The Cascades Mountains Of The Pacific Northwest

917.95 P3SC

Keep Your Card in This Pocket

Books will be issued only on presentation of proper
library cards.

Unless labeled otherwise, books may be retained
for two weeks. Borrowers finding books marked, de-
iaced or mutilated are expected to report same at
library desk; otherwise the last borrower will be held
responsible for all imperfections discovered.

The card holder is responsible for all books drawn
on this card.

Penalty for over-due books 2c a day plus cost of
notices.

Lost cards and change of residence must be re-
ported promptly.

Public Library

Kansas City, Mo.

TENSION ENVELOPE CORP.

,NSAS CITY, MO PUBLIC LIBRARY

THE CASCADES

THE CASCADES

Mountains of the 'Pacific Northwest

EDITED BY RODERICK PEATTIE

THE VANGUARD PRESS NEW YORK

* % .COPYRIGHT, 1949, BY THE VANGUARD PRESS, INC.

; :|;:;

PubltfHcfd* simultaneously in Canada by the Copp Clark Co., Ltd.

No portion of this book may be reprinted in any form without the written
permission of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief
passages for inclusion in a review for a newspaper or magazine.

Manufactured in the United States of America by H. Wolff, New York, N.Y.

TITLE PAGE PHOTOGRAPH: Skiing at Mount Baker, on Artists' Point.
(Photo by Bob & Ira Spring)

CONTENTS

Page

INTRODUCTION 9

by Roderick Peattie

THE LAST FRONTIER 19

by Margaret Bundy Callahan

THE CASCADE RANGE 65

by Grant McConnell

CASCADE HOLIDAY 97

by Weldon F. Heald

LOGGING AND MINING 139

by James Stevens

THE CASCADE FOREST 169

by Walter F. McCulloch

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 21 5

by Harry W. Hagen

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 27 1

by Ellsworth D. Lumley

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 3OI

by Herbert Lundy

MOUNTAINEERING 335

by Grant McConnell

Page

N THE CASCADES 365

$y\ Charles D. Hessey } Jr.

APPENDIX 397

by Weldon F. Heald

ILLUSTRATIONS

Facing Page

1 Sunrise side of Mount Rainier from Naches Pass 36

2 Aerial view of Mount Hood, with Mount Saint

Helens (left) and Mount Adams (right) in
background 37

3 Mount Baker 37

4 Glacier Peak 68

5 Crater Lake showing Wizard Island in center.

The waters of this lake are among the clear-
est and bluest on the continent. 69

6 Mountaineers camping at Indian Henry's Hunt-

ing Grounds. The west side of Mount Rainier

can be seen in the background. 69

7 Timber felling, vintage 1900. Note the ten-foot

crosscut saw. 132

8 Timber felling, 1949 133

9 Logging camp near Mount Rainier 133
10 Giant Douglas firs near the entrance to Mount

Rainier National Park 164

ri Clouds hugging Mount Shasta 165

12 The open snowfields at Timberline on Mount

Hood 165

13 Squaw-grass, sometimes called bear-grass 260

14 Indian pipe, often called ghost plant 261

15 Seed pods of western anemone 261

Facing Page

1 6 Glacier lily 261

17 Western anemone j picture taken at 6,000 feet in

Mount Rainier National Park 261

1 8 Mountain bluebird 292

19 Clark's nutcracker 292

20 White-tailed ptarmigan 292

21 Townsend solitaire 292

22 Cooper's hawk 292

23 Western grebe 292

24 Granite Falls in Stillaguamish River 293

25 Eagle Creek Punch Bowl 293

26 Fishing in Mount Rainier National Park 324

27 Rappeling off cliff on Mount Shuksan. Mount

Baker is seen in distant clouds 325

28 Climber protecting party below with a shoulder

belay. He is guarded by a piton driven into

rock crack behind 325

29 Rappel party on Nisqually Glacier, Mount

Rainier 356

30 Skiing on Mount Rainier 357

31 Sunset on Mount Baker seen from Table Moun-

tain 357

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS: Photographs number i, 4, 6, 10, 13, 16, 17, 25, 27, 28, 29, 30,
and 31 are printed by courtesy of Ira & Bob Spring; numbers 2, 14, and 15, by
courtesy of Al Monner ; numbers 3, 5, 12, 24, and 26, courtesy of Ray Atkeson ;
numbers 8 and 9, courtesy of K. S. Brown; numbers n and 21, courtesy of
William L. Dawson from the National Audubon Society; number 23, courtesy
Edward F. Dana from the National Audubon Society; number 18, courtesy
Alfred M. Bailey from the National Audubon Society; number 22, courtesy
W. E. Shore from the National Audubon Society; number 20, courtesy Gayle
Pickwell from the National Audubon Society; number 19, courtesy Ruth and
H. D. Wheeler from the National Audubon Society; number 7, courtesy of the
Art Commercial Studios.

INTRODUCTION

by Roderick Peattie

T

JLhe Cascades are the last frontier of our mountains. They
are essentially a wilderness. Even in places frequented by
the casual tourist, as Timberline Lodge on Mount Hood or
Paradise Inn on Mount Rainier or a visit to Crater Lake,
one has upon oneself a sense of the wilderness immediately
at hand and calling to be explored. So real and ever-present
is this calling that it has brought together adventurous souls
into groups because of their skill in mountaineering or their
knowledge of secret trails. No range has so many mountain
clubs, and each has a sense of ownership of the Cascades.
There is a greater number of people of Portland, Seattle,
and Tacoma who belong to such organizations, I suspect,
than of any of the piedmont cities of the world. The byways
and lonely paths, so little known to the public, are not se-
crets to them, or the trails among the trees of this greatest
of American forests, the wild streams that are unbelievably
exciting to fish, or the way to some distant peak unmarked
by a trail. As a group, the people of the Northwest have a
tremendous pride in the ownership.

So on summer week ends there is a steady stream of men,
women, and children, each with the informal dress of the
camper or hiker, from the cities and every town on the flanks

II

12 INTRODUCTION

of the mountains, going to very special places which are
known only to them. Even in winter evenings they are busy
planning their equipment for alpine climbs, their parapher-
nalia for camping, lovingly putting their fishing gear in or-
der, fixing a new carryall for their camera, or studying their
flower or bird guide. Then comes summer and high enthusi-
asm 5 with knapsacks on their backs or the trunk of the car
packed to the limit, they start on their adventures. But win-
ter is not confined to planners of summer trips. In winter
there are the skiers, dressed in gay clothes, each headed for a
loved destination. Indeed, the skiers find joy even in the
summertime in the higher altitudes. There are not only ski
tows and special runs for the beginner or the professional,
but there are the almost unlimited miles of lonely slopes to
be explored by the more daring. I know of no mountain area
more completely, pridefully, and possessively claimed by a
people than the mountains of the Pacific Northwest.

The Cascades lie principally in Washington and Oregon
just east of Puget Sound lowland and the Willamette Val-
ley. They run the entire depth of the states and include a
little of California. They are divided in the middle by the
Columbia River, forming a southern and a northern range.
Moreover, the southern and northern parts have a somewhat
different character because of the differing geology. The
southern section is the more volcanic half and counts at least
1 20 volcanic peaks. Lassen Peak of California, 10,453 ^ eet
in altitude, was active from 1914 to 1921. Mount Shasta is
one of the most prominent cones in America, reaching an
elevation of 14,161 feet above sea level and more than two
miles above the surroundings. It bears the Whitney Glacier,
with a length of almost two miles. North of this in Oregon

INTRODUCTION 13

comes Crater Lake, and, last. Mount Hood, a peak much
beloved by all in search of sport.

In the northern Cascades, Mount Rainier raises its splen-
did head to an elevation of 14,408 feet, and the foot of
the mountain lies almost at sea level. On it are glaciers which
descend in places to about 4,000 feet. One hundred miles
north is Glacier Peak, from the top of which fifty glaciers
are in sight. And, lastly, near the Canadian border, rises
Mount Baker. This volcano was last active in 1870 and
emitted smoke in 1903. In between the volcanic peaks are
a confusion of low mountains, with few passes and literally
hundreds of small glaciers, intensely glaciated valleys, and
lakes. One lake is made by the damming up of a glaciated
gorge by a moraine. This is Lake Chelan, a splendid sheet
of water 88 miles in length. Its surface is 1,079
feet in elevation, and yet it is 1,419 feet deep, making its
bottom 340 feet below sea level. The latitude of these moun-
tains is far enough to the north to permit a relatively low
altitude for a snow line, and the depth of snow increases
mightily as one goes upward, until an average of 430 inches
annually is achieved. Accounting for such heavy snowfall,
the winters have a good deal of overcast sky, but the sum-
mers are high in sunshine. The western slope receives great
snowfalls whereas the east has decidedly less, as would be
expected in a belt of westerly winds.

There are so many who feel themselves authorities on
this phase or that of Cascade mountain life that it was diffi-
cult to choose among them. Moreover, there are people who
hold that the southern Cascades are particularly the moun-
tains that they love, while, on the other hand, there are
those who worship the northern Cascades and them alone.

j^ INTRODUCTION

The writers chosen have a nice impartiality and a fine knowl-
edge of the whole of the mountain range. To Seattle and
Portland I turned for most of them, but I have even gone
to the towns on the east side to complete the list, and as far
afield as Arizona. I offer them with distinct pride.

There are relatively few people living with the moun-
tains, and of the few Margaret Bundy Callahan has been
chosen to write their story. She is the one woman on the
list of writers, and yet it is her task to write the story of
their hardy life. She has been a newspaper and magazine
writer in the Northwest for some years, but she began trips
into the Cascades during her girlhood. After her marriage
to Kenneth Callahan, a distinguished painter, she began a
life work of exploring the peaks and hidden valleys of the
mountains. For the last ten years they and their son have
spent summers and every possible week end in the Mount
Pilchuck region on their 1 6o-acre tree farm which they call
"Hemlock Heaven." I tell this story in detail not because
it is so unusual but because it is so typical of lovers of the
Cascades.

Grant McConnell was a find. He lives in Stehekin, Wash-
ington, on the east side of the mountains. He began edu-
cation in Reed College and then went to Harvard and later
to Oxford as a Rhodes scholar. He then settled down to
write, and has written much upon the geography and his-
tory of the Cascades. He distinctly is one of those with whom
the cult of the mountains is a prime matter. His is the task
of presenting a general picture of the range and later the
startling tale of mountaineering.

Weldon F. Heald lives on the side of a 9,5OO-foot moun-
tain at Hereford, Arizona, and there he owns the Flying H

INTRODUCTION IJ

Ranch of 8,000 acres. Professionally he is a writer on moun-
tains of the West. He contributed to The Sierra Nevada of
this American Mountains Series, and he was one of three
men who made the volume The Inverted Mountains a
reality. He is author of innumerable articles and is writing
a complete scenic guide to California. He is a vice-president
of the American Alpine Club, a director of the Sierra Club,
and a member of the Explorers 7 Club of New York. During
the war he worked for the U.S. Army, helping to plan equip-
ment to be used by soldiers the world over. He began his
mountain experience in Switzerland at the age of eight. Dur-
ing the first years of his college days he summered in the
Cascades, and many times since has climbed, hiked, and ex-
plored them. He certainly is equipped to write on summer
trails.

Walter McCulloch was picked to do the trees of the Cas-
cades because he was a professor of forestry at the Oregon
State College at Corvallis. But in him I discovered an-
other writer for whom the Cascades were a cult. To quote
him:

"With me the Cascades are a religion. The Santiam country
just east of us finds my wheel tracks at every season of the year.
Only Tuesday I made a sashay over the Santiam Pass and back
again in an afternoon, to restore my faith in the mountains. No
man can be mean in the presence of those great white peaks,
and their cool presence does things for me."

For thirty-six years he ranged the forests of British Co-
lumbia. He worked in the eastern forests of the Central
States, only to return to the West and the Cascades. He
writes as one who knows the forests of those mountains from
first-hand experience. His mother came West by covered

l6 INTRODUCTION

wagon, and his father was a pioneer in western river steam
boating and in early-day railroad construction.

James Stevens is a most prolific writer and will be espe-
cially well known to the people of the Pacific Northwest.
He is the author of some eight books, principally of the life
in the lumbering camps and of our friend Paul Bunyan. Big
Jim Turner is his latest novel. As a poet, he has contributed
to a large number of anthologies. As a magazine writer, hts
stories and articles are many. He writes here the story of
lumbering, and in his dramatization of the tale you will
recognize him as a creative writer, for he weaves among the
facts a dramatization.

I take great pride in discovering Harry W. Hagen. He
is not by profession a botanist but a mailman. I love him
because he is a layman who has discovered the flowers of the
mountains and as a layman has studied the flora and has be-
come an authority on the matter. I love him because he
writes a story that shows how you a layman can come to have
a knowledge of the wonderful flowers of the Cascades. It all
began with his honeymoon, a planned climbing trip. But
clouds defeated their climb, and on the way down he and
his bride collected flowers. Challenged by their ignorance of
the wild flowers, they returned to the mountains armed with
books, and gradually they became flower enthusiasts. Today
they have three children, and, packing them into the car,
they go off to the mountains. The trip to their Bit of Para-
dise is a beautiful one, full of wonders of flowers, a bit of
Shangri-La. It has no exact location, but each reader who
climbs in the Cascades will be sure he has been there.

Ellsworth D. Lumley is a teacher at Roosevelt High
School in Seattle. He has lived in the shadow of the Cas-

INTRODUCTION IJ

cades all his life. For seven years he was a ranger-naturalist.
For four years he has been president of the Seattle Audubon
Society and is at present the National Bird Chairman of the
National Council of State Garden Clubs. All this being true,
I have asked him to write the chapter on birds of the Cas-
cades. His story of the chickadee who perched on his hat,
looking over the brim and answering his whistle, in itself
makes his contribution worthwhile.

Herbert Lundy is a newspaperman and for a considerable
time has been an editorial writer on the Oregonian of Port-
land. Lundy is now forty-three years of age. Since the age
of four he has fished the rivers from the Rogue to the Skagit,
and now he is instilling in his children the same enthusiasm.
He writes, "I was raised on wet flies, salmon flies, spinners,
and crawfish tails to the age of eighteen, when I discovered
that the c dry fly' was not just book talk. But I do not place
the method before the results. I have caught a cutthroat on
a red huckleberry. I like to catch fish." It is most generous
of Lundy to let us in on his secrets of where and how to fish.
As an editorial writer he shows his abhorrence of industrial-
ization, stupidity, and greed polluting the streams and kill-
ing the fish. For this he is loved by the people of the North-
west.

When the manuscript for the book was received by the
editor, Charles D. Hessey, Jr. was under nine feet of snow
at Naches, sixty-eight miles from Yakima and two miles
from transportation except on ski. One wonders how I dis-
covered him. Hessey knows the Cascades as a skier of long
experience. His experience is wider than the Cascades, for
he has also skied in the Colorado Rockies. But in the Cas-
cades he returned to do hundreds of miles on ski and to

l8 INTRODUCTION

break new trails. He is a free-lance writer with a love of
mountain climbing, of trout fishing, but, more especially, he
is a lover of skiing.

These contributors are all people who believe the Cascades
teach a way of life, and we hope that you will get something
of their enthusiasm by reading this volume.

R. P.

THE LAST FRONTIER

by Margaret Bundy Callahan

np

JL he Cascade mountains will give you what you look for.
If you seek relaxation, release of tensions, they will flood
you with somnolence 5 if you demand challenge, physical or
mental, they will be your stimulant 5 if indeed you search
for the very spirit of Pan they will not disappoint you.

Julien Green, writing in his Journal some years ago, men-
tioned a nostalgia he had long harbored for a mountain range
in western America named "the Cascades." He had never
seen these mountains, but the name held a magic for him,
and he yearned sometime to visit them. Had he followed
his impulse he would have found the attraction of the name
not at all illusory.

