 67 Oregon Alpine Club, Constitution 69 Oregon Bibliography 85 Our Mountains in War 40 Photographic Department, Oregon Alpine Club 79 Preface 1 Presidents of the Oregon Alpine Club 82 Statement of Rev. Peter Stanup 57 Thoughts on the name Tacoma 59 Topical Index 109 What They Signify 52 ILLUMINATION OF MOUNT HOOD. Mount Hood is located in the Cascade range in Oregon, twenty-five miles south of the Columbia river. It is about twelve thousand feet high, and is visible over a large part of the State. Above an elevation of five thousand feet it is covered with perpetual snow. It stands sixty miles east of Portland, a monument of beauty, and the pride of Oregon. In the spring of 1885 the idea originated of illuminating it with red fire. An effort was made to carry this into effect on the following 4th of July, but failed for the reason that, instead of staying with it over night, a system of clock work and acids was devised, which was perfectly willing to do the work assigned, but an ugly avalanche came along at four o'clock in the afternoon, broke the bottles of acid and set the whole thing ablaze. In 1887, the Celebration Committee of Portland, decided to make the trial, and placed the matter in charge of the writer, who was accompanied by N. W. Durham, correspondent of the _Oregonian_, O. C. Yocum, photographer, Dr. J. M. Keene, J. M. Breck, Jr., C. H. Gove and Chas. F. Adams. More agreeable, determined and competent associates I never met. Breck was a cripple, finding it necessary at all times to walk with a crutch, yet, a better mountain climber is hard to find. Everything being placed in readiness, we left Portland at 6 o'clock A.M., Friday July 1st, and reached Government Camp at 5 o'clock in the afternoon of the second. From this point, the mountain rises to the north in all its beauty and grandeur, with timber line apparently within a few rods, instead of four miles, the actual distance. Here the wagons were left, and two horses were packed with blankets and provisions, and our journey was resumed as soon as possible. It was necessary to cross two small streams, over both of which the bridges had fallen, so we were compelled to carry logs and fill in until it was possible to get the horses over. About nine o'clock, finding that we could not reach timber line, it was decided to camp on some friendly rocks near at hand. Here we found the trees thickly covered with a long, dry moss, which afforded excitement for the evening, for, no sooner had the inner man's longings been supplied, than lighted matches were applied to the moss, which blazed furiously until it died out in the distance, simply for the want of material. The scene, while it lasted, was indeed brilliant, and accompanied by a roar that seemed but the echo of thunder. Already exhausted, after three hours plodding through snow knee deep, we sank to rest and slept soundly until four o'clock. At five we were on our way, somewhat surprised to see that the snow remained as soft as on the evening before. In addition to the difficulty of sinking each step nearly to our knees, each man was loaded with fifty pounds of blankets, provisions or red fire, while three tugged savagely at a heavily loaded toboggan. At noon we lunched at timber line. It was hardly a sumptuous repast, but answered every requirement, there being canned Boston brown bread and beef tea, mixed with snow and seasoned with smoke. Not a dainty dish, to be sure, but "the best the market afforded." After lunch we dragged our weary way along, among other difficulties encountering a bitter cold wind, blowing directly from the summit with fearful velocity. Slower and slower we moved, until three o'clock, when two men fell in their tracks utterly exhausted. Here was a "pretty kettle of fish." Barely seven thousand feet up, with five thousand feet more above, and only one day in which to climb. It was finally decided to make camp on the nearest rocks, abandon all idea of reaching the summit, then, on the day following, find the best place possible for the illumination. Two thousand feet above timber line we camped on rocks, over which the cold wind swept, penetrating to the very marrow. Of course it was impossible to have a fire, and at night it was necessary to pile large stones on our blankets to keep them from sailing down the mountain. Hats and a few other things were anchored in like manner. The "Glorious Fourth" was ushered in, clear and cold, while a patriot in the party, not to be outdone by Uncle Sam, saluted the rising sun with a deafening round of fire cracker artillery. At five o'clock we started on our upward march. Every thing was left behind except one hundred pounds of red fire, three overcoats and a few crackers. At 11:30 A.M., bare rocks were found to the west of the summit, in what was considered a good location, and at an altitude of about ten thousand feet. Here our burdens were cast at the foot of the cliff, and all hands, except Keene and myself, returned to Government Camp. By noon the wind had died down entirely, and the day became very pleasant. While waiting at this lonely station for the appointed hour of illumination, a panorama was spread before us, of a scope and magnificence that cannot be appropriately described, but must be seen to be appreciated. Yes, and it remains for those who love the beautiful and grand sufficiently to scale mountains, to toil on day after day, patiently waiting for the time that is sure to come, when the glorious pages of Nature