I wonder whether there is another mountain chain hav-
ing such a variety of wonderland. Eleven major peaks thrust
their snowy heads above the io,OOO-foot elevation 3 from
this height the hundreds of lesser peaks are like crests of
waves on a stormy sea. Each peak has its own personality, is
rich in its own intimate landscapes. The vast, impressive
vistas of the ice-capped summits have their breath-taking
splendor j but endlessly inviting are the miniature pools and

21

22 THE CASCADES

meadows, rock-slide gardens, waterfalls, and rills of moun-
tains in the 4,000- to 7,ooo-foot class.

There are the great rain forests with their dense, jungle-
like undergrowth on the misty gray Pacific side, and the dry
pine lands to the east the sunny red bark of the trees ris-
ing from a carpet of brown, fragrant duff, quite free from
the entangling brush you find on the western flanks.

Actually the Cascades have never been man-settled. They
haven't even finished settling themselves. They are among
the world's newest mountains and they are restless with
the restlessness of youth. They break off in hunks and slide
down canyons j they toss off their mantles of trees and sling
them down roaring rivers into the Sound 5 they slide rain
water and melting snow down their steep sides so rapidly
that they swell their streams to flood stage in a few hours,
wiping out bridges, inundating pastures, and swamping cab-
ins that perch too close. It is as though the hundreds of
peaks in the Cascade chain remembered the exciting period
only a few million years ago when they first boiled up out
of the retching earth and threw themselves against the
northwest skies.

The coast lands to the west of the Cascades are settled
by truck and dairy farmers and by port cities; and the plains
to the east of the Cascades are settled by fruit growers,
sheep ranchers, and townspeople. There are even a few in-
trepid folk living in the farthest reaches of valleys that are
little more than cliffs in the great peaks, but scarcely enough
to give the mountains a settled quality. The Cascades are
largely wilderness, with vast areas still unexplored, inac-
cessible.

As is true ia all formidable, rugged mountain areas, the

THE LAST FRONTIER 23

character of the Cascades has molded the lives of the people
who live among them; as yet man has made little imprint
of his personality on the mountains. Nature here is dominant,
aggressive, in contrast to older ranges which have become
relatively stationary, more quiet in mood.

The Cascades, constantly moving, may literally change
before your very eyes. Each year during the thaw season
gigantic slides send rumbling echoes like claps of thunder
among the cliff 35 sandbanks like those at Gold Basin on the
Stillaguamish are alive with moving grains of brown sand,
like a great hourglass that never runs out. On the eastern
side of the mountains, lakes dry up 5 fertile areas become
barren. A road, a mountain town will be in use for a short
period, and then within a few years become hardly decipher-
able overgrown with brush alders and fast-growing coni-
fers, with a few rotting timbers, strewn cedar shakes, sil-
vered and brittle, and scattered pieces of rusted mining or
logging machinery to tell the story 5 or on the high plains
east of the Cascades, blown drifts of sand, sagging frame
buildings, and broken farm equipment.

Farm land becomes grazing land; mining areas become
logging sites; mining camps and towns become mill or ghost
towns. The lives of the people who have chosen to live in
the Cascades are governed by this unstable quality of the
land; they accept change in their own lives and circum-
stances as a matter of course and they develop a strong basic
philosophy.

There is Wirt Robe, now in his middle 8o's, who traveled
west with his parents and brothers after remaining in Ohio
long enough to cast his first ballot (for McKinley). He
homesteaded in a rugged valley between Mount Pilchuck

24 THECASCADES

and Green Mountain, worked as a surveyor, trail maker,
trapper, logger, shingle weaver, did a little farming,
emerged from the hills to work in the Seattle shipyards dur-
ing the first World War, weathered the depression har-
vesting pulp wood from his second-growth hemlock, and
until very recently, when medical care became necessary,
lived a bachelor's old age, a contented and alert recluse in
a tiny one-room cabin. A big wood-burning range, a narrow
cot, an oversize black leather chair leaking its horsehair
stuffing, a battered table, pipe, worn deck of cards, a guitar,
magazines, cross-word puzzles, a bowl of margarine, jar of
peanut butter, loaf of bread, coffee, canned milk, and some
candy bars these the worldly goods. Thoughts and memo-
ries these the riches.

Ask Wirt Robe about his health and he'll answer, "I'm
like the friend who said he almost always noticed that if
he lived through the first day of the New Year he'd live the
rest of the year out." He has consciously passed up numer-
ous opportunities in his lifetime to become wealthy because
he "can't see much use in a lot of money. Just causes wor-
ries."

There is Nels Bruseth, who for the last four decades has
combed nearly every alpine meadow and rocky crag of the
Washington Cascades, who helped build the famous Cas-
cade Crest Trail which connects the border of Canada with
the high Sierras and thence with the Mexican border. Dur-
ing his thirty-five years with the U.S. Forest Service he has
seen the mountain village of Darrington grow from a few
mining shacks to a flourishing town, has seen the Indians
moved back into the farther recesses of the river valleys, has
made friends with them, learned their legends, has served

THE LAST FRONTIER 25

as intermediary in troubles among the quick-tempered Ap-
palachian mountaineers, many families of whom have moved
into certain sections of the Washington Cascades over a
period starting about 1910.

There isn't anything Nels Bruseth can't tell you about his
region j he knows and loves both the people and the land.
He is an amateur botanist, with an extensive collection of
pressed specimens and color slides of every type of native
flora 5 a student of geology, an historian, landscape painter,
anthropologist, sportsman. He is the truly civilized man.
His most concentrated desire is to have others learn to know
and love the high mountain areas.

There is Fred Fuller, ex-sailor in the British navy, who
arrived years ago at a Puget Sound port, traveled upriver
in an Indian canoe, and has lived in the Cascades ever since.
Small of stature, blue eyed, rosy cheeked, Fuller lives en-
tirely by the craft of his hands in our machine age. He built
his own sawmill, with which he sawed all the lumber from
the trees he cut from his own forest to build his comfortable
house and outbuildings. He grows his own grain, grinds his
own flour, bakes his own bread. From his garden and or-
chard crops he cans enough food to last through the winters.
His radio is a one-tube crystal set he constructed himself
decades ago, the first radio receiving set, he boasts, in the
whole county. He wears earphones and can get any program
on the coast. He is surrounded by photographs and me-
mentos of his past life 5 and as companions he has two
enormous oak trees grown from acorns which he brought
from England many years ago.

These are a characteristic few of the colorful individuals
who live on the west side of the Cascades, people who live

2 6 " THE CASCADES

there because they love the land, whose most fervent wish
is that they may be allowed by a kindly Providence to re-
main until the close of their lives in the homes they have
built*

The mists from the Pacific which temper the character of
the western Cascade country break forces on the flanks of
the mountains, so that once you are over the summit you
find entirely different conditions on the eastern side. Hot
dry plains winds in the summer, and cold., clear air with
occasional snows and blizzards in winter characterize the
climate, bring about more severe extremes in temperature,
far less rainfall, and more definite division of seasons.

Here, snuggling as far into the foothills as the soil per-
mits, extend great orchards- apples such as grow nowhere
else in the world, apricots, peaches, cherries, flourishing in
valleys made fertile by gigantic irrigation projects. As you
travel over the mountain passes the last glimpses you see of
the orchards are from behind the dark flanks of the pine
forests. These foothill orchards are a rare sight in blossom
time, making a gay, lacy pattern of delicate color in dramatic
contrast to the rich dark hues of the higher hills.

The Wenatchee Apple Blossom Festival is an annual
event, occasioned no doubt partly by a spontaneous desire to
share appreciation of the flowering trees, partly also by more
commercial motives. All the distinguishing landmarks of
every similar American festival are in evidence: the beauty
queen, the smiling court maids, the bunting-decked floats^
the booster speeches, the banquets, balls, infiltration of tour-
ists. But you can walk off by yourself into the acres of blos-
soms on a fragrant May evening, with the foothills black

THE LAST FRONTIER 27

beyond the luminous expanse of petals, and you will not
forget the experience.

Thousands of acres of grazing lands exist in the eastern
Cascade areas. The typical cow hand and the typical logger
are as different in temperament as though they lived at op-
posite poles rather than on different sides of the same moun-
tain range. The ranchman, accustomed to the open, dry,
range country, hates the wet, closed-in, brushy forests of the
western valleys 5 and the logger, after a spell of sagebrush,
begins to feel dehydrated and his web feet itch for the green,
rain-soaked sod of the coast.

The physiognomy of the eastern Cascade land changes
also. To the Fort Rock Valley in 1902 came an enthusiastic
young man. His name was Harry Crampton and he had
traveled west from his parents' home at Dunnville, Wis-
consin. He had seen in eastern Washington the great golden
fields of wheat, had talked with the ranchers who had grown
wealthy from a few years of bumper crops. The Fort Rock
Valley in central Oregon, a high (4,600 feet altitude) flat
tableland, accented by abrupt, dark, lava-rock buttes,
looked to him like potential wheat-growing country and he
staked out a homestead. A neighboring homesteader was a
golden-haired school teacher from Portland, Stella Macau-
ley, who had come west with her father some years pre-
viously. The Macauleys, it seemed, had come from a neigh-
boring town in Wisconsin. The thrill of "folks from home"
in that new country was warming.

Plans for the wheat ranch began to include plans for a
wedding. The wedding materialized, but the wheat ranch
did not. What Harry Crampton had failed to consider was
the severe effect of Fort Rock's altitude on farming. Pos-

28 THE CASCADES

sibilities for grazing were good, however, and the Cramp-
tons went into sheep and cattle ranching. This high Oregon
plateau country was neglected by the first Oregon settlers,
who were bent on the more fertile lowlands. It was conse-
quently one of the last areas to be reached by railroad, and
in the days before automobiles it was served entirely by
stagecoach and by freight wagons drawn by six- to ten-horse
teams. Travel was rugged, as indeed was everything else
about ranch life, but the Cramptons loved it.

Winter temperatures frequently reached 30 degrees be-
low zero 5 summers were hot and dry. Days throughout the
year were packed with work from five in the morning until
sundown. It was not, however, until the character of the
land began to change that the Cramptons became appre-
hensive. There was no doubt about it, the ranchers all agreed,
the Fort Rock Valley was becoming consistently more dry 5
the grazing land was losing its fertility, becoming desert.
Gradually the settlers began to move out.

The Cramptons enlarged their home by moving a few of
the abandoned cabins and attaching them to their original
building. They grazed their stock on abandoned acreage.
Work became more grueling, returns smaller. But they
fought against leaving the valley they had come to love as
home. Life still had its compensations. There was the pre-
cious social life centering about the little church ; there were
picnics and arrowhead hunting expeditions after the March
winds had blown and shifted the desert sands j there were
trips to the ice caves on hot summer days, where, just below
the parched, sizzling earth you could carve from the cavern
walls a chunk of ice big enough to take home for the
refrigerator.

THE LAST FRONTIER 29

Most important, there were friendships with one's neigh-
boring ranchers : the two young sisters with the red Irish hair
and wind-burned cheeks who, with their mother, ran their
own ranch, performing all their own chores; the erratic,
prophetic, Bible-quoting old Russian bachelor, living alone
on his small run-down farm. There was the day-by-day
comradeship with the ranch hands: the tall, lanky, taciturn,
string-black-haired sheepherder with the unbelievable set of
handle-bar mustachios and air of unassailable dignity; the
ruddy-faced, blue-eyed handy man, who refused bacon for
breakfast because it "tasted too much of silver." And after
the blizzards of winter there were the colors of spring, with
the sage blossoming vivid yellow-green against the silver
sands under the clear blue sky.

One exceptionally severe winter, during a blizzardy
spell, with the mercury at 40 below, illness struck, rendering
Harry Crampton helpless with fever. Completely house-
bound while the icy blasts whipped about the plains, Mrs.
Crampton nursed her husband back to health through long,
dark grueling days, her heart heavy with worry over the
freezing stock. "I remember looking out the window day
after day and thinking I could stand anything but the sight
of the poor horses starving, and each day another lying dead
in the snow," she said. "That winter was the worst ordeal
of our ranch life, but we came out of it."

Medical and dental care are always a problem in these
isolated areas 5 where prompt attention is an issue, perma-
nent disabilities may result from what otherwise would have
been a slight matter. In Crampton's case, an infected tooth
spread poison throughout his system; an ensuing operation
on his leg left him permanently lame. As he could no longer

30 THE CASCADES

ride horseback he used his car like a steed, rounding up
cattle by driving over the trackless desert.

Under the Sub-Marginal Land Act, the federal govern-
ment for years has been acquiring land unfit for human use.
The Fort Rock Valley, which had looked so promising to
homesteaders a few decades earlier, now became classified
as sub-marginal, and more of the settlers took advantage
of the chance to sell out. Those who remained, among them
the Cramptons, found they could no longer graze their
herds at will on abandoned acreage. There was a landlord
now his name was Uncle Sam, and he sent agents around
regularly to collect rental. When World War II began,
problems increased to the point where the Cramptons re-
luctantly gave in to the course of natural and historic change.
They sold their Fort Rock land to the government and be-
gan a new life, settling this time in Bend, on the Deschutes
River. Now the second largest town in Oregon east of the
Cascades, Bend sixty years ago was nothing but a range-land
outpost, a stopping place on the Deschutes River for stock-
men herding their cattle and sheep to and from mountain
pastures.

With change so constantly in the saddle, the Cascade
Range is dotted with ghost towns, deserted mining and log-
ging settlements. These battered relics of human enterprise
lie deep in the wild recesses of the mountains, some of them
hardly detectable in the encroaching thick, jungle-like vege-
tation. Northeast of Seattle in the Mount Baker forest area
is Monte Cristo, rich in historical interest and dramatic in
physical setting. Monte Cristo is located in the basin of the
Sauk River headwaters, ringed by the perpendicular, eroded
walls of three 7,ooo-foot mountains: Wilman's Peak, Silver

THE LAST FRONTIER 3!

Tip, and Monte Cristo, as though it were cupped in a great
jagged stone hand.

A small plank bridge over the boulder-strewn bed of a
foaming creek leads you into the alpine pocket where sil-
vered buildings still perch on rocky ground, the skeletal re-
mains of Monte Cristo, flourishing mining town of the
nineties. Ragged peaks, streaked red with minerals, against
cerulean skies ; crystal-clear air fragrant with mountain bal-
sam, cedar, black hemlock, and heady with altitude j the
sound of rushing waters and occasional bird notes this is
Monte's setting, the same on a summer afternoon today as
before that Fourth of July of 1889 when two prospectors,
Frank A. Peabody and Joseph Pearsall, first discovered
the region's potential riches.

They had hiked over Poodledog Pass from Lake Chelan
east of the mountains, when on Silver Lake Ridge they
paused and gasped at the richly colored panorama opening
before them. "Why, Peabody!" Pearsall exclaimed in high
excitement, "It's as rich as Monte Cristo!" "Then that's just
what we'll name it," Peabody answered, "Monte Cristo of
the Cascades."

During the next few years natural sounds at Monte Cristo
were mingled with the ringing of pick and shovel against
hard rock, the trundling of wheelbarrows and the clanking
of machinery, as prospectors began a small frenzy of claim-
staking, working, and in a few cases, jumping. They packed
in over a long trail in those days, for the nearest railroad
stop was Hartford some forty miles west. Freight teams
operated between Hartford and the mill town of Granite
Falls, located on a flat, rather swampy area between the
Stillaguamish and Pilchuck rivers. From Granite Falls to

32 THE CASCADES

Monte Cristo the miners packed over about forty-five miles
of trail, and it was rough going at times.

Construction of a railroad was begun immediately, to op-
erate between Hartford and Monte Cristo, and one great
day in 1893 ^e first trainload of thrilled sight-seers puffed
and roared its way along a roadbed spectacularly beautiful,
but insanely difficult both to construct and maintain. In the
narrow, beautiful gorge of the Stillaguamish, whose black,
fern- and moss-decked walls press the river to a deep, green,
whirl-pocked ribbon, seven tunnels had been blasted through
solid rock. Slides hampered the workers constantly, and old-
timers say there is one unmarked spot where the bodies of
several Chinese laborers, trapped by falling rock, remain en-
tombed.

What with slides and washouts, the railroad was constantly
in need of repair during the years it was operated; finally
an unusually violent flash flood wiped out the trestle, which
crossed the river at Verlot. This whim of nature spelled finis
for the Monte Cristo railroad. As the richest and most ac-
cessible of the ore deposits had been removed by this time,
operations came to a standstill. The population, which had
reached a peak of one thousand, began a rapid exodus. The
five hotels lost most of their occupants - 7 the jarring rhythms
of crusher and concentrator, the constant creaking of ore
buckets moving along overhead cables, were silenced 5 and
again the soft plashing of waterfalls, the sharp, thin calls of
mountain birds held sway.

In this rapid rise and fall of a human settlement in the
lap of primitive nature, a rathpr complete pattern of ac-
tivities mushroomed into being. Starting with the establish-
ment o a post office, the community produced in rapid order

THE LAST FRONTIER 33

a general store (the Monte Cristo Mercantile Company)
housed in a log cabin, a public school, a volunteer fire de-
partment, a newspaper (the Monte Cristo Mountaineer),
several saloons, a church, and almost a jail. During the
course of its construction, the jail house was torn down one
dark night by "unknowns," thrown into the river, and re-
placed by a crudely painted sign, replete with skull and cross-
bones, which warned: "We want no jail here. If you want
to ride a rail go ahead." The numerals of the signature,
"4-1 1-44," were those of a famous old vigilante committee
of the "wild west."

Among present claim holders at Monte Cristo is a
slight, silver-haired prospector in her 70*8 named Kate
Knoulton, who has never given up hope of a mining come-
back for the region. Kate Knoulton formerly was a nurse,
having served with the Red Cross during World War I.
It so happened that during the final illness of Frank Pea-
body, Miss Knoulton became his nurse. In gratitude for her
faithfulness Peabody left her in his will several of his
Monte Cristo mining claims. Kate had never envisioned a
career of prospecting, but when, a few years later, she was
threatened with a breakdown in health due to overwork,
and was told to throw herself into some form of outdoor
activity, she put two and two together and made tracks for
the mountains with pick and shovel on her back.

Her new interests and enthusiasm, combined with plenty
of mountain air, had the desired result. Kate has worked her
own claims ever since, living, when snow conditions permit,
in her small cabin beside the winding trail. Her thin, straight
body, clad in trousers and scarlet jacket and always carry-
ing a pack, is familiar to those who live along the road be-

34 THE CASCADES

tween the Puget Sound town of Edmonds and Monte Crist o.
Kate, never having owned a car, customarily hitch-hikes the
sixty miles between her Edmonds home and Monte Cristo,
her wiry, erect figure striding along the highway with all
the resilience of a willow sapling.

The motorist who hails Kate Knoulton with the offer of
a lift will find that her sociable chatter keeps pace with the
ceaseless throb of the motor. Her sharp blue eyes, behind
spectacles, look as though they would never tire; the merry
spirit of her hearty laughter is eternally young.

Because the Cascades are extremely rugged, the valleys
narrow and precipitous, timber growth heavy, soil shallow,
and rock slides common, the settlements within the range
must carry on a constant battle with nature to exist; conse-
quently when the mineral wealth of an area is exhausted,
towns die rapidly unless there is some other source of main-
tenance, such as tourist patronage. At the mouths of the
main mountain valleys there are more stable towns, with
from several hundred to a few thousand inhabitants, who de-
pend for their livelihood on logging, lumbering, truck farm-
ing, dairying, fruit growing, or small business establishments
catering to the surrounding countryside.

Typical of these is the town of Granite Falls, at the mouth
of the valley in which Monte Cristo is the last outpost. These
towns, too, ebb in size and activity, depending on the con-
dition of the land, but the thread of their existence carries
on. Granite Falls, for instance, dependent chiefly on logging
and lumbering, dwindles when these activities slacken for
any reason. A prolonged shutdown of the logging camps
may be caused by labor trouble or by severe weather deep
snow in winter or fire-hazard dry spells in summer.

THE LAST FRONTIER 35

At the turn of the century Granite Falls was still in its
'teens as a settlement, with a population of only 75. By 1905
the population had increased to 800, and the town was in-
corporated. Today, with a population of 1,200, Granite Falls
has these assets: one shingle mill, one lumber mill, one lime-
stone quarry, a handsome, modern high school, an elemen-
tary school, and a main street about four blocks long
bordered by a drugstore, three grocery stores, a bank, two
taverns, a feed store, a hardware store, a soft drink estab-
lishment called the Palace of Sweets, and the Jewell Novelty
Art Shoppe. The busiest spots in town are the three gas sta-
tions which service the constant stream of enormous log
trucks en route from the hills to the mills 5 and on Saturday
nights the taverns, which face each other across the main
intersection.

These foothill towns still have a frontier atmosphere ;
they are bleak, elemental, and somehow real in a life sense,
as big cities are not. Their weathered frame buildings, lean-
ing a little, wear their timbered false fronts with tipsy
dignity.

The backbone of social life in a community like Granite
Falls (and there are hundreds such dotted throughout the
Cascades) is strung along these main vertebrae: the Lions
Club, the Lady Lions, the American Legion, the Ladies'
Auxiliary of the Legion, intercommunity basketball and
baseball games, church socials, the Saturday night dance,
the grange, family gatherings celebrating anniversaries, and
"Stanley parties." Stanley parties are a chain institution at
which groups of ladies meet, play games, absorb refreshments,
and purchase the company's household products such as
cleaning paste, spot remover, mops, window cleaners, and

THE CASCADES

scrub brushes. Through an elaborate system of prizes, the
Stanley Company has incorporated their customers into their
sales service.

Reports of these functions are carried fully in the weekly
paper, an eight-page publication with four pages devoted to
local news and four filled with "boiler plate." Publishing
a newspaper on this scale is a marginal sort of thing, with
the owner-editor doing everything including the sweeping
up. The local items have a refreshing directness and down-
to-earth quality, and there is a tolerant insouciance toward
typographical errors. After all, if half a column goes in up-
side down, you can turn the paper around, can't you?

You may find in the "Robe News" column that "Forty
Watts is still hot on the trail of that wolf that's been hang-
ing around Big Four. It must be a monster by now, as each
time he tells about the animal it gets bigger and bigger" - y
or that "Bull-Block Mike was visiting in the valley on Tues-
day and reports his rheumatism is much improved" 5 or,
in the Riverside column, "There seems to be quite a lot of
boys out enjoying scouting the woods for cascara bark these
days. Some get home with a full bag and some seem to be
getting hi- jacked coming out of the woods, losing bag and
all."

Death and life collide frequently in the foothill towns.
The logger, of all men, is vibrantly alive tanned, mus-
cular, his skin and clothing pungent with the pitchy juices
of the great trees. Few men are more apt to meet instan-
taneous death. The accident rate in logging and mill work
is high, although not so high as it used to be. The big com-
panies now enforce safety rules, prohibit "highballing," and

Sunrise side of Mount Rainier from Naches Pass

Aerial view of Mount Hood, with Mount Saint Helens (left)
and Mount Adams (right) in background

Mount Baker

THE LAST FRONTIER 37

keep their equipment in good shape, but the small-scale in-
dependent logger still puts his trust in haywire.

In Granite Falls, should you drop into Fieldings* grocery
store at almost any hour of the day, you are apt to hear dis-
cussions of some recent catastrophe. The Fieldings have the
reputation of carrying their customers along through tight
periods j the store has an easygoing air reflecting the
friendly, generous nature of the proprietors. A waiting knot
of customers stands about patiently amid a degree of con-
fusion, for the counter is small and crowded with orders in
process of assembling. Behind the counter in the heart of it
all is Bud Fielding checking lists and generally struggling
to bring order out of chaos, while his pretty blonde wife
pounds away at the adding machine.

Discussions are seasonal j in the fall of hunting, at elec-
tion time of politics, in the spring of gardening, but at any
time likely to be of an accident. The logger, perhaps, who
was sandwiched between two logs during loading operations
on the side of a mountain ; the choker setter who was hit on
the head by a falling block j the rigger who fell from the
spar tree 5 the mill worker crushed beneath the load of lum-
ber when the cable snapped directly over his head, his life
snuff ed out as when a boot squashes an ant

Loggers fall from spar trees, they are decapitated by
writhing steel cables which sometime snap when over-
stretched, they are crushed by rolling logs, hit by "widow-
makers" (loose limbs suspended so precariously that any
breeze may drop them), knocked out by dangling tongs,
chains, or blocks. These are just a few of the hazards ; it's
an occupation in which exact co-ordination of every move-
ment of every man on the job is essential. To see expert log-

38 THE CASCADES

gers at work, handling the great trees as though they were
so many matchsticks, is as exciting and fascinating from the
standpoint of skill and poetry of movement as to watch any
ballet 5 perhaps some day before the big trees are gone the
process may be photographed adequately.

In each of the towns, too, there are the old men 5 the men
who, in their youth, cut the great centuries r old trees of the
virgin forests in the valleys where now small farms cluster
or second-growth conifers jostle one another for light and
soil. You will see them playing pinochle around a tavern
table under the conical green shade of a hanging globe, or
swapping stories as they watch the scene in the morning sun
from a vantage point at the crossroads. Some of them you
will have to seek in rest homes or county hospitals, and
until you have talked with these once robust old-timers in
the drab, impersonal rooms of these institutions you have
not known the meaning of the word resignation.

The pioneers cling to their homesteads until physical dis-
ability forces them to seek other shelter. Even then, worried
relatives must intervene to bring about the move. These are
the people who stayed because they loved the land and en-
joyed its beauty, although when they talk about it they
don't put it that way. In the early days there were some men
who had an eye only for timber wealth, who took out home-
steads to avoid purchasing the trees. They performed the
minimum of improvements required to establish ownership
built a cabin, planted an orchard and a row of raspberries.
Once the trees were cut, they moved out. "Cut out and get
out," the phrase goes.

All through the back country now you may come upon
small glades of fruit trees in the most surprising and in-

THE LAST FRONTIER 39

accessible spots. Surrounded by fast-growing hemlock, cedar,
and fir, the little apple and plum trees have grown tall,
too, reaching for sunlight. Their twisted limbs are festooned
with moss and pocked with woodpecker holes, but each
spring they make a bit of magic in the deep woods with the
pink and white of their blossoms. In the fall they drop their
small, rusty, puckery fruit to the ground, a welcome feast
for deer, bear, squirrels, and mice.

The men who cut out and got out made the money, and
probably still have it. Those who stayed in the hills have
something else, something it's hard to put your finger on.
Speaking of the death of an old-timer, a storekeeper in a
mountain town said to me, "They're going pretty fast these
days, the old fellows, and it's sad to lose them. There's
something about them you don't find any more. They got a
kind of flavor I don't know exactly what it is, but you miss
them mighty bad when they're gone.""

Grandma Otto is a very small (something under one hun-
dred pounds), very white-haired, very black-eyed great-
grandmother, a widow now for many years, who lives quite
happily by herself in the prim white frame building facing
Mount Pilchuck in which she and her husband, Robert-
Otto, raised their three children. One cool rainy August aft-
ernoon Grandma Otto told me her memories of the pioneer
days. She is the earliest settler still living in the valley.

We sat in the neat old-fashioned kitchen (for there was
a fire in the friendly cookstove), with the light through the
windows green from filtering through the many leaves of
the fifty-year-old cherry tree which spread its unpruned
branches clear to the back porch. Julia Otto's voice has a
sweet, rather resonant quality, and her dark eyes shone with

4O THECASCADES

memories. I think the notes I made in their original, con-
densed form will convey more information than I could
include were I to round out the sentences. Here is the story
as I jotted it down to the sound of the wood fire, the pelting
rain, and the soft voice.

"Came up the valley in 1890. Originally from Michigan.
By wagon from Hartford to Granite Falls. From Granite
Falls on first day of October over new trail. Had boy,
Charles, six, and little girl, Florence, three and one-half.
First day the trail had been used, not very well cleared yet.
Both children had whooping cough when they came. Played
outdoors all the time. Ponies packed everything over new
trail. Were preparing mines at Monte Cristo; steady stream
of pack ponies. Ponies tied together. Cost two cents a pound
for packing. Ponies had to swim creeks. Beaugarde made
money ferrying people over river in boat.

"First cabin close to river, temporary, soon washed out.
River washed sometimes one side, sometimes the other.
Moved into log cabin in forest during winter. Wasn't
chinked up, door not on. Cabin 14 x 16. Fireplace of cedar j
if it took fire, doused with water. Two bunks in corner, one
on top of other. Furniture was folding canvas camp chair,
little girPs rocking chair and high chair, and most impor-
tant item, cookstove. Horse fell down hill with stove. Horse
not hurt, but afraid stove broke. Some pieces broken but
mostly all right. After stove arrived, fireplace used for wood
box.

"Few necessities shipped by trunk from Michigan to
Getchell. By road to Granite. Repacked at Granite for horse.
Husband and brother with one horse packed the things

THE LAST FRONTIER 41

(few dishes, oil lamps, clothes) to cabin. Cow, wool mat-
tress, and bedding sent out ahead. Cow very important.

"Neighbor had dried blackcaps (mountain raspberries).
'Best thing I ever tasted.' Husband worked with neighbor
clearing land. Bonfire never went out, day or night. Never
had forest fire. Dug and blasted stumps out. No way to
move logs out, just burned them on the place. Douglas fir
and cedar.

"Made trip out one Christmas time. Walked from Gran-
ite to Hartford, seven miles. Took morning early train to
Seattle, evening train back to Hartford. Trip took three days.

"Ray born in '95. Delivered own baby. Delivered many
babies in valley.

"Homestead was 160 acres. Proved up in seven years.
All materials for first house taken directly from woods.
Flooring split by hand. Draw shave wide knife with two
handles could get floor smooth and white. Split all lumber
with froe. Boards about six feet long. Could split either fir
or cedar. Had raising-bees, rolling up logs. Door fashioned
of one piece of cedar.

"Ran out of kerosene one time. Decided to make candles.
Had brought tallow. (Had also brought rag bag for patch-
ing clothes and sewing quilts.) Tied wicks on stick, melted
grease. Dipped and dipped Set them on stump to cool. Cat
dragged them under house. Night coming on, no light. Had
to work fast. Cut out tin with scissors, hammered it around
broom. Soldered it with stove handle and piece of wire.
Melted tallow, had mustard-bottle cork to bung it up. Had
good candles before nightfall. Had to be made fast. Made
blue and white ones for Christmas tree, used bluing for
color.

42 THE CASCADES

"Songs around bonfire on summer nights. Expeditions for
cranberries. Marshy area where wild grasses grew, no trees.
Cranberries plentiful there. Picked all day, took lunch.
Small lake with fish. Thick moss. All changed now. Over-
grown with bushes, lake dried up.

"Picnics up-river. Used to hurry to get work done. Boys
would go fishing. Lots of big trout in river. Would make
big bonfire, take potatoes along. Big feed. Camping parties
where Green Gables resort is now. Made beds of hay. Cows
came back to sleep, nibbled on beds. Card parties, singing,
and dancing. Wirt Robe's blackface songs, jokes, banjo.
c Why'd You Go and Make Them Goo-Goo Eyes?' Never
locked up, nobody ever robbed.