will be unrolled before them. Then, "It seems by the pain of ascending the height, We had conquered a claim to that wonderful sight." The scene embraces millions of acres of land in Eastern Oregon, extending from the Cascades to the Blue mountains, a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles. The entire range of the Cascades lies before us, showing the foothills of both Eastern and Western Oregon, and the increase in height toward the center. For miles upon miles to the south, cross ranges, running from east to west seem piled one upon the other, and to their tops is added a covering of snow, changing the solemn, otherwise unbroken, dark green, to a variegated picture, not only of grandeur, but beauty. To the left of the centre stands Jefferson, similar to Hood as seen from Portland. Next come the Three Sisters to the left of Jefferson, while still further stands Snow Butte. Almost in front of Jefferson is Washington, while to the right McLaughlin looms up in southern Oregon, two hundred and fifty miles distant. Changing the view to western Oregon, we see Mary's Peak over one hundred miles southwest. The Willamette valley can be seen through its entire extent of many miles, while here and there we catch glimpses of the river flowing on to the lordly Columbia. Along the western horizon extends the Coast Range, while in one little spot the mountains break way and give us a vista of the ocean. In the immediate foreground lies the base of old Hood, white with snow for five thousand feet below us. To witness a scene like this many a man would circle the globe;--and yet, imagine a sunset upon it. At 5:30 P.M. clouds drifted from the north and hung on the points of the range a mile below. Slowly the sun sank to rest, while the clouds hovering over the western horizon became brighter and brighter, until it seemed that the very gates of heaven were thrown wide open, and over a scene of unrivaled grandeur was spread another of marvelous magnificence. As if Nature was not even yet satisfied with such dazzling beauty, suddenly the smoke that had gathered far below us, shutting out the great Columbia, was drawn aside and the waters of that river seemed, through the thin smoke remaining, like a stream of molten gold, visible in an unbroken line, winding from the mountain to the sea a distance of one hundred and fifty miles. Then, too, as we looked, just beneath the setting sun, the Pacific ocean came to view, while the sun was setting in the mouth of the Columbia, reflecting its ruddy glare in the ocean and river at one and the same time. To the right could be seen Cape Disappointment, while to the left Point Adams showed with equal clearness. So closed the day and the night came on. Far above the few clouds that lurked beneath us, threatening the success of our experiment, the atmosphere was so perfectly clear that we thought its equal had never been seen. Promptly with the departing day the full moon arose in all its beauty, changing the day's brilliance to a subdued halo of glory. About seven o'clock the wind blew furiously, almost carrying us from the rocks to the snow beneath. Although clad for a land of wintry blasts, it was necessary to pace back and forth, swinging our arms and jumping to keep warm. At eight o'clock the wind died down, and we became comfortable without exercise. Our spirits were low, however, for it seemed that the entire country was covered with a thick veil of smoke, and our labor was to be in vain. Suddenly at 9:30 we saw a red light in the direction of Portland. It was the signal for a complete revolution in our feelings. We danced for joy. Yes, we screamed and halloed until we were hoarse. Did all sorts of silly things, for now we _knew_ our fire would be seen. Following the first light came another, and still others, and in our mad excitement we took a handful of red fire and burned it on a rock. "Thereby hangs a tale." The members of our party at Government camp were gathered around a cheerful fire telling bear stories and waiting patiently for the appointed time, when they were startled by a brilliant light from the mountain, showing through the trees in front of them. Instantly they scattered, every member forgetting his companions in a wild scramble for a good view. In this sudden stampede, one member, who is hard of hearing, climbed a tree, where he remained until the others began to assemble. As one of the drivers, a hardy son of Erin, passed the tree and heard a rustling in the branches, he glanced up, saw a large, dark object, took it for a bear and gave the alarm. Instantly all hands gathered around the tree, every one armed with a club, which he swung like the arms of a windmill, at the same time shouting for some one else to get a gun. The man up a tree, not understanding why the commotion should extend so long after the burning of red fire, started to go down, but, was met with such a lively rain of clubs that he beat a precipitate retreat. At this point, a gun arrived and every fellow wanted to shoot the bear. Bruin, at last comprehending the situation, chimed in with: "You fellows let up with your durned foolishness, will you." Soon after the red fire and rockets at Portland were noticed, others were seen at Prineville, seventy-five miles to the southeast, and also at Vancouver, W. T. These were watched with the most intense interest, until the time arrived to make our own novel show. The red fire was placed in a narrow ridge about ten feet long, and at right angles with Portland. Holding my watch before me, promptly at 11:30 we applied the match with the result as shown by the following account in the _Oregonian_ of the next day: "The celebration closed with the illumination of Mount Hood, the grandest and most unique event of the day. Precisely at 11:30, the time appointed, just as the fireworks display was over, a bright red light shone away up in the clouds above the eastern horizon, which was greeted with cheers from the thousands congregated on the bridge, wharves, roofs, boats on the river and on the hills back of town, and with vigorous and long-continued whistling from every steamboat on the river. "The mountain had been plainly visible all day, but toward evening a curtain of mist and smoke shut off the view at the base, and as twilight fell, the curtain rose higher till at last only the very peak could be seen, and as night came on, even that disappeared from view. Many gave up all hope of seeing any sign from the mountain. But many thought that the obstructions to a view of the summit were very slight, and if the party had reached the peak, the light from one hundred pounds of red fire would be able to pierce through them, and so it proved. It lasted exactly fifty-eight seconds. This was the most novel and the highest illumination ever made, and was seen the farthest and formed a fitting close to the celebration of 1887." Immediately after the illumination we started down the mountain, following our previous trail in the snow. Just after midnight, while lunging through the snow, we suddenly lost our footing and were no little astonished to find that we had fallen into a crevasse. It proved narrow and shallow, however, and all things considered, we extricated ourselves with remarkable celerity and passed on down the mountain side, only to get lost in the timber below, and wander around until daylight, when we found camp and soon after were homeward bound. CRATER LAKE. ONE OF THE WORLD'S GREAT NATURAL WONDERS. A trip to Crater Lake is, to a lover of the grand and beautiful in nature, an important event, around which will ever cluster memories of unalloyed happiness, thoughts of little adventures and weird experiences that go to make life worth living. It is situated in the northwest portion of Klamath county, Oregon, twenty-two miles west of north of Fort Klamath, and about eighty miles northeast of Medford, which is the best point to leave the Oregon & California railroad. The Jacksonville and Fort Klamath military road passes the lake within three miles, and the road to the very walls of it is an exceptionally good one for a mountainous country, while in near proximity may be found remarkably fine camping grounds. The Indians of Southern Oregon have known of it for ages, but until recently none have seen it, for the reason that a tradition, handed down from generation to generation, described it as the home of myriads of sea-devils, or, as they were called, Llaos; and it was considered certain death for any brave even to look upon it. This superstition still haunts the Klamaths. While a few of the tribe have visited it, they do so with a sort of mysterious dread of the consequences. It was discovered by a party of twelve prospectors on June 12th, 1853, among whom were J. W. Hillman, George Ross, James Louden, Pat McManus, Isaac Skeeters and a Mr. Dodd. These had left the main party, and were not looking for gold, but having run short of provisions, were seeking wherewithal to stay the gnawing sensations that had seized upon their stomachs. For a time hunger forsook them, as they stood in silent amazement upon the cliffs, and drank in the awe of the scene stretched before them. After partaking of the inspiration fostered by such weird grandeur, they decided to call it Mysterious, or Deep Blue Lake. It was subsequently called Lake Majesty, and by being constantly referred to as a crater lake, it gradually assumed that name, which is within itself so descriptive. At times when gazing from the surrounding wall, the skies and cliffs are seen perfectly mirrored in the smooth and glassy surface over which the mountain breeze creates scarce a ripple, and it is with great difficulty the eye can distinguish the line dividing the cliffs from their reflected counterfeits. The lake is almost egg-shaped, ranging northeast by southwest and is seven miles long by six in width. The water's surface is six thousand two hundred and fifty-one feet above sea level, and is completely surrounded by cliffs, or walls, from one thousand to over two thousand feet high, which are scantily covered with coniferous trees. To the southwest is Wizard Island, eight hundred and forty-five feet high, circular in shape, and slightly covered with timber. In the top is a depression, or crater--the Witches' Cauldron--one hundred feet deep and four hundred and seventy-five feet in diameter. This was evidently the last smoking chimney of a once mighty volcano. The base of the island is covered with very heavy and hard rocks, with sharp and unworn edges, over which scarcely a score of human feet have trod. Farther up are deep beds of ashes, and light, spongy rocks and cinders, giving evidence of intense heat. Within the crater, as without, the surface is entirely covered with volcanic rocks, but here it forms one of the hottest places on a clear day in August, it has ever been my lot to witness. Not a breath of air seems to enter, and the hot sun pours down upon thousands of rocks