"Shortly after Ottos arrived much land in valley was made
National Forest Reserve. Later reopened for settlement.
Pack-saddle man put fictitious names on claims, located
others on false claims. Lots of trouble. Claim jumping.

"First road into Granite was made of puncheons, split
cedar poles. Men earned one dollar a rod for laying pun-
cheon road. Tent saloon on old road, called Blazing Stump.
Teamsters and mailman used to stop at Blazing Stump. Stay
out late. Mrs. Otto had to prepare their meals. <Oh, that old
Blazing Stump! I used to get so mad.' After road went
through, never knew how many she'd have at meals. 'We
always had something to eat. I don't know how we did it,
but we always did.' Difficult when cow went dry. Dinners
at noon. Two mail carriers changed horses at Ottos'. One
to Silverton, one to Getchell.

"First mail delivered by men with pack trains. Had to
put it in oven before reading, so wet from horses wading

THE LAST FRONTIER 43

and swimming river. One horse drowned in whirlpool. All
mail lost.

"Eager for garden plants. Ordered plant slips, rosebushes;
pack man left them at cabin where he stopped to eat. Hus-
band made special trip to get them. Yellow rosebush on
fence brought from Michigan. Hard to find clearing big
enough for planting.

" 'There was a man died on the trail that first fall.' Lovely
mild fall and winter, '91. Julia Otto outdoors helping hus-
band fell trees, pull cross-cut saw, cut wood. MacKenzie, sur-
veyor, on way to Silverton. Had mining claims. Just mar-
ried. Stopped at Ottos' late in afternoon. Wouldn't stay over.
Not much snow. Body found about a quarter mile from
Silverton. Had dragged through creeks, died on hands and
knees. Body had to be carried out, insurance company in-
sisted. Was big man. Robert Otto and others took lantern,
started out. Julia Otto lonely, left with two children. Read
to children as long as they'd stay awake. Took men all
night to get to Granite with body. 'Never did feel so out
of the world as I did that night.'

"First Christmas didn't have a thing. Things sent from
Seattle arrived after New Year's. Cradle for Florence's doll.
Gun that would shoot arrows for Charlie. Made cookies.
Children delighted. c You'd think they had the best there

ever was.'

"Julia Otto's sister, Ella Theurer, first schoolteacher in
valley. Husband had mill at Robe. Private school, handful
of pupils. County school superintendent said if there were
five children they could have public school. Florence went
year early, to make quota. Men built log schoolhouse. Each

44 THE CASCADES

parent built seat and desk for own child. Men joined in
making teacher's desk.

"Dr. Gibson fine doctor, but didn't stay in valley much.
Not much sickness. One man died, Robert Otto made coffin.
Delivered box, refused to put corpse in it. When Dr. Gib-
son returned, said it was smallpox. Could have been serious,
heavy rain kept epidemic down. One little girl died of
jaundice.

"Ella Theurer helped with nursing. Pulled small boy
through pneumonia. Man with bad case of inflammatory
rheumatism. Out of his head, shouting in delirium. When
normal stuttered badly. When delirious never stuttered at all.

"Had plenty of food. Fresh fish, game, canned meat,
pheasant, wild rabbit. Had own smokehouse for fish, bacon,
ham. Root-house full of vegetables, preserves.

"Neighboring homesteader was Negro named Rogers.
Wife was full-blooded Cherokee. Had ten children. Could
do any sort of odd job, but never stopped talking. *He was
just the worst old blow. 7 No prejudice on part of community.

"Many men killed in slides when railroad being built.
Riverside graves washed out. Homesteader Davisson lost
leg in building railroad. Granite Falls known as the Big
Burn. Had saloon on each corner, literary society, debating
club. c Now there's so much going on all the time if we
wanted to we could never be at home,' "

Grandma Otto loves to fly. She has flown to California to
visit her daughter. But she can't be satisfied long away from
her own home. The occasions she loves best are when her
children, her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren
gather together beneath the old roof. "We had such a big
crowd," she will say happily, her eyes dancing.

THE LAST FRONTIER 45

A near neighbor of Mrs. Otto is great-great-grandmother
Baker. Since the death of her husband years ago she is sole
proprietor of "Dad Baker's Pioneer Auto Park," a group of
rustic cabins scattered through a riverside forest. Mrs. Baker
has a birdlike quickness of manner, a hearty laugh, and a
brisk step. She arrived in the valley with her three little
girls when the puncheon road was in use. She remembers
that at times the mud was so thick the only way to get over
it was on sleds drawn by oxen.

One of the little girls, now a great-grandmother herself,
lives in a brand new cabin a quarter mile up the valley from
her mother's acreage. Susie Buchanan is postmistress of Robe,
has her own gift shop, and writes the news of her locality
for the Granite Falls Press. Susie, like her mother, has a
quick sense of humor which can be gritty at times, a philos-
ophy that bears her uncomplainingly through vicissitudes,
and a full realization that she never wants to leave the
mountains.

A short distance away lives Bob Buchanan, Susie's hus-
band. Bob and Susie Buchanan have been married a long
time, but a few years ago they decided their strongly in-
dividualistic personalities were better accommodated under
different roofs. They are good friends, just independent
Bob loves cats, hates dogs; Susie likes dogs, dislikes cats.
Bob can't stand the radio j Susie likes it for company. Bob
likes a drink of beer 5 Susie is a teetotaler. They like each
other fine, and this way there's no quarrel.

On up the river, miles from any neighbor, lives Bob's
older brother, Bill Buchanan, a bachelor nearing the age of
ninety. His cabin is in a clearing across the river from the
road; to reach it he has a flat-bottomed boat on a cable strung

46 THE CASCADES

between two trees on either side of the river, which is very
swift and rocky. Both Bob and Bill are excellent gardeners,
and each year share with neighbors their crops of beans, peas,
chard, spinach, carrots, and beets. For years Bill has used
a pair of bulls to plow his ground in the spring. For a time
he owned a pet monkey whose persistent vice was sneaking
up on the chickens and yanking out their tail feathers.

Silverton is the last and highest year-round settlement
in the mountain valley in which it perches. Fifty years ago
Silverton boomed as a mining town. Its buildings, all of
them survivors of the boom era, are beautifully weathered
and nestle contentedly at the base of i,5OO-foot perpendic-
ular cliffs like a colony of mussels on a dock piling. The
valley here is just wide enough for the gravel road, the
Stillaguamish River, and, on the west side of the river, a
narrow strip of bottom land.

Silverton is the last spot in the narrowing valley where
gardening is possible. The growing season is short, with se-
vere frosts occurring late in May and early in September,
but the few year-rounders manage to grow peas, beans, root
vegetables, strawberries, and blackberries in small well-
tended plots. The brown soil is apparently rich, for all the
vegetation has an unmistakably lush appearance.

On one side of the narrow suspension bridge which spans
the river at Silverton is Erik Schedin's tavern, a leaning
frame structure about 12 x 14 feet. Erik sells, beer, soft
drinks, candy bars, tobacco, and a few canned goods, prin-
cipally to hikers, sportsmen, and the loggers and truck
drivers who work in the forest areas of the surrounding
mountains. He and his brother, Albert, both bachelors, came
to America from Sweden as young men. Erik has lived at

THE LAST FRONTIER 47

Silverton for the last twenty- five years, with Albert joining
him off and on. As a lad of fifteen in Sweden, Erik began
going to sea, continuing his school studies after working
hours and between trips. He had then, and still has, a strong,
vital interest in history, philosophy, world affairs, and poli-
tics j he is a consistent liberal, with a sound basis of reasoning
which stems from reading, talk with friends and strangers,
hard physical labor, and long hours of solitary meditation.

As Erik relates experiences out of his past you realize
that his life has been motivated by that hardy, intrepid qual-
ity characteristic of these mountain people. His wanderings
have taken him to Alaska seven times 5 he tells of a 3,000-
mile journey by foot across Siberia to Kodiak, Alaska, the
last five days of which he endured without food. For the
most part he has followed construction work as powder
monkey. Dynamiting is a hard, dangerous occupation and
Erik has a back injury sustained in a road-building accident
some years ago. "You gotta be tough," is Erik's motto when
things go wrong.

Eyes of that very blue color outdoor people so often
seem to have 5 straw-colored hair; ruddy, weathered skin; a
once powerful frame shrunken a little now from the yo-odd
years 5 a hearty, kindly manner; an excitable way of talking,
flavored with a strong Swedish accent: this is Erik Schedin.
From his grandmother in the old country he learned forti-
tude, a homely philosophy, and a good deal of useful in-
formation about medicinal plant lore. He explains how he
cured himself of diabetes by drinking quantities of tea
steeped from dried red-huckleberry leaves, which contain
insulin.

Erik remembers vividly and with horror an experience he

4.8 THE CASCADES

and his brother had one severe winter years ago getting the
body of a dead neighbor out of the mountains down to the
coroner. The neighbor, isolated by flood conditions, had died
several days before he was discovered. There was no road
into Silverton at that time, which meant hauling the body
on a sled about twenty-five miles. At Red Bridge, about
one-quarter of the distance, the log which at that time served
as a span was submerged about a foot under the angry waters
of the Stillaguamish. With Albert pulling the sled and Erik
pushing and steadying it from the rear, they attempted the
precarious crossing. A few hard-breathing moments, the rip-
ping torrents pulling at their legs, and then the swift cur-
rent pushed the sled from the slippery log. Erik lost his
footing and fell in too, right across the grim cargo.

The memory of that moment still brings a wild look to
his eyes. "There I was in the water hugging the corp," he
said, pronouncing it without the "s." "I couldn't get a foot-
ing, the water was too swift, so all I could do was hold onto
the corp and Albert held onto the railing for dear life and
pulled us out to shore."

Solid misery accompanied the rest of the journey, for they
were soaked and their clothes were chill shrouds flapping
about their blue and aching limbs. Where the trail joined
the road the coroner was waiting. In view of their condition,
Erik and Albert decided to ride into town with him. Erik,
being the wetter, rode in front with the driver 5 Albert
crawled into the trunk and lay down beside the sled and its
dripping burden.

Once in Granite Falls they drove into Frank Asche's
garage. "When Frank opened up the back of the car he
thought nothing but the corp was in there," Erik said. "Al-

THELASTFRONTIER 49

bert sat up and started to climb out. Well, Frank jumped
back with his face as white as a sheet and yelled, 'Hey, it's
coming to life! 5 I never saw any man look so scared. We
felt terrible, but we had to laugh at the look on Frank's
face." The brothers stayed the night with friends, who fed
them a steaming meal, first warming them with quite a lot
of hot drinks.

Just as the land has many moods, so the people of the
Cascades are of many types, but one characteristic is com-
mon among the hill folk which differentiates them from
town and city dwellers: they do not have a regard for money,
as such. They live for the process of living ; they enjoy
contact with the earth, with trees, with animals, and they ab-
sorb knowledge of these matters as naturally as they breathe.
Obviously they must earn a living, and this they do in the
manner which comes handiest, but they work in order to
live and to care for their children, not to accumulate wealth,
even if they could.

"I figure I am rich in proportion to the number of things
I can get along without," a logger, the father of five sons,
told us.

"I don't see the use of what people call progress," said
Harold Engles, a district ranger whose thirty years with the
Forest Service have given him every type of mountain ex-
perience. "It looks to me like just more and more people
doing more and more things they don't want to do."

Engles, a mixture of Irish and German descent, is a man
of varied moods and subtle humor. "Ah, civilization!" he
exclaimed one day at Darrington's Timber Bowl Festival,
a midsummer celebration which attracts hundreds of visitors.

5O THE CASCADES

"It will be a sorry day when they have to pay the boys to
get drunk at these affairs. I was just uptown," he added
quickly, "and I don't think they need to worry about that
yet awhile."

In their background, the Cascade mountain people are
for the most part of mixed "American" vintage. The ma-
jority of the early settlers came from the broad Middle
Western region: Illinois, Wisconsin, Indiana, Ohio, Okla-
homa, Nebraska. Occasionally colonies of settlers from other
countries sprang up, spearheaded by one or two families
who attracted others by enthusiastic letters.

"Swede Heaven" at the foot of Mount Higgins is an
example. The Scandinavians settled throughout the Pacific
Northwest in large numbers, attracted principally to log-
ging and dairy farming. Most of them, however, stayed in
the lower coastal plains and waterfront towns.

Many German families moved into Snohomish County
in the eighties and nineties j the roster of pioneers in such
areas as Getchell, Machias, Granite Falls, Lake Stevens, and
Lake Roesiger bristles with names like Mueller, Speichiger,
Menzel, Beckmeyer, Steinke. A number of French Cana-
dians settled on the south side of Mount Rainier in the
logging, mining, and farming country near what is now the
town of Mineral.

From their hill homes in the southern Appalachian moun-
tains have come large numbers of North Carolina and Ten-
nessee families, all of whom gravitated either to portions of
Skagit and Snohomish counties in northern Washington or
to Lewis and Cowlitz counties in the southern part of the
state. The migration started about 1910 and has continued
steadily to grow ; about three thousand people have now

THE LAST FRONTIER 51

settled in the two regions. They are referred to as "tarheels"
by themselves and their neighbors and are extremely clan-
nish, keeping to their old ways and customs, retaining their
twisted drawl and colloquialisms.

The Cascade mountain valleys have much in common with
the Appalachians, and the pioneers make their livelihood in
their new homes much as they did in their old, although the
western area is fresh, new country, and affords a good deal
higher living standard than the tired soil of the eastern
range.

Their cabins and barns are built of native lumber, usually
covered with hand-split cedar shakes grayed by the weather.
They keep a few chickens, raise and smoke their own bacon
and ham, fish, hunt, pick berries in season, peel cascara bark,
work in the logging camps and, during fire season, at Forest
Service lookout stations. They are fond of their liquor jug
and of the songs they have brought west with them the
folk songs handed down through the generations. In re-
ligion they retain their own Baptist services, in some cases
bringing west their own clergymen. The tarheels love to
sing; at their services they sing with such vigor that they
make the whole community resound with the rhythmic fervor
of "that old-time religion."

These southern mountaineers add a generous dash of color
to the lore of the regions they colonize. They contribute a
spark of temperament to the more stable atmosphere created
by the folk of Middle Western descent. Stories abound of
fights between the Indians and the tarheels, both of whom
are apt to exhibit fiery tempers when in their cups. Things
are calmer now, but not so many years ago scarcely a Sat-

52 THE CASCADES

urday night dance passed without a knifing and fights by
the dozen.

Wilderness areas during the early prospecting and home-
steading days were to some extent beyond the limits of the
law. Supposedly they came within law enforcement districts,
but the arm of the law, while long, didn't reach to many
parts of the back country. That pioneer community was for-
tunate which had an individual with the capacity to preserve
order and resolve crises. Such a man was Henry Keenan,
a French Canadian who settled in Darrington with his petite,
dark-eyed wife in the nineties. Keenan was never legally a
law enforcement officer, but he was called upon by frantic
citizens on many occasions to quell the unruly and to resolve
fierce disputes. He was not an unusually large man, but he
possessed great physical strength combined with an inner
force of character stemming from a resolute sense of justice
and complete lack of fear.

Henry Keenan operated a hotel in Darrington, one of the
iron-bound rules of which was that complete quiet must
prevail after 10 o'clock in the evening, for the sake of those
who had to arise at 5 o'clock in the morning for a day of
hard labor. Usually a few aptly chosen words from Keenan
could silence a roomful of roisterers, but there were times
when sterner measures were necessary. Keenan could take
hold of a couple of tough customers by their collars and
eject them as neatly as though they were stuffed with
sawdust.