and stones that reflect his rays with an intensity that seems to multiply beyond conception. Here, however, we determined to lunch--and did--but one such experience will last a long time. Directly north of the island is Llao Rock, a grand old sentinel, standing boldly out on the west side of the lake and reaching up over two thousand feet perpendicular. From the top of it you can drop a stone and it will pass down and grow smaller and smaller, until your head begins to swim and you see the stone become a mere speck, and fade entirely from view; and at last, nearly half a mile below, it strikes the unruffled surface of the water and sinks forever from sight in the depth of a bottomless lake. There is probably no point of interest in America that so completely overcomes the ordinary Indian with fear as Crater Lake. From time immemorial, no power has been strong enough to induce him to approach within sight of it. For a paltry sum he will engage to guide you thither, but, before you reach the mountain top, will leave you to proceed alone. To the savage mind it is clothed with a deep veil of mystery, and is the abode of all manner of demons and unshapely monsters. Once inhabited by the Great Spirit, it has now become the sheol of modern times, and it is certain death for any proud savage to behold it. This feeling has, to a certain extent, instilled itself in the mind of such whites as have made it their Mecca, until every stray log that floats upon the water is imagined to possess life, and may possibly be a monster. Exaggerated accounts of different points have been given and implicitly believed without a question or reflection. It has been claimed that the crater was eight hundred feet deep, while by actual measurement we found it to be scarcely a hundred. The island was said to be fifteen hundred feet high, but an accurate measurement placed it at just eight hundred and forty-five feet. From Allen Davey, Chief of the Klamath tribe, I gleaned the following in reference to the discovery of Crater Lake: A long time ago, long before the white man appeared in this region to vex and drive the proud native out, a band of Klamaths, while out hunting, came suddenly upon the lake and were startled by its remarkable walls and awed by its majestic proportions. With spirits subdued and trembling with fear, they silently approached and gazed upon its face; something within told them the Great Spirit dwelt there, and they dared not remain, but passed silently down the side of the mountain and camped far away. By some unaccountable influence, however, one brave was induced to return. He went up to the very brink of the precipice and started his camp fire. Here he laid down to rest; here he slept till morn--slept till the sun was high in air, then arose and joined his tribe far down the mountain. At night he came again; again he slept till morn. Each visit bore a charm that drew him back again. Each night found him sleeping above the rocks; each night strange voices arose from the waters; mysterious noises filled the air. At last, after a great many moons, he climbed down to the lake and there he bathed and spent the night. Often he climbed down in like manner, and frequently saw wonderful animals, similar in all respects to a Klamath Indian, except that they seemed to exist entirely in the water. He suddenly became hardier and stronger than any Indian of his tribe because of his many visits to the mysterious waters. Others then began to seek its influence. Old warriors sent their sons for strength and courage to meet the conflicts awaiting them. First, they slept on the rocks above, then ventured to the water's edge, but last of all they plunged beneath the flood and the coveted strength was theirs. On one occasion, the brave who first visited the lake, killed a monster, or fish, and was at once set upon by untold numbers of excited Llaos (for such they were called), who carried him to the top of the cliffs, cut his throat with a stone knife, then tore his body in small pieces, which were thrown down to the waters far beneath, where he was devoured by the angry Llaos--and such shall be the fate of every Klamath brave, who, from that day to this, dares to look upon the lake. My first visit to Crater Lake was in 1885, at which time the thought was suggested by Capt. C. E. Dutton, of having the lake and environs drawn from the market. Promptly acting on the suggestion, my friend, Hon. Binger Hermann, was sought and a movement started looking to the formation of a National Park. In response to a petition forwarded to Washington and ably advocated by Congressman Hermann, the United States Geological Survey, under Capt. Dutton, was ordered to examine the lake and surroundings during the summer of 1886. In this expedition it was my good fortune to have charge of the sounding, which afforded me a pleasure unsurpassed in all my mountain experience. That an idea may be had of the difficulties to be overcome, suffice it to say, boats had to be built for the purpose in Portland, transported to Ashland, three hundred and forty-one miles by rail, and carried from there to the lake on wagons, one hundred miles into the mountains, where they were launched over cliffs one thousand feet high. On the first day of July, I boarded the train for Ashland, where I met Capt. Dutton, and we were joined immediately afterward by Capt. Geo. W. Davis, one of the most eminent engineers of America, and ten soldiers. On the 7th, we started for the lake, preceded by Capts. Dutton and Davis, who were followed by a four mule team, bearing a first-class lap streak boat, which in turn was followed by three double teams, horsemen and pack train. Of our largest boat, the Cleetwood, we all felt justly proud, as it was certainly a beautiful model, four-oared, twenty-six feet long and competent to ride almost any sea. When passing through Phoenix, the typical and irrepressible critic came to the surface, in the shape of a lean, lank, awkward, ignorant country boy of, say, eighteen summers. With hands in his pockets, he aided the single suspender delegated to hold his breeches in place, and when shifting a monstrous chew of tobacco over his tongue, informed his audience (of half a dozen small urchins) that "That 'ere boat won't live in Crater Lake half an hour if a storm comes up. It ain't shaped right. Jist see for yourself how sway-backed it is. It must have been made by some feller as never seed a boat afore." This brings to mind the fact that a critic is a person who finds fault with something of which he is densely ignorant. The entire distance from Ashland--ninety-seven miles--was accomplished by slow, easy marches, every precaution being taken to provide against a mishap, and no incident occurred of special importance. Soon after reaching the foothills, we encountered sliding places and short turns in the road. As the wagon containing the Cleetwood was top heavy and coupled twenty feet long, it was impossible to turn on an ordinary curve, hence it became necessary at times to drive as far as possible, then let ten or fifteen men lift the hind end of the wagon around by main strength. When a sliding place was reached, the men would hang on the upper side, or attach ropes to the top and hold it, thus preventing an upset. On Tuesday we succeeded in reaching the foot of the last grade, and on Wednesday morning began the ascent. Here was the rub. The hill is about a mile and a half long, very steep, sliding, rocky, and filled with roots and stones, added to which were great banks of snow, packed solid by constant thawing. Progress was slow and tedious, a roadway having to be cut in places, while men with picks, axes and shovels dug up rocks, cut down trees and shoveled snow, besides building up or cutting down one side of the roadway. At 10 o'clock on Wednesday the 14th, the boats were landed on the walls of the lake, having traveled four hundred and forty miles from Portland, with scarcely a scratch to mar the paint. Thursday morning the work of launching was commenced by covering the bottom of each skiff with inch boards, firmly secured, as also a shield in front of the bow. They were carried to the lowest place to be found in the cliffs, probably about nine hundred feet, vertical measurement, where a canyon descends at an angle of thirty-five or forty degrees, when a three-quarter inch rope was attached and in turn passed around a tree on the summit, where a man was stationed to manage it, directed by signals below. One was lowered at a time, accompanied by four men to guide and handle it. Besides this, men were stationed at different points to signal to the top, and thus regulate the paying out of rope. Every effort was made to send all loose stones on ahead, to prevent accident from above, yet, before the first boat had proceeded three hundred feet in its descent, a boulder came rolling from near the summit with increasing velocity, and before any one realized the danger, had struck a rock in near proximity and bounded over the skiff, passed between the men and within an inch of one fellow's head. Before the descent was completed, the boards were torn from the first boat; but extra precaution was taken with the second one. About two-thirds of the way down a perfect shower of rocks came tumbling from a cliff to the left, but, strange as it may seem, they either bounded over or around the men and boat, so that no damage resulted. At three o'clock the first skiff reached bottom somewhat scratched, but not injured in any manner. The second one was placed in the lake entirely uninjured at six o'clock P.M. Our tents were pitched in a beautiful spot. In the immediate foreground to the north lies the lake with its twenty odd miles of rugged cliffs standing abruptly from the water's edge. To the left is Wizard Island, on the top of which rests the Witch's Cauldron, or crater, like a great flat top; beyond stands Llao Rock, solemn, grim and grand, over two thousand feet perpendicular, while still beyond stands Mt. Thielsen, the lightning rod of the Cascades. Just to the east of the lake is Mt. Scott, partly covered with snow, while close to the camp on the east, is a high cliff known as Cathedral Rock, running far down to the right and at last disappearing below the tree tops. To the south the scene was varied by a wide range of mountain tops, stretching far away to California, chief among which is snow-capped and beautiful Pitt. Just to the left the rough mountain view is changed to a charming plain, in the midst of which is a broad expanse of water, which proves to be Klamath Lake, about thirty miles distant. Thursday evening, dark and threatening clouds were suddenly seen to approach from this point, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and loud peals of thunder. A few large drops of rain had fallen, when there was a sudden outburst of joy in camp, as every one glanced at the sides of Cathedral Rock, which were suddenly illuminated by a