They still tell with awe of Keenan's defeat of the trouble-
some Indian who, after a long period of distressing be-
havior, appeared one morning in one of the town's eating
places quite drunk and with a long glittering knife, Ob-

THE LAST FRONTIER 53

viously enjoying the effect of his sinister entrance, he held
everyone in the room at bay by sauntering about, flipping
the blade into the air, catching it between his fingers, flourish-
ing it dangerously close to ears and noses, and generally
making himself impressive but not popular. The sheriff was
called, but after a hasty look at the situation he was con-
vinced of his inadequacy to handle the matter without blood-
shed. He called Keenan, who said, "If you'll deputize me
for the next half-hour, I'll take care of that character. He's
been asking for it too long." The desperado's eyes glittered
as evilly as the long blade he was twirling when Keenan
entered the door. One well-aimed blow of Keenan's fist,
however, ended the threat.

A certain amount of moonshining has always gone on in
some of the remote fastnesses of the Cascades. They say that
if the quality of the product is satisfactory, operations are
fairly safe from interruption by raiders. But should the qual-
ity drop, the irate customers will take matters into their own
hands even if the law doesn't interfere.

I ran across a cheerful young man of southern Appa-
lachian stock on our acres one fine summer day, and during
the course of a friendly chat he looked around approvingly,
winked, and said, "You've sure got a nice, lonesome place
way out here in the woods. You'd ought to git yourself a
little old copper boiler and cook up some mash" ending
with a delighted leer. I have considered looking up recipes.

The early history of the Cascades so abounds in heroics
that they become commonplace. Best known, of course, are
the occasional acute flare-ups of Indian trouble, such as the
famous White River massacre. Undoubtedly the Indians did
wise the immigrants much uneasiness and occasionally an-

54 THE CASCADES

guish, but the aid they contributed as guides and providers
of food in the wilderness more than offset their shortcom-
ings. Indeed, the earliest expeditions of trappers, explorers,
and railroad surveyors would have suffered severe loss of
life without the services of the native tribes.

An outstanding example of man's teeth-gritting endur-
ance pitted against formidable nature is the building of the
first road over the Cascade Range. The Oregon Cascades,
that section of the range south of the Columbia River, were
explored a decade earlier than the Washington range, as was
consistent with the earlier development of Oregon's rich
Willamette Valley, goal of the earliest immigrants over the
Oregon Trail.

The Cascade Range loomed to the travel-weary immi-
grants like some immobile granite behemoth ; by the time
they had traveled the two thousand miles from their homes
to this coastal area they thought they had seen and had been
through everything; they found, to their dismay, they hadn't
seen anything yet.

"The crossing of the Rocky Mountains, the Bear River
range, and the big hill of the Brules, with the Blue Moun-
tains, was insignificant in comparison to the Cascades," wrote
George Curry, one of Oregon's earliest journalists, in 1846.
"Here is no natural pass. You breast the lofty hills and
climb them 5 there is no way around them, no avoiding them,
and each succeeding one you fancy to be the dividing ridge
of the range."

William Barlow, who with his father, the redoubtable
Samuel Barlow, and a small company of fellow Illinois Ore-
gon-trailers, built the first wagon road over the Cascade
Range, said in his reminiscences, "All went well with the

THE LAST FRONTIER 55

emigrants until we started down on the Oregon side of the
Cascades. Then the real simon-pure hard times commenced."

Until the Barlow road went through the immigrants had
to take their wagons apart at The Dalles on the Columbia,
stack them and their belongings onto Hudson's Bay Com-
pany rafts, and gamble on shooting the rapids of the Co-
lumbia., taking advantage of the natural gorge which the
river has cut through the mountains. They then reassembled
their wagons for the remaining trip to the Willamette Val-
ley. They had either to drive their livestock over a narrow
Indian trail south of Mount Hood, or to swim them across
the mile-wide Columbia, drive them down-river on the north
side to Fort Vancouver, then ferry them across to the Wil-
lamette side.

All this sounded far too tortuous to Samuel Barlow, who
as captain of his wagon party had scouted the way across the
plains, bringing the entire expedition through without loss
of life to man or beast. As the party approached the Cas-
cades, Captain Barlow kept resting a speculative eye on a
certain low spot south of Mount Hood. A wagon road would
simplify everything.

"God never made a mountain," he reasoned to his com-
panions, "that he did not make a place for a man to go over
it, or under it if he could not find the place. I am going to
find that place."

At Fort Hall on the Snake River during a two-day stop-
over for repairs and rest, Captain Barlow announced his final
decision to drive his teams straight over the mountains into
the Willamette Valley. If there was an Indian trail over the
Cascades south of Mount Hood, he and his men would widen
that trail into a road.

56 THE CASCADES

"Well, we have been here many years," Superintendent
Grant at the Hudson's Bay station told him, "and we have
never taken a pack train over those mountains yet, but if
you say you will take your wagons over the mountains you
will do it. The damned Yankees will go anywhere they say
they will."

And they did. They started south from The Dalles in
October, stopping at Five Mile Creek for a final rest before
the ordeal, Here grass, wood, and water were plentiful j the
blue autumn skies and crisp, clear air caused spirits to soar.
Wide vistas of rolling highlands opened before the traveler
in that north-central Oregon country^ with its occasional
streams causing the dry grasslands to break into patterns of
willow, cottonwood, and aspen, golden in the fall.

Refreshed, the party rolled on thirty more miles in a day,
arriving at Tigh Creek in beautiful Tigh Valley where they
faced their first major difficulty, the crossing of a precipi-
tous canyon. In the party were about twelve men able to do
hard work, and about thirty women and children. A heifer
was killed for meat j bacon and flour supplies were good, but
tools were few and in bad condition, with only one small
grindstone to sharpen the axes and saws, worn with many
months of hard usage.

November was nearly gone when the exhausted party ar-
rived at the summit of the pass. Snow had not yet fallen,
but the near promise of it was in the air. Scouts reported
that the toughest terrain of all was still to come, for the
great tangled forests of the western side made the eastern
flanks seem simple by comparison. They decided to make
camp, build a house, cache the wagons and supplies, then
make the rest of the journey on foot, driving the stock over

THE LAST FRONTIER 57

the trail. Two men would remain with the cache until spring,
when work on the road would be completed.

The western descent plagued the party with cold (for
snow was falling now), hunger (supplies were nearly gone),
illness, death of stock from the poison leaves of laurel which
they nibbled for lack of grass, great fallen logs, and swampy
huckleberry bogs in which the horses and cattle floundered
and sank to their bellies.

Spirits reached their lowest depths during the encamp-
ment on Laurel Hill, with some of the women tearfully
asserting they would all surely freeze or starve or both.
"Nonsense!" scoffed William Barlow's sister, Mrs. Gaines.
"We are right in the midst of plenty. Plenty of wood to
make fires, plenty of horses to make meat, plenty of snow
to make water."

She turned to one of the crying women. "When it comes
to starving," she added, "here is your old dog as fat as
butter. He will last us at least a week."

"Would you eat my old dog?" Mrs. Caplinger sobbed.

"Yes," Mrs. Gaines snapped. "If he were the last dog
in the world."

But the bravest talk could not quell the growing spirit
of alarm. Early the next morning William Barlow and his
friend J. M. Bacon set out on a fast trip for relief supplies.
With only four small biscuits, a little coffee, a pair of blan-
kets and a dull ax to ward off the rigors of winter wilder-
ness, they went down Laurel Hill "like shot off a shovel."
At dusk three days later they rejoined the anxious group,
who had been making short moves forward each day. Rein-
forced with adequate food, the Barlow party continued on
the last lap of its expedition, arriving at Oregon City on

58 THE CASCADES

Christmas Day, 1845, just eight months and twenty-four
days from the time they rolled out of Fulton, Illinois.

As soon as snow melted that spring, Samuel Barlow and
his crew commenced work on the western half of the road,
from Clackamas Valley to the summit. Funds for road build-
ing were subscribed by the settlers, all of whom were eager
for the benefits they knew would ensue, but only a small
fraction of the pledged money was ever collected. During
the following two years Captain Barlow collected toll from
the immigrants, keeping the road open each year until the
last wagon of the season had rumbled over the pass. His
records state that during the first year the road accommo-
dated 145 wagons, 1,059 head of horses, mules, and horned
cattle, and one drove of sheep. The Barlow Road is said to
have been a greater spur to the settlement of western Ore-
gon than any other one enterprise up to the building of the
first railroad.

The first road over the Washington Cascades was not
built for another eight years. (Washington, of course, was
at that time still part of Oregon Territory.) Oregon's
peaceful, lush Willamette Valley, designed by nature in a
gentle, affable mood, had absorbed the immigrants bent on
settling quickly into an ordered existence. The more rest-
less, who had still a taste for adventure, pushed farther into
the wilderness, into the far northwest corner of the terri-
tory, where indeed they could go no farther, where the long
fingers of Puget Sound lapped quietly at the pebbly shores
of islands and peninsulas to form myriad coves and bays.

To reach the Sound the immigrants had to take their
wagons apart at The Dalles, travel by boat to the mouth
of the Cowlitz River, then up the Cowlitz by Indian dug-

THE LAST FRONTIER 59

outs, by pack trail over rough, hilly country until they came
to the prairies. There they reassembled their wagons and
struck out across low grassy prairies for "Whulge." (This
Indian name for Puget Sound seems to me to describe some-
thing of the calm, placid quality of the great bay,) It was a
rather devious and difficult route for the cross-country trav-
elers 5 it took money, which few of them had; and it involved
more adventure, with which most of them were satiated.

Those who did penetrate to the Sound were wild with
enthusiasm for the richness of the new land. With untiring
zeal they hacked away at the wall of giant trees which closed
in about the water's edge, turning the great trunks into log
houses, forts, stores, and mills. Boatloads of prime Douglas
fir were shipped to lumber-hungry markets in California.

Earliest reference to a road over the Washington Cas-
cades is in the Fort Nisqually Hudson's Bay Company's
Journal of Occurrences y the entry for August 6, 1850, stat-
ing, "A party of men here today on their way to cut a road
across the mountain to Wally Wally, the expenses incurred
to be paid by a subscription among the settlers. Mr. Robert-
son, the deserter from Fort Victoria, was among the work-
ing party. 75

Two years later Congress, under President Fillmore,
passed an appropriation of $20,000 for building a "military
road" over the Cascades, and the following year Washing-
ton's first governor, Isaac Stevens, relegated the job to the
leadership of a Captain McClellan, who, the governor
pointed out, had served his country gallantly in Mexico.
Apparently Captain McClellan's experiences in Mexico had
not fitted him for pioneering in the Cascades, for his sole
contribution to the road was to consult with the Indians and

60 THECASCADES

to accept their verdict that the project was impossible, that
the Cascades offered no practicable opportunity for a road
because of the great depth of snow and other engineering
difficulties.

Already, however, a handful of settlers had collected
$1,200 in cash and numerous contributions of supplies, and
on July 10, 1853, they had begun to build the road. One
group of workers, under Whitefield Kirtley and Nelson
Sargent, crossed the mountains along the old Indian trail
over Naches Pass to begin at the Yakima River and work
toward the west 3 the other, led by Edward Jay Allen, a
brilliant young engineer, began on the coast side by im-
proving the six miles of "trail road" constructed along the
Puyallup River by deserter Robertson and his comrades in
1850, then whacked a clearing through the dense timber
along the White and Greenwater rivers to the very foot of
the mountain range.

All summer they pursued their gargantuan labors, felling
and bucking the great trees by day, eating enormously of
beans and flapjacks around crackling fires, sleeping in the
blackness of the forest night while the blue smoke from the
fire's embers mingled with the pitchy branches to make a
fragrance better than any other in the world. Behind them
they left a chaos of resinous wreckage enormous trunks
and bristling branches overlapping in a welter of confusion
which the Indians eyed gravely, shaking their heads over
the hopelessness of the "Boston hooihut."

Late in August the road building reached a crisis. The
eastern party had completed a steep corduroy affair follow-
ing the river to its source at the pass. The western crew,
however, had exhausted their funds, their supplies, and a

THE LAST FRONTIER

61

good percentage of their energy, and they had come to an
impasse, a formidably steep ridge leading to the summit.
They had worked furiously in an effort to complete the road
for a wagon party they had heard was on its way. As they
were contemplating that final ridge they received word that
the immigrants had changed their course, and were heading
for the Willamette.

Color in the woods bespoke the season ; the vine maples
were flaming} the cottonwoods and alders sailed an occa-
sional golden message downward with the breeze; nights
held a hint of frost. Early autumn storms in the mountains
can be death-dealing in severity.

The road builders decided to wait one more year to com-
plete their project, hoping that in the meantime congres-
sional funds would at last be made available.

No sooner had Allen and his crew returned to the shores
of Puget Sound than they learned that they had been mis-
informed, that a large pioneer caravan was approaching,
laboring up the east side of Naches Pass over the new road.
Accepting the challenge, some members of the crew, Allen
among them, hurried back to the mountains, where they
found thirty-six wagons on a painfully slow and difficult
ascent of the east side. Ninety-six times the caravan had
crossed and recrossed the torrents of the river 5 now at the
summit they looked down upon an apparently impossible
descent of the west side.

The job, then, was to build the road as they traveled 5 to
inch forward day by day, a few feet at a time, trusting that
fall storms would hold off. There was but one possible route
to follow on the descent $ this led over a long ridge between
the canyons holding the two forks of the Greenwater River

THE CASCADES

as they flow from the summit of the pass. This steep, rocky
ridge had long been the Indian's route; now over its dramatic
alpine contours the white man's road-, the Boston hooihut,
must be constructed.

James Longmire, whose family settled in the superb for-
ests on the southern slopes of Mount Rainier, where Long-
mire Lodge now stands within the National Forest, de-
scribed for the Oregon Pioneer Association the descent of
the caravan so tersely that it almost sounds easy, until your
imagination begins to fill in between the lines:

"One end of a rope was fastened to the axles of the
wagons, the other thrown around a tree and held by our
men. Thus, one by one, the wagons were lowered gradually
a distance of three hundred yards, when the ropes were
loosened, and the wagons drawn a quarter of a mile farther
with locked wheels. All the wagons were lowered safely
save one, which was crushed by the breaking of the rope

. . We made the road as we went along. We crossed the
Greenwater sixteen times and the White six times."

Eying that perpendicular wall on the west side, Captain
McClellan said to Allen: "My boy, you have done well so
far. You and your crew have done wonders with the amount
of money you have expended. But this ends it. You're up
against a stone wall, so to speak."

Allen heatedly replied, "I will make up that almost per-
pendicular twelve hundred feet not only a road that an emi-
grant can get down, but one that six yoke of cattle can haul
one thousand pounds up."

Some months later Allen invited McClellan to return for
a look at the finished job. "We had constructed a road,"
Allen related in a letter to a friend, "up which I hauled,

THE LAST FRONTIER 63

with four oxen, fifteen hundred pounds. It was buttressed
up an average of fifteen feet, and in some places forty feet,
with the huge trees that covered the mountainside, and was
stayed down the mountain, from tree to tree, with thou-
sands of braces. It was impossible, but we were ignorant,
and not fully conscious of this impossibility 5 and so we did
it."

McClellan, standing on the highest point of the buttress,
did not hesitate to express his admiration. "Young man," he
said, "do you know what you have done here? Under the
conditions, Napoleon's passage of the Simplon was an en-
gineering feat no greater than this."

Those who insist, as I have heard many do, that it takes
war to bring out men's real abilities, do not realize the ac-
complishments brought about through the peaceful desires
of a handful of hardy settlers for ease of travel and trade
with their neighbors on the other side of a mountain range.
This, it would seem, is the traditional American way, a spirit
to cherish and preserve.

While the Cascade mountains are predominantly wild and
rugged in character, the range is not without its gentler
aspects. The western flanks are, to my knowledge, entirely
free from poisonous snakes and insects. (There are occasional
rattlers on the east side.) You can hike along forest trails,
plunge into dense thickets of underbrush, or fling yourself
to the fragrant, needle-carpeted ground among mosses and
trailing vines without worrying about breaking out in rashes
or welts. While poison oak has made its presence felt in the
lower coastal regions, I have never heard of anyone en-
countering it in the Cascades.

64 THECASCADES

An amazing variety of Lilliputian plant life exists in the
western Cascades $ the floors of the rain forests are carpeted
with a delicate pattern of mosses, ferns, brilliantly colored
fungi, and a great many little green creepers, which manage
to stagger their blossoming season from early spring until
fall, so that there are always starry petals gazing up at you
from the ground.

For every torrential river there is a serene little brook j
for every giant waterfall, a dainty, plashing spray tolerant
of the tenuous campanula and maidenhair ferns its droplets
play upon. The most terrifying cliffs harbor nests wherein
baby black swifts sprout their first down 5 the mist-strewn
heights enfold in their rocky bosoms miniature alpine gar-
dens seemingly planted with painstaking precision and in-
fallible taste. Nature in the Cascades is like some powerful,
ancient goddess who with one hand shakes a mountain to
shower down tons of giant boulders, while the fingers of the
other hand close gently and protectively around a nest of
pinkly naked baby deer mice.

THE CASCADE RANGE

by Grant McConnell

DISCOVERY

a

^n the afternoon of the thirtieth of April, 1792, two
ships flying the ensign of the British navy were sailing
southeastward into an arm of the Pacific Ocean on the coast
of North America. The sea, though by no means calm, was
moderate after the tumult of the squall-ridden entrance
where the ships had anchored the previous night. A light
northwest breeze filled the sails and hurried the vessels on-
ward. All day the weather had been clearing, but there still
remained a bank of cloud lying low over the water ahead.
The shore to starboard a few miles away was rough and
covered with dark forest. The land in the opposite direction
was more distant and little could be made of it. But the day
was pleasant and there was good reason to suppose that a
harbor would soon be found for the much needed refitting
of the ships.

Aboard the larger of the two vessels there was a restrained
excitement. The coastline which they had been following
for days had shown none of the large rivers and bays which
had been reported to exist. But here at last was a large inlet,
perhaps even the inland sea that had been rumored. There
was, for example, the story told by a Greek pilot in the

67

68 THE CASCADES

service of Venice some two hundred years before, one Juan
de Fuca, about just such an inlet and near this latitude. Per-
haps and here was greater cause for excitement the inlet
would turn out to be the much sought Strait of Anian, the
water passage across America whose location it was a primary
mission of the little squadron to find.

Late in the day high land appeared above the clouds in
the east. It did not seem to be continuous at first. The land
ahead might be no more than a cluster of islands or it might
be merely high in places, low in others. Then the much
anticipated safe harbor appeared, a bay protected by a long
curving sand bar. At almost the same time the third lieu-
tenant reported a new discovery. In the words of the journal
of the expedition, "A very high, conspicuous, craggy moun-
tain, bearing by compass north 50 degrees east, presented
itself towering above the clouds 5 as low down as it was visi-
ble it was covered with snow; and south of it was a long
ridge of very rugged snowy mountains, much less elevated,
which seemed to stretch to a considerable distance."

By his discovery the third lieutenant achieved a kind of
immortality, for his name was given by his commander to
the "high craggy mountain," and it has remained Mount
Baker, the northernmost of the high Cascades.

The commander of the squadron, Captain George Van-
couver, did not succeed in finding the Strait of Anian but he
did learn enough on his voyage to be able to report that no
inland sea existed connecting the Pacific and the Atlantic.
The discovery was one of the most important of Vancouver's
achievements and it is altogether probable that his view of
Mount Baker and the long "ridge" to the south was one of

Glacier Peak

Crater Lake showing Wizard Island in center. The waters of
this lake are among the clearest and bluest on the continent.

Mountaineers camping at Indian Henry's Hunting Grounds.
The west side of Mount Rainier can he seen in the background.

THE CASCADE RANGE 69

the most convincing reasons for believing the strait was not
to be found.

Vancouver repaired his ships in the harbor he had found
and sent out parties in the ships' boats to explore the inlet.
The major outlines of Puget Sound were mapped and two
more high snowy mountains were discovered. The first of
these appeared to be at the southern end of the range extend-
ing southward from Mount Baker. It was remarkably high,
round in form, and like its neighbor, covered with snow.
Captain Vancouver, being in a position to distribute compli-
ments on a grand scale, named the mountain after a naval
friend, Rainier. A little later Vancouver sighted a third high,
round, and snowy mountain much to the south. This he
named Saint Helens, after a British diplomat.

Vancouver's first lieutenant, Broughton, later rounded
out the expedition's record of mountain discovery while on
an exploration of a large river reported that same year by
the skipper of a Yankee fur-trading vessel. Vancouver was
surprised, after eight months at sea without seeing any other
ship than his own, to meet the "Columbia." His surprise
turned to chagrin when he learned from her captain that
the "Columbia" had already found and entered the mouth
of a large river which the British ships had passed without
seeing. Vancouver accordingly dispatched Broughton on an
independent journey to explore the river. Broughton found
the river quite as reported by the Yankee and sailed up it
more than one hundred miles. Near the far point of his
voyage, Broughton climbed a hill and from it discovered
another high peak to the east. He named the peak, in Van-
couver's manner, after Hood, another high-ranking British
naval officer.

70 THECASCADES

THE NAME

Captain Vancouver was the first to record the existence of
high mountains east of Puget Sound and along the Colum-
bia River. Aside from a casual observation that Mount Baker
and Mount Rainier were connected by a ridge, however, he
did not suggest that the peaks he had found were parts of
one of the major mountain chains of America. Appreciation
of this fact did not come until much later, and even then
the naming of the range itself was less act than evolution.

The first white men to penetrate the Cascade Range were
those in the remarkable expedition of Lewis and Clark.
Through the years 1804, 1805, and 1806 this party, led by
two unusually able young men, crossed the continent to the
Pacific and returned with a wealth of information about the
new lands of the nation. Their route through the Rocky
Mountains was poorly chosen, but the way they followed
through the Cascades was incomparably the best, and was
the one followed by all but a few of the early pioneers to the
land of Oregon.

It was late in the year 1805 that the party came to the
Oregon or Columbia River President Jefferson had been
a little uncertain in his orders to the two leaders what the
river should be called. Since most of the summer had been
spent in threading a way through, around, and over moun-
tains, Lewis and Clark were not astonished to see ahead of
them still more mountains. They noted several snow-capped
peaks and duly entered the bearings. The important thing
for the expedition, though, was that it had come at last to
the great river which was an avenue to the sea.

On October 25 they passed the Great Falls of the Co-

PEAK

Seattle Stevens
Pass

Portland
OregonCit

Willamette

Salem

MhJEFFERSOW

V

CRATER LAKE
NAT. PARK

MfcMclOUGHUN

lamath Falls

Weed 4- Mt SHASTA
MIShasta

C A L I/F

Shasta Oam
Reddivig

Red Bluff

LASSEN PEAK
NAT. PARK i

Scale of Miles

25 50

THE CASCADE RANGE 71

lumbia (near the present town of The Dalles). Then they
were in the mountains. For the next few days they rode
through a deep cleft which if smaller would be called a
canyon. They paused at several Indian villages and with
great diplomacy maintained friendly relations. On Novem-
ber 2 they came to a spot where one last portage was neces-
sary. With their usual precaution the leaders scouted out
the difficulties before attempting it. They made the portage
successfully and in another day's time were through the
mountains.

During the next three decades a succession of rivals in
the fur trade, the Astorians and the men of the British Hud-
son's Bay and Northwest Fur companies, passed up and
down through the Columbia River Gorge. Gradually they
were joined by growing numbers of less expert travelers,
the home- and land-seekers. Not all of these had as easy a
time in the last stretch as Lewis and Clark. The place where
Lewis and Clark had made their final portage became known
as one of the chief difficulties of the entire transcontinental
journey.

It was a passage to be approached with foreboding. Cliffs
of black rock rose high above the river, and beyond the cliffs
were steep forested slopes that disappeared into the clouds.
Here and there small streams emptied into the river, and
on the cliffs were their cataracts as they made the final
plunge from the mountains. There were occasional Indian
villages along the shore, and on a few islands were Indian
burial grounds with vaults built on poles above the ground.
Behind lay the endless distances of the Great Plains, the
severe high crossing of the Rockies, and the long descent of

72 THECASCADES

the river. Ahead, the river swept majestically on toward the
Pacific.

Two mountains on opposite sides of the river crowded
close to the channel. Rock had fallen from their walls, and
the bed of the stream was strewn with the debris. Boats
could descend these rapids but only with great danger. The
alternative was a portage, but this led through the territory
of Indians who had an evil reputation for extortion and
banditry.

Here were the Cascades of the Columbia. For the cara-
vans of the nineteenth century's westward migration they
were the final barrier before reaching the fertile western
valleys. The actual rapids were not tremendous; they have
since been submerged by the water impounded behind
Bonneville Dam. In the scale of the gorge through which
the river passes, they were almost insignificant. Yet these
rapids with their attendant danger from the Indians were
the only serious difficulty involved in crossing the last great
range. The mountains themselves were identified as the
mountains by the Cascades and ultimately the entire range
came to be known simply as The Cascades.

There was something almost providential in the existence
and early discovery of the Columbia River Gorge. The
mountains which stand on either side of the deep gap extend
for hundreds of miles to the north and to the south. No-
where else in the range is there a comparable passage. The
word brought back by Lewis and Clark was that the only
part of the territory west of the Rocky Mountains fit for
settlement was the Multnomah or Willamette Valley.
This became the objective of thousands of pioneers. That
valley lay just beyond the Columbia River's opening

THE CASCADE RANGE J1

through the Cascades. Travel by water was the most prac-
tical method available in the early i Soo's, and the Columbia
with its big tributary, the Snake, led directly toward the
Willamette and to the one point at which the Cascade moun-
tains could easily be crossed. Except for two points on the
river, at the Great Falls and at the Cascades, the Columbia
was a thoroughfare and one of the finest waterways of the
continent. The portages around the Great Falls and the
Cascades would have been easy if it had not been for
the primitive monopolists in possession there. At the point
where the Columbia passes by the crest of the mountains its
altitude above sea level is little more than one hundred feet.
Although the name of the Cascades came from a spot
which was almost an incident in the long sweep of the range,
it is curiously appropriate. These, more than most, are well-
watered mountains. This is something seen: in the thousand
streams that rush down into the valleys, in the multitude of
lakes that lie wherever there are hollows to hold them, in
the waterfalls that course over the cliffs, in the bright greens
of luxuriant vegetation, and in the snow and glaciers of the
high peaks. It is also something heard. Through much of
the range there are few places where the sound of water
does not reach. It is a sound that is sometimes deafening, as
when one stands by a large waterfall or a glacier-fed tor-
rent. Sometimes the sound is only a murmur reaching from
a deep valley to the mountains above. But always it is a
sound of movement, hurried, turbulent, melodious.

DIMENSIONS

The Cascades are an integral part of the vast complex of
mountain ranges that parallel the Pacific shore of the conti-

THE CASCADES

nent. To the north there are the arctic giants of Alaska and
the Alaska-Canada boundary and the mysterious Coast
Range of British Columbia. To the south there are the Sierra
Nevada and the lesser ranges of southern California. There
are few gaps between these chains and it is difficult to say
where one ends and the next begins. Some of the ranges lie
completely within the limits of single political units. Some
are geologically simple and their common structure defines
them. The Sierra, for example, are almost entirely within
California and are in outline a single ridge with characteristic
forms etched upon that ridge.

The boundaries of the Cascades, however, are not obvi-
ous. Most of the Cascades lie within the states of Oregon
and Washington. Yet Lassen Peak and Mount Shasta, peaks
that are clearly a continuation of the line of volcanoes of
the northern states, are in California. At the other end of the
chain, peaks similar to Shuksan, the close neighbor of Mount
Baker, continue on into Canada. There are volcanic indica-
tions of a type common in the Cascades in the mountains of
Garibaldi Provincial Park and in the cones near Mono Lake
on the east side of the Sierra. The mountains of the Cas-
cades, moreover, are not exclusively volcanic. The natural
boundaries that best mark the limits of the Cascades are
the Fraser River in Canada and the Feather River in Cali-
fornia. From the Canadian boundary to the Fraser, the Cas-
cades dwindle rapidly. Near the Feather River, the gradu-
ally rising uplift of the Sierra begins.

The Cascades are a long chain of mountains, nearly seven
hundred miles. In this distance the Cascades have probably
more variety of mountain forms than any other range of the
continent. The north-south line of the divide is fairly

THE CASCADE RANGE 7J

straight for most of the length of the range, but in the
northern part it becomes twisting and devious. In places the
range is very simple, in others exceedingly complex. In their
width the Cascades vary from an average 50 miles in the
southern and central parts to 120 in the north.

East and west, the Cascade Range is one of the most
definite climatic boundaries of the world. Standing at a dis-
tance of a little more than 100 miles from the Pacific, it
is the first large barrier to the humid air currents that flow
inland. The lesser coastal ranges absorb some of the force
of the storms that sweep out of the sea, but the greater part
of the moisture which the heavy clouds carry is intercepted
by the Cascades. This determines much of the character of
the range and divides the land on either side into separate
regions. In a hundred ways it sets the quality of life in the
vast area dominated by the range.

On the west side of the Cascades there is a heavy annual
rainfall. Temperatures are mild, and the span of their varia-
tion is small. The vegetation on the west side is dense and
luxuriant. The bulk of the timber resources of the area are
on the west side. The agriculture is varied, and farms tend
to be small. The largest concentrations of population and
most of the industry are there. The commercial life of the
entire Pacific Northwest is centered in the cities of the west
side.

On the east side the rainfall is slight. Winters are cold
and summers hot. Much of this region is swept by high
winds. Except in irrigated areas, the vegetation is sparse.
The timber of the region is limited to the hills, and the
forests are open stands of pine. Agriculture is specialized
fruit, wheat, and cattle though in a few districts there is

j6 THE CASCADES

greater variety. Towns are few and small 5 it is a land of
distance and space. The general temper is more conservative
than in the west.

Not all these differences are caused by the Cascades alone.
The range, however, is the dividing line between the two
regions. There is nothing indistinct or intangible about it.
Start from any of the cities of the coastal side and travel
east. The sky perhaps is overcast with a low-hanging mass
of cloud. The outlines of distant hills are dull, and the sil-
houettes of nearby trees do not stand out against the air but
merge with it. Along the way there are forests whose in-
teriors are dark and where the undergrowth is thick and
green. Everywhere the color is green: dark green of Doug-
las fir, light green of grasses and deciduous trees. There
are many streams carrying white water down through moss-
grown canyons. The ascent over the divide is gradual, or if
the way is through the Columbia Gorge, there is no climb
at all. Then in the space of ten miles or so a change occurs.
The sky grows lighter, the undergrowth is less abundant,
and the bright reds and yellows of the trunks of pines stand
out among the firs. Through a sudden break in the clouds
there is a field of blue sky, and standing against it is the
snow slope of some high mountain. The air sharpens. Firs
disappear. There are new shades of brown. At last, a little
past the crest, the sky becomes clear except for long fingers
of light-fringed cloud reaching out over the rolling plateaus
of the inland region. Below and beyond the mountains are
the light-brown wheat fields, the gray-green groves of or-
chard, and long stretches of sagebrush and rock.