light of deep orange. To the west, the sun was slowly sinking to rest, when a glowing light spread itself over the dark clouds, which became brighter and still brighter. Looking beyond a scene of unparalleled magnificence was spread before us. Through the center hung long fleecy clouds lighted to a deep orange, while above, like a great curtain, was spread a belt of olive green. Here and there were tints of crimson, the delicacy of which no artist could approach. Above and parallel with the horizon stretched a long rift, in clouds rendered marvelously rich in gold and garnet, through which the blue sky beyond was visible, slightly obscured by light, fleecy clouds of silver. During all this magnificent sight the electric storm raged in the south with unabated fury, flashes of lightning and peals of thunder adding solemnity to a scene of wonderful brilliance. The 16th was spent in preparing the Cleetwood for her final plunge over the cliffs in search of water. A sled was made of very heavy timbers, on which she was placed, keel up, then lashed and braced in every conceivable manner until, in fact, she seemed a part of the sled itself. Guy ropes were placed on each corner to guide it, in connection with a heavy handspike. Saturday morning the actual work of launching began, by sliding the boat over a snowdrift in a canyon that slopes to the lake at about an angle of fifty degrees. The cliff is probably one thousand feet high at this point. The sled was attached by block and tackle to a tree on the summit and lowered nearly half way, when the bearing was shifted as far down as possible and a new start taken. Leaving the summit at 7:30 A.M., it required the most persistent work and constant care of fifteen men eight hours to reach the lake. In the bottom of the canyon flows a stream of water that contributes very materially to the danger of such an undertaking, as constant slides of rocks are thus caused. When the bottom seemed to be reached it was found that there still remained a sort of jump-off, or slide, into the water, perpendicular and about fifteen feet high. The water, at this point is very deep, and the question arose, "How shall we launch the boat now that we have got it here?" It was simply turned right side up again, lashed to the sled and let partially down with the bow thrown out as far as possible. It was held securely in this position while one of the men climbed aboard, cut the lines and she shot forward in fine style, not shipping a gallon of water, although the bow was almost submerged to start with. The moment the launching was complete there was a cry of unrestrained joy sent up from all present, and our shouts were answered from the cliffs by waving of hats and blowing of fog horns. With one impulse the cry was raised, "Now for the island!" and in an incredibly short space of time both skiffs and the Cleetwood were headed that way. With four men at the oars we soon reached our destination, and then returned to camp, where a bountiful repast awaited us. Every precaution was taken to clear the canyon of loose rocks, nevertheless a few rolled down, but were successfully dodged until the boat was actually in the water, immediately after which a small bowlder came down with terrific force. Capt. Davis stood directly in its course, and not seeing it the other members of the party shouted to him to "lookout." It being impossible for him to run, he jumped under the framework, or sled, hanging where the boat left it, and laid flat on the ground, just as the stone struck a rock and the upper end of the frame. It then struck Capt. Davis in the back, but its force had been so broken that it did no harm further than to make the spot feel sore. The day after launching the Cleetwood, nine members of our party made the circuit of the lake on a sort of casual observation, or tour of inspection. The scenery was grand to a degree far beyond our most sanguine expectations. Four strong oarsmen soon brought us to Llao Rock, and as we gazed in silent wonder at its rugged sides, reaching nearly half a mile above us, for the first time did we realize the immensity of such a spectacle. Never before did I fully understand the meaning of figures when they run up into the thousands of feet, vertical measurement. Beyond Llao rock we found a beautiful little bay, and beyond it a larger one, probably one mile long by a quarter of a mile deep. Here we stopped for lunch, and when landing were surprised to find a long line of dead moths, of large variety, washed up by the waves, and in such numbers that the air was laden with an unpleasant odor, apparently about a first cousin to a slaughter house. We also found here a narrow beach of small gravel running almost the entire length of the bay, while further out in the lake, the bottom is composed of sand. As this point had not only never been named, but probably was never before visited by human beings, we decided to christen it Cleetwood Cove. Passing on our journey, it was soon seen that the cliffs on the north side are not so high as those to the south. In several places it appeared that good trails could easily be made to the water's edge, over which a person might almost ride horseback, and in one place, without any grading whatever, a good pack train could descend with comparative ease. About 2 o'clock a thunder shower came suddenly upon us just as two beautiful grottos appeared in view. Into one of these the boat was run, where we were entirely beyond the reach