Perhaps the most likely impression of the range to be
gained by a newcomer to the Northwest is that the Cascades

THE CASCADE RANGE 77

are not a range of mountains at all, but rather a series of
grand but isolated volcanoes rising above a line of rolling
hills. This was probably the impression carried away by
Vancouver and by many of the early travelers. It is the im-
pression that anyone will get by approaching the range in
its central or southern portions. It is the appearance seen on
coming to the range anywhere from the west. The high iso-
lated peaks completely dwarf the hills from which they rise.
Then, as so frequently is the case, low banks of cloud travel-
ing eastward from the Pacific come to rest against the parts
of the range between the great volcanoes, and only the latter
are seen shimmering loftily through the soft moist haze.
They seem apart and dissociated from the surrounding coun-
try, and they are frequently mistaken for unusual billows
of cloud or for some unbelievable apparitions of an atmos-
pheric nature.

The volcanoes are massive. With several exceptions they
do not stand in groups. From few places is it possible to see
more than one at a time. The great ones are separated from
one another by dozens of airline miles. In the neighborhood
of any one of the volcanic peaks, that one dominates every-
thing within sight, and although other mountains may be
seen in different directions or in the distance, the personality
of the nearby peak obliterates the sense that other mountains
can exist. Thus each of the big volcanoes has its tributary
region for which there is only one mountain in the world,
and that one is The Mountain. It is painful for a Portlander
to hear a person from Seattle mention the mountain and to
comprehend slowly that the mountain indicated is Rainier.
As for the Seattlite, the Portlander's colloquial reference
to Mount Hood as the mountain is a piece of insufferable

78 THE CASCADES

provincialism. And yet, the Seattlite and the Portlander may
trade homes and each will come under the unique spell of
the nearer mountain. The volcanic peaks are jealous gods.

At times this jealousy finds a strange but understandable
response. For many years the people of the city of Tacoma
engaged in a crusade to have the recognized name of the
Cascades' highest mountain changed to "Tacoma" in place
of the outlandish syllables "Rainier." Against the fiery op-
position and ridicule of other communities within the sway
of the big mountain, the Tacomans carried their fight to the
Board on Geographic Names, to Congress, and to the public.
The dispute became bitter and the meanest motives were
imputed on both sides. Amid much derision, the Tacomans
lost, but it would not be safe to say that the name Mount
Rainier is finally and universally accepted. The battle fought
by Tacoma was at root a struggle to possess the mountain
not just for the better advertisement of the city, but for
the satisfaction of something deeply rooted in the people
who look up from their homes to the sight of a twilight lin-
gering on the heights of the mountain.

There have been other attempts in the history of the Cas-
cades to gain possession by the magic of a name. Hall J.
Kelly, probably the original western booster, visited the
Northwest in the first half of the nineteenth century and
became concerned over the menace of the British. One of his
many projects for the country involved renaming the Cas-
cades the Presidential Range. The attempt failed.

The volcanic peaks, then, are the aspect of the Cascades
that is best known. They are the highest in the range; they
are the largest and the most conspicuous. They are located
so as to be visible from the largest cities and from many of

THE CASCADE RANGE 79

the most traveled highways. There is nothing in the nation
remotely resembling any one of them, let alone their long
stately procession. And yet the Cascade Range is much more
than this line of great volcanoes. The long ridge that Van-
couver observed would be one of the big ranges of America
even without the volcanoes. In the valleys and on the hills
of the lower parts of the range lies one of the greatest belts
of evergreen forest that is to be found in the country. Its
stand of Douglas fir is one of the first resources of the land.
The hills below the volcanoes contain water-power reserves
that are scarcely touched.

There is, however, another aspect of the range that is lit-
tle known and very different. The Cascades are in reality two
separate but interwoven mountain systems. One system, that
of the volcanoes, extends the length of the entire chain from
Canada to northern California. The other system is non-
volcanic. It begins near Mount Rainier and extends north-
ward into Canada. This second system is a labyrinth of high
broken ridges, heavily glaciated peaks, and deep narrow val-
leys. Its mountains are among the most beautiful and the
most imposing in America. It has scores of glaciers, fierce
torrents and waterfalls, high meadows, and virgin forests.
While it is shorter than the volcanic system, it is considerably
wider, so that it is by no means a small part of the range.
This division of the range into two distinct mountain systems
is one of the outstanding facts about the Cascades and is one
of the reasons for its great variety. What may be said of
the volcanic peaks is frequently untrue of the northern sys-
tem. Thus it is most convenient in outlining the range to
discuss the two parts of the chain as though they were quite
separate ranges.

SO THE CASCADES

THE VOLCANOES

Around the rim of the Pacific there are many volcanoes.
Some, like Katmai and Krakatao, have erupted in historic
times and are remembered for their cataclysmic violence.
They are awesome curiosities and objects of fear. There are
others, like Fuji, which now stand as mute quiescent monu-
ments to the latent fires within the earth. Some of these
possess a serene and lonely grandeur which seems to deny
their origin or the possibility of new outbursts from their
depths. It is difficult to conceive of them as having spewn
smoke and cinders and molten rock. Covered with snow and
in their great isolated heights, they seem not of the country
in which they stand, scarcely of the earth.

The volcanoes of the Cascades are such mountains. Their
form and their beauty seem complete and final for all time,
and as though they had always been as they are now. More-
over, they have not, in the short time white men have been
living in their shadow, erupted so as to cause the loss of life
or great destruction. There are vague Indian legends of
smoke and explosions from some of the peaks, but there is
little definite fact to be learned from these. The evidence
of the mountains' fiery past lies on the sides of the peaks
and in their distinctive shapes.

Of the big volcanoes of the Cascade Range, Mount Saint
Helens, in southern Washington, is perhaps the one which
best typifies the remote and ethereal quality that is in some
way common to them all. In outline this mountain is a very
nearly perfect cone with rounded summit and slopes almost
unmarred by any break in their smooth, even curves. When
it is seen from a distance in the fall or spring, rising above

THE CASCADE RANGE 8l

the rolling expanses of green forest at its foot and whitened
with snow from base to summit, it has an air of peace and
of great age.

Yet Mount Saint Helens is one of the youngest of moun-
tains and one of those for which there is a record of eruption.
In 1842, when there were still few settlers in the region,
the mountain sent up clouds of black smoke and ashes.
Pumice was reported falling from the sky as far away as
The Dalles, sixty-three miles by air from the mountain.
Within the last few years live fumaroles have been dis-
covered on its sides. It is probable that in the course of
geologic time the mountain will awake again and that new
deposits of lava will appear among its glaciers.

From time to time since the last explosive activity from
Saint Helens there have been reports of smoke rising from
others of the volcanoes. Mount Baker and Mount Rainier
are said to have been smoking through the middle part of
the nineteenth century. The crater on Mount Baker was
smoking as recently as 1903. The climax of the Cascades'
volcanism in modern times, however, occurred at the very
southern end of the range. In 1914 Lassen Peak burst into
activity, and between May and September it had forty-seven
eruptions. At the largest of these dust rose to eleven thou-
sand feet, and fragments four feet in diameter were ejected
with the dust and smoke.

Though there is no concern that any of the Cascade vol-
canoes will reduce the communities about them to modern
Pompeiis or Herculaneums, the fires inside the peaks are not
extinct. Anyone who has climbed either Mount Hood or
Mount Rainier can testify that these are not "dead" vol-
canoes. A thousand feet below the summit of Hood and

THE CASCADES

directly on the summit of Rainier are steam fumaroles. None
of them can be reached without a long hard trudge, and they
are at an altitude where there is perpetual wind and, more
often than not, cloud and storm. Nearby are fields of snow
and ice-hung rock sloping down to glaciers. A layer of cloud,
perhaps, has formed far below at the level of timber line, six
thousand feet. All the land save that of the mountain and
the other distant sentinels of the range has been obliterated.
Overhead is a sky of such brilliance and clarity that it is
blinding to unshielded eyes. Against the blue of this sky a
wisp of white vapor rises from the rock of the mountain
and is dissipated. Or perhaps the cloud lies not at timber
line but upon the whole of the mountain. The snow and ice
blend with the dense white of the cloud and there is neither
distance nor foreground. The only reality is sound of the
wind and then, on suddenly arriving at a small patch of bare-
pumice, of a deep rumbling from underground. The pumice
and rock are warm to the touch, and it is good to rest there
after exposure to the cold wind.

Although the volcanic peaks had the same type of origin,
they differ markedly in form. Mount Saint Helens is the
prototype for its simplicity of outline; no one of the others
is so symmetrical or so unmistakably the same mountain
when seen from its different sides. Since the first lifting of
each mountain's mass there have been intermittent side
eruptions which have altered the conical form. Mount
Adams and Mount Rainier, both mountains of enormous
bulk, have irregular projections from this cause. Mount
Shasta has a satellite on its flank, almost a separate volcano
in its own right.

More important than these secondary lava flows in de-

THE CASCADE RANGE 83

fining the highly individual personalities of the peaks is the
work of their many glaciers. The entire range is so located
that it takes the first heavy impact of the frequent storms
carried inland by the warm moist air currents of the Pacific.
As a result the snowfall in the Cascades is very heavy. It is
not unusual for a winter's snow to pile fifteen and twenty
feet deep in the medium altitudes of the range. This has
caused the formation of glaciers wherever the snow accumu-
lates from year to year. On the older peaks these glaciers
have cut large cirques bounded by slender spines of rock.
The summit of Mount Hood has become a long thin ridge
largely as a consequence of glacial action. From Portland,
where the ridge is seen end-on, the mountain appears to have
a fine sharp point. From the south the ridge is apparent, and
the mountain might easily be taken for a different peak.

The largest concentration of glaciers in the United States
is on the sides of the northern volcanic peaks of the Cas-
cades. Rainier has an area of forty-five square miles in its
twenty-four glaciers. Some of these are like rivers of ice fall-
ing from the summit down over cliffs and flowing to an eleva-
tion of four thousand feet, well below the level of some of the
resorts. The Emmons Glacier on Rainier is five and one-half
miles long, small in comparison with those in Alaska and
Canada, but still the longest in the forty-eight states. Mount
Baker is even more completely covered with ice than Rainier,
and the lovely volcano bearing the name of Glacier Peak
is poorly named, so common are glaciers on all the moun-
tains in its vicinity. The volcanic peaks to the south are
covered with ice only to a slightly lesser degree, and some
of their glaciers are among the most interesting.

The glaciers and the snow fields of the Cascades are re-

84 THE CASCADES

sponsible for a great deal of the character and the charm of
the whole range. Without the glaciers, the volcanoes would
be mere mounds of rock and pumice. Without the heavy
snows of the range, none of its mountains would have the
rugged form and grandeur that is their general feature. The
well-watered meadows, the abundant streams and waterfalls
would be lacking. But more important, without the shining
white of snow and ice the range would be without the char-
acteristics that distinguish it among American mountains.
The Cascades are not the only mountains of perpetual snow,
but of all the great ranges they are the most heavily snow
covered and it is this more than anything else that accounts
for their peculiar beauty,

In the long, nearly straight line of the volcanic system
there are eleven mountains over ten thousand feet high.
Two, Shasta and Rainier, top fourteen thousand feet. The
figures in themselves, however, do not account for the im-
pressiveness of these mountains. Ten thousand feet is a
quite moderate elevation in the Rockies or in the Sierra.
Colorado alone has fifty-two peaks above fourteen thou-
sand. The explanation of the lofty appearance of the vol-
canoes of the Cascades lies in the fact that most of them
display their entire elevation not from a high plateau, but
from sea level or near to it.

Rainier is the climax of the volcanic system. It is both
the highest and the largest in the range. With its many sides,
it is the equivalent of a range of mountains in itself. From
some places it appears as a rounded dome, from others as a
sharp-pointed summit or as a long ridge above wall-like
cliffs. The trail which goes around the mountain is ninety-

THE CASCADE RANGE 85

five miles long and that at the highest practicable eleva-
tion near timber line.

The glory of the southern part of the range is Crater
Lake. It lies in the crater that is all that remains of a moun-
tain posthumously named Mount Mazama. It is six miles
in diameter and is surrounded by brightly colored volcanic
walls two thousand feet high in places. It is just four feet
less than two thousand feet deep and has no visible outlet.
Its most dramatic feature, however, is the color of its water,
a brilliant blue. One of the most awesome experiences that
may be had in the range is to go boating on Crater Lake and
to drift about one of the crags that reach up out of its depths.
Though the water is just as blue when seen from the rim,
its remarkable clarity is more apparent from the lake's sur-
face. From far below the rock is seen to soar upward, and the
boat seems suspended alongside it in a medium no denser
than air.

The lake was discovered in 1853 by a party of prospec-
tors. Two groups of gold hunters had met in the region,
one of which held the supposed secret of the "Lost Cabin
Mine." The objective of this group was told in a moment
of drunken confidence to a member of the second group, and
there followed a long pursuit and eventual joining of forces.
When the search for gold was resumed, the leader of the
interloping party made the big discovery of their somewhat
comic expedition. The leader, John W. Hillman, was riding
rather inattentively over a gently sloping hillside through
open forest when his mule stopped abruptly. Directly in
front of him and far below, Hillman saw the brilliant color
of Crater Lake. His reported reaction was that he was glad
the mule wasn't blind. Hillman found more than the aver-

86 THE CASCADES

age seeker of lost mines, though it is scarcely necessary to
add that he never got to dig in the Lost Cabin Mine.

Between Crater Lake and Rainier are many areas which,
although less famous, are as worth visiting as these two. In
a triangle around the Columbia River Gorge is the well-
known group of Hood, Adams, and Saint Helens. To the
south of these are Mount Jefferson and the cluster about
the Three Sisters. This area is one of the most distinctive
parts of the volcanic system. It has the sharp contrasts of
desolate lava fields and gentle meadows, of rocky spires and
undulating plains, of dark evergreen forest and sparkling
lakes. Much of it is a sunny open mountain country with
nearly level land between the peaks. Most of its forest is
ponderosa pine. Through groves of these trees it is possible
to see for long distances, and there is no sense of being shut
in by foliage. There are many park lands high meadows
dotted by shallow pools and small groups of alpine trees.
Perhaps the finest of all the park lands of the range is at the
northern foot of Mount Jefferson. It lies on the floor of a
small hidden valley which runs squarely across the divide.
Mount Jefferson, architecturally an almost perfect moun-
tain, on this side rises suddenly from the level, flower-cov-
ered floor of the valley, and there is complete harmony in
the combination of sharp icy rock and soft grassy fields.

This valley, Jefferson Park, can be reached only by trail.
Its beauty, like that of many similar places in the Cascades,
is fragile and could easily disappear before a road. The trail
system of the Cascades makes most of these places accessible
with relatively little effort. For people with unlimited time,
the Pacific Crest Trail follows close to the top of the range
and through spots such as Jefferson Park. Much of the range,

THE CASCADE RANGE 87

however, does not permit trail building along its summit. No
single trail, moreover, could touch all of the range. Yet by
taking parts of the Pacific Crest Trail one at a time and by
using the trails that lead in through the foothills, very
nearly all of the Cascades can be seen progressively on short
holidays and week ends.

THE NORTHERN SYSTEM

In the northern part of the state of Washington the char-
acter of the Cascades changes abruptly. There is a hint of
nonvolcanic structures in Goat Rocks north of Mount Adams,
and near Mount Rainier there are striking though small
peaks that are clearly not of volcanic origin. The main transi-
tion, however, occurs between Rainier and Stevens Pass, the
most northern of the usable routes across the range. Within
this distance, a little more than sixty miles, the range be-
comes wider, more complex, and more rugged. More to the
north these characteristics become even more pronounced.
The mountains are larger, and the valleys deeper and
wilder, until the region at the head of Lake Chelan is
reached. From here to the Canadian boundary there is no
break in the mountains of this different system.