of rain. It proved to be about thirty feet deep and twenty wide, with an arched roof probably eight feet above the water, while the rocky bottom could be distinctly seen ten feet below the surface. So perfect was its form that it almost seemed the hand of man had hewn it from the solid rock. Beyond it towered an immense cliff, very high, with broken, rugged sides, picturesque and sublime, which I insist on naming Dutton Cliff, in honor of Capt. Dutton, who has done and is doing so much to make Crater Lake justly famous. This point may be known from the fact that it lies directly opposite Llao Rock, and between the two lowest places in the lake's walls. Immediately north of Dutton Cliff, the elements have worn the sides of the mountain, leaving a harder substance, alternately colored red and yellow, resembling the mansard roof of a cottage, while in one place, tall red chimneys stand aloft, making, all in all, such a scene that Cottage Rock could scarcely be improved on for a name. Lying between the two points above referred to, a break in the wall was found, that is almost perpendicular, but certainly does not exceed five hundred feet in height. This is by far the lowest point in the walls. No time was lost in getting our soundings under way. The first was made about one hundred yards from shore. It was supposed that we might possibly find as much as one hundred feet of water, but, as the lead ran out, our excitement grew with each succeeding hundred feet, until over one thousand two hundred feet were out. At one thousand two hundred feet the machine stopped, and our pent-up feelings exploded in one wild yell of delight. For a number of days the soundings were continued. The greatest depth recorded was one thousand nine hundred and ninety-six feet, which, making allowance for stretch of wire, would give two thousand and eight feet. Of the whole number made, eighteen are over one thousand nine hundred, thirteen over one thousand eight hundred, eleven over one thousand seven hundred, fifteen over one thousand six hundred, and nineteen over one thousand five hundred. It was found that at the bottom of the northeastern end lies a plain of several square miles, almost perfectly level, while south of the center is a cliff about nine hundred feet high, and west of the center seems to be cinder cone, nearly one thousand two hundred feet in height, with a crater in the center two hundred and fifty feet deep. Its summit is six hundred feet below the surface of the water. On one occasion our party took five pounds of red fire, which we intended to burn on the summit of Wizard Island, but owing to the fact that the air was so filled with smoke as to destroy the effect, our plan was changed, and we took it to Rogue River Falls on our return. Here we met quite a number of hardy mountaineers, and at 9 o'clock left camp for the falls, about one mile distant. The night was very dark, and a weird sort of a scene it was as we climbed over logs and rocks, lighting our way by tallow candles and a lantern that flickered dimly. At last the bank of the stream was reached, and while the noise of the rushing waters was intense, nothing could be seen but the dim outline of something white far down below us. At this point, the walls are perpendicular, and one hundred and eighty feet high. They are also solid rock from top to bottom. Directly opposite where we stood, Mill Creek falls into Rogue River (one hundred and eighty feet), and this is what we came to see. In order to get the benefit of the red light, it was necessary for some one to climb down to the water. This duty fell to a stranger in the party, who made the descent during the day, and myself. He led the way carrying a dim lantern, and I followed as best I could. The rocks are covered with a remarkably thick layer of moss, which is kept very wet by the rising mist. The path, if such it might be termed, led along the sides of the cliff at an angle of about 45 degrees. As we cautiously climbed from rock to rock, it was a sort of feeling of intensified interest that overcame us, when we realized that a single misstep would precipitate us to the rocks below--and, worst of all, possibly we "never would be missed." The bed of the stream was reached at last, and the fire ignited close to the falls. Ye gods! What a transformation! Suddenly, the canyon, which could not be seen before, was as bright as day, lighted by a fire so brilliant that we could not look upon it. Crimson air and crimson water, crimson walls and crimson everywhere. No magician of the Arabians ever conjured up by a stroke of his wand a spectacle more sublime. It was one of transcendent beauty, upon which the human eye seldom rests, and when it does its possessor is spellbound by the bewildering vision. One almost loses the power of speech in the desperate struggle to see and comprehend the scene, and before it is realized the light dies away and darkness reigns supreme, rendered ten-fold more dense by the splendor of so magnificent a tableau. Near the base of Dutton Cliff stands a solitary rock, probably one hundred feet high, by two hundred in length and nearly the same breadth, that, while not seen by the present generation of Indians, is nevertheless known to them, and is a special object of superstitious dread. They consider it as a peculiarly ferocious monster, but are unable to describe its characteristics. It stands in the lake entirely alone and about fifty yards from shore. Standing on the cliffs, five miles to the west and looking across the lake, this strange rock is plainly visible in the sunlight its rugged peaks reaching aloft, giving it the appearance of a full rigged ship at anchor. Should a cloud pass before the sun, as the shadow strikes the rock it will pass from view as effectually as though it had ceased to exist. While sounding the lake in 1886, I caused a party of topographical engineers to be landed here for observations, but it was so rugged that the most diligent search failed to reveal a level place large enough to accommodate the tripod attached to their instruments, and we were compelled to resort to a point on shore for the purpose. I have never learned its Indian name, but among the whites it is known as the Phantom Ship. To those who enjoy the noble sport of hunting, the vicinity of Crater Lake is especially attractive. Great numbers of deer, bear and panther roam through the timber in fancied security, inviting the keen eye and steady nerve of the sportsman. Although passionately fond of such sport myself, the grandeur and sublimity of the surroundings so overcame me with desire to see and prosecute our explorations, that I forgot my love for a running shot, in an inordinate desire to climb over the cliffs and view the wonderful place from every conceivable point. My companions were no less affected, and the result was that we ran out of meat and applied to a native sheep herder for mutton chops. He scowled upon us for a moment, then informed our spokesman that "when he butchered he never saved the heads." While running a line of soundings from Llao rock to Vidae cliff across the lake one day, a strong wind sprung up from the south accompanied by black clouds and a storm seemed imminent. We had proceeded about three miles across, when we were suddenly startled by a loud noise, as though a multitude of men were savagely beating tin pans. In a very few minutes the southwestern cliffs became white and we could plainly see the "color line" advancing to the north, until all the cliffs to the west seemed covered with snow. To add to so strange a sight, a good-sized water-fall began pouring over Llao rock, and falling to the lake two thousand feet below. Within half an hour from the beginning of the storm, the water-fall ceased, the cliffs became dark again, the wind shifted to the northwest and drove millions of hailstones upon us, sufficiently large to make us wince when struck--especially when struck all over with no possible means of escape. The only accident to any of our party during the sojourn, befel a highly respected mule attached to the Topographical Engineers Corps. One day as the party passed along the east side of Dutton Cliff, progress seemed almost blocked by high precipices. A point was found overlooking a yawning chasm, where a large tree had fallen and lodged. By throwing in stones and brush, a sort of trail was made to terra firma beyond the backbone of the mountain. Over this the pack train was passed safely, except a mule that was blind in one eye. He bore a reputation for dignity and sobriety that any well-to-do mule might envy. However, when just at the point which, above all others, should have received his undivided attention, he became gay and festive, and as a consequence, fell part way over the precipice. By dint of hard labor, he was drawn back, but little the worse for wear, his pack was removed and he again started across. Again, however, he became frisky, and pitched head-long over a rocky precipice five hundred feet high. As his limbs mixed with those of the trees below, the thoughts of the spectators above were: "There goes all that is mortal of Croppy, who climbed to the top of Mt. Shasta, but died in a lonely canyon, by his own hand in a fit of temporary insanity. Let him R.I.P." One day while at work on the lake, my attention was called to what seemed to be a tall, full-bearded man standing on the southern portion of Llao Rock's summit. One foot was placed a little forward of the other and the knee bent slightly but naturally, while before him stood a gun. His hands were clasped over the muzzle as he gazed intently to the north. Just behind him stood a boy, apparently about fifteen years of age. They seemed entirely too natural not to be flesh and blood, and yet, persons at that distance would not be visible to the naked eye, as we were two miles out on the lake. Day after day, as our work progressed, their position remained the same, and, in the absence of a better explanation, we decided them to be trees. Crater Lake is but a striking memento of a dread past. Imagine a vast mountain, six by seven miles through, at an elevation of eight thousand feet, with the top removed and the inside hollowed out, then filled with the clearest water in the world, to within two thousand feet of the top, then place a round island in one end eight hundred and forty-five feet high, then dig a circular hole tapering to the center, like a funnel, one hundred feet deep and four hundred and seventy-five feet in diameter, and you have a perfect representation of Crater Lake. It is hard to comprehend what an immense affair it is. To those living in New York City, I would say, Crater Lake is large enough to have Manhattan, Randall's, Ward's and Blackwell's Islands dropped into it, side by side without touching the walls, or, Chicago or Washington City might
{'title': 'The Mountains of Oregon by W. G. Steel', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}