This region has been described as the most alpine of our
American mountain areas. Certainly the mountains are as
numerous, as precipitous, and as abundant in glaciers
though most of the glaciers are small as those of the Alps.
On one very important score, however, this region is the
antithesis of the Alps: -it is a wilderness. There are few parts
of the United States in so completely wild a state. Roads
are few and poor; there are not many trails, and those which
exist receive little attention. From the valleys, which are

THE CASCADES

the main lines of such travel as does pass through the coun-
try, it is not often possible to see much except dense forest.
There is much wildlife deer, bear, cougar, mountain goat,
marmot, grouse, and ptarmigan. To see the region it is neces-
sary to go by foot or by horse to the high passes, and even
this does not permit more than a sampling in a single trip.
The country is accessible for only a short part of the year.
During the winter months, which extend from October to
May, the trails are closed by snow and there is repeated
danger of avalanches. A few skiers penetrate into the high
regions in March and April and are rewarded by seeing the
mountains at their best. During the summer many tourists
approach the area and some fishermen and climbers enter it,
but only a handful discover for themselves the singular ap-
peal of this loveliest part of the Cascades.

The northern system is relatively unknown. Part of the
reason lies in its inaccessibility. This is not a complete ex-
planation, though. With the expenditure of a little energy
and at no great cost it is possible to see some of it. One of
the causes is that there is no hint outside the area of what it
contains. On the map the region does not seem particularly
impressive. The altitudes that appear on the map are be-
tween 8,OOO and 9,500 feet. There are many undistinguished
areas with such elevations. But perhaps nowhere else is the
convention of measuring the scale of mountains by reference
to sea level more deceptive. Repeatedly in this area, 8,000-
foot mountains seem large by comparison with peaks of
14,000 feet in other ranges. Dome Mountain rises 6,400
feet from the West Fork of the Agnes in a horizontal dis-
tance of two and one-half miles. Mount Eldorado rises 7,000
feet ^bpve the Cascade River in a little more than two miles.

THE CASCADE RANGE 89

There are many such examples. The depth o the valleys
perhaps gives a more accurate impression of height than the
mountains' elevation above sea level. The valleys, which
are largely U-shaped, continue at nearly sea level far into
the mountains on the west side. Then they rise in a series
of sharp steep steps or end suddenly at the foot of towering
cliffs. The same is true on the east, though there the valleys
are slightly higher. This mountain system, unlike the Sierra,
is equally developed and rugged on both its east and west
sides. Glaciers tend to be more numerous on the eastern
slopes, but this is the only significant difference in the struc-
ture of the mountains.

Although this northern system is intersected by many
deep valleys, its average height is considerably above that
of the volcanic section. For this reason the number of streams
that characterize the entire range is greater than in the south-
ern regions. At the final cirque of any valley there are many
lines of water streaming down the cliffs. In early summer
there may be two dozen of these waterfalls at the head of
one valley. They will dwindle as the season advances, but
even in early autumn most of them will remain. During the
summer the streams of the region are often barriers to travel.
A creek which in the morning is easily forded can become
an impassable torrent by late afternoon.

There is little in the way of recorded history of the re-
gion. The trappers of the Hudson's Bay Company pene-
trated the area, and occasionally an old rusted beaver trap
is discovered, or the ruins of a log cabin out of which large
cedar trees are growing. A minor prospecting boom flared
early in the century. Trails were built into many valleys
which are now inaccessible because of the dense undergrowth

90 THE CASCADES

of alder. The boom collapsed under the cruel difficulties of
working in the country, but a few of the faithful kept on.
Not many years ago two men making a snow survey for one
of the power companies were staying in the middle of win-
ter at a tiny cabin near Lyman Lake. They had had a long
trip by snowshoe, and so far as they knew they were the
only men in many miles. They heard a strange and startling
sound outside. Opening the door, they found Blue Moun-
tain Ole, who had come to visit his "mine." Blue Mountain
Ole had good samples to show, but his diggings were some-
where above the Lyman Glacier. Now that he is dead people
occasionally go out to look for his mine.

As the price of metals rises and falls, mining activity in
the region grows and dwindles. A few companies have suc-
ceeded in working the largely low-grade ores of the range,
but the typical history is one of a small stock company
founded on high hopes and deep illusions. It spends its re-
sources in cutting a road or trail to its claims and in blasting
a small hole in the ground. A few rich samples are taken
from small fissure veins and there is much excitement. Then
the harsh winters and the hard rock of the country take their
toll, and as the costs of bringing out the ore are realized
the undertaking fails. The visible accomplishment is only an
ugly mound of refuse in what had once been a pleasant spot.
Antiquated mining laws still permit adventurers to lay claim
to regions in which they can find minerals and to gain pos-
session of the land for their own ends, whether for stock
promotion, commercial resorts, or even private lodges. It is
no longer possible for miners to set fire to the forests of
whole valleys to make prospecting easy, as they once did,

THE CASCADE RANGE 91

but the existence of outcrops of brightly colored rocks re-
mains a curse on the country.

From the summit of any high peak of the northern sys-
tem there are views of an apparently limitless expanse of
mountains. Unlike the mountains of the volcanic system,
these peaks lie in ridges or ranges. Some of the largest of
the peaks can be identified, but many are either unnamed
or have only collective names. Glaciers by the score hang on
the sides of the cliffs. These glaciers are small compared to
the vast streams which existed during the ice age. The pre-
historic Chelan Glacier was nearly ninety miles long. This
glacier, which receded long ago, left one of the deepest
canyons of the continent in its place. Most of the canyon is
filled with a lake whose surface is at an altitude of eleven
hundred feet but whose bottom is over three hundred feet
below sea level. Mountains as high as eight thousand feet
rise above the lake.

In every direction there are mazes of radiating valleys.
Some seem to lie athwart the axis of the chain, but none
furnish easy routes through the range. These valleys are
often somber places to enter. In some of them the forest
arches completely over the trail, so that on the brightest days
little sunlight reaches the ground. A thick mat of needles
and decaying wood is underfoot, and there is little sound
except that of running water. Tracks of animals are fre-
quently seen on the trails, but seldom the animals them-
selves. A few birds pass like shadows among the tops of the
trees, but they are silent. On days of bad weather, dark
clouds flow down the valleys and each needle drips with
moisture, though there may be no rain.

There are other valleys which open at an elevation of

02 THE CASCADES

about four thousand feet to meadows of grass and small
shrub-like plants. Small groves of spruce, fir, and hemlock
divide these fields. The mountains which surround the val-
leys rise directly from the meadows, first in short steep rock-
slides and then in sheer cliffs. Such valleys are delightful in
summer but are often terrifying during winter, when ava-
lanches pour off the cliffs on either side.

At the head of nearly every valley there is a zone of
"high country" similar in some ways to the parkland areas
of the volcanoes. Here at elevations of five to seven thou-
sand feet are the high passes. Near the passes there are
again meadows, but they are more delicate and more given
over to flowers and heather. The trees are smaller and more
stunted. Small clumps of white-bark pine, mountain hem-
lock, and alpine fir are scattered among the meadows. Gaunt
twisted larches grow in lines along the tops of the lower
ridges. Each of the passes is a window to long reaches of the
country to the walls and glaciers of the nearby peaks, to
waterfalls from the upper snow fields, and to series of peaks
and ridges which continue indefinitely toward the horizon.

Two volcanoes, Mount Baker and Glacier Peak, rise in
the midst of the northern system. From any high summit,
their massive rounded forms are landmarks on the jagged
skyline of the area. In the mingling of the two systems there
is the same harmony of contrast that is the continual surprise
of the range. Fittingly, the northern system reaches its cul-
mination close to these two volcanoes. From Cloudy Pass
the symmetrical outline of Glacier Peak in the west is bal-
anced by long lines of sharp rocky peaks extending north,
east, and south. With the foreground of meadows, streams,

THE CASCADE RANGE 93

and deep evergreen valleys, here are found all the elements
of the Cascades.

THE PUBLIC DOMAIN

Throughout the length of the Cascades there are few
areas that are not the property of the people of the United
States. Because of the wisdom of a relatively few men, near
the turn of the century, the best of our mountains and the
natural resources which they hold have been preserved for
the nation. Today, with the exception of several state parks,
various small islands of private property and other land
exploited for private interest, the Cascade Range is under
the care and supervision of the federal government.

Three areas in the range have been made National Parks.
These, Mount Rainier National Park, Crater Lake National
Park, and Lassen Volcanic National Park, have been estab-
lished by Congress and are administered by the National
Park Service of the Department of the Interior. In all the
National Parks the interests of conservation are paramount,
and the only permitted use of the parks is for the public's
enjoyment. The Park Service supervises the concessions
which serve visitors, and itself provides many facilities such
as roads, trails, museums, and guide service. In general, the
regulations of the Parks are more stringent than those of
the National Forests. No firearms are permitted, for all
game in the Parks is protected against hunters. Visitors are
more carefully supervised, and less commercialization is al-
lowed. The policies of the Park Service have been criticized
at times, but it is true that the cause of conservation has been
well served by the National Park system.

Most of the Cascades, however, are in the National For-

04. THE CASCADES

ests. Beginning with Mount Baker and Chelan National
Forests on the Canadian line and extending to Lassen Na-
tional Forest in California, there are twelve such forests
(see Appendix). The heavy responsibility for protecting this
large area against fire and pests and of administering its use
lies with the Forest Service, a branch of the Department of
Agriculture. This agency, one of the oldest of the career
services and one of the most competent, has an exceedingly
varied task.

The most familiar job of the Forest Service is fire pro-
tection. The forests of the Pacific Northwest are in a zone
of very low humidity during the late summer months, and
among the curses of the region are the all too frequent pil-
lars of smoke that rise out of the mountains to spread like
clouds over the entire area. The cost of these fires is some-
thing that can seldom be assessed fully. When the forests
are destroyed there is a loss not only of usable timber but
of water resources as well, for the forests are the reservoirs
from which a large part of the Northwest draws its water
for irrigation and for life.

The Forest Service is committed to a policy of multiple
use of the forests. Since the war a strong emphasis of the
Service has been to make timber available for building homes
that are needed throughout the country. The objective is
to place the forests on a "sustained yield" basis, so that the
maturing trees will be harvested as a crop, leaving the
younger trees to grow and maintain the forest. This policy
should prevent the devastation that has fallen on some of
the once pleasant valleys of the range. There have admit-
tedly been places where the policy of sustained yield has
not been strictly followed, and there is continual clamor

THE CASCADE RANGE 95

from mill operators for more "liberal" cutting privileges.

Sheep and cattle graze in large areas of the forests. This
is one of the most difficult interests to satisfy. There have
been attempts to gain large tracts for exclusive use for graz-
ing. The attempts have been discredited, but there is no
assurance that they will not be repeated. Overgrazing, par-
ticularly by sheep, can destroy not only the beauty of the
high meadows where the animals range but the water sup-
plies which rise among the grasslands.

Recreational use is one of the primary purposes of the
forests. A wide range of facilities, from open-trail shelters
to a million-dollar hotel on Mount Hood, are offered by
the Forest Service. There is an increasing demand for "de-
velopment" of the wilderness areas of the Cascade forest,
so that picnickers may arrive in cars and skiers may ride
uphill on cableways. This demand is being met to a con-
siderable degree. However, a few areas have been set aside
as Wild and Wilderness Areas, in order that a little of the
original flavor of the Cascades may be preserved. These
areas, though, are only a small part of the range.

Much of the finest of the Cascades is in the National For-
ests. None of the National Parks contains anything superior
to the mountains of the Stehekin River watershed. That
such areas are not federal parks is owing not to any inferi-
ority in beauty, but to public support of the Forest Service
policy: that the forests shall be used to serve various pur-
poses. This is a good policy, but only when wisely adminis-
tered. It cannot be wisely administered unless there is a
realization by the people of America that the forests and all
they contain can be destroyed, and that there are always
special interests willing to despoil the forests for selfish ends*

96 THE CASCADES

The National Forests are not so well protected by law
against such depredations as the National Parks. The Forest
Service, as an arm of a democratic government, is responsive
to the desires of the public. If the public grows indifferent,
its desires can be confused with the variety of special demands.
The mountains of the Cascades are a part of our natural
heritage, and it is a public responsibility to see that they are
protected and used wisely.

CASCADE HOLIDAY

by Weldon F. Heald

MOUNTAIN BANQUET

T.
e Cascades in summer offer to the mountain enthusiast

the richest and most varied fare of any range in the United
States. Along the seven-hundred-mile crest from northern
California to the Canadian border are our greatest remaining
forests, our fairest alpine meadows, our largest glaciers, and
our grandest peaks. And the follower of Cascade trails,
whether he be hiker, fisherman, mountain climber, hunter,
camper, or leisurely automobile tourist, can find in a lifetime
more diverse kinds of topography, vegetation, climate, and
scenery than in any other mountains in the country.

For the Cascades are not a single, homogeneous range
like the Sierra Nevada to the south. Stretching through ten
degrees of latitude which corresponds on the East Coast
to the distance from Philadelphia to southern Labrador
the Cascades show three distinct climatic and topographic
provinces, each quite different from the others.

In the northern California section the range starts hesi-
tantly in thinly wooded, semi-arid lava plains with the giant
cones of Mount Shasta and Lassen Peak dominating a hap-
hazard group of round, dead volcanoes. Through Oregon
the Cascades hump up into a broad, mile-high, eroded pla-

99

IOO THE CASCADES

teau, surmounted at intervals by a chain of symmetrical,
dormant fire-mountains, streaked by snow and streaming
with glaciers. Northward the forests thicken and lakes multi-
ply, and in south-central Washington the alpine section be-
gins. Although much of this region is still little-known
wilderness, nevertheless it is the climax of the Cascades.
Within an area of 10,500 square miles equal in size to nine
Rhode Islands is a maze of jagged, glacier-hung peaks
and ridges. Far below, deep narrow valleys twist and turn,
carrying milky torrents which rage between towering fir for-
ests of almost tropical luxuriance.

But different as they are, all three sections offer some of
the best fishing, hiking, camping, and climbing on the con-
tinent. Here is a mountain banquet spread out in three lavish
courses enough to satisfy the most exacting outdoor epi-
cure season after season. But with such an overflowing menu
of superlatives, how can the average mountain-hungry vaca-
tionist be sure to get the most out of his short Cascade sum-
mer holiday?

Of course, the best way to know and savor mountains is to
leave civilization behind, hit the trail on foot or horseback,
and camp out under the stars for a few days, a week, or a
month. And there are thousands of miles of trail in the three
sections of the Cascade Range. They thread silent forests,
climb to high-perched lakes, cross velvet parks, and circle
the fire-mountains just below the glaciers. Following these
trails with knapsack or pack train is the chosen way of the
true mountaineer.

But the Cascade banquet is lavish enough so that the auto-
mobile tourist can partake of his share. He, too, can find
high passes to cross in a sedan ^ climb to timber line in his

CASCADE HOLIDAY IOI

convertible, or park his trailer in a campground beside a
rushing trout stream. And even the hurrying train traveler
through the Cascades can catch quick glimpses of thundering
waterfalls, snowy peaks, and forest-bordered lakes from the
astra dome of his streamliner.

So if you are a mountain lover afoot, on horseback, or
behind a steering wheel there is your particular kind of
outdoor summer holiday awaiting you in the Cascades. The
banquet table is set. Let us scan the opulent bill of fare and
from it you can select the choice morsels which appeal to you
the most.

FIRST COURSE NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

Northward from Sacramento, U.S. Highway 99 and the
Southern Pacific's Cascade Line lead up California's wide-
sweeping Great Central Valley to Oregon. As you approach
the little town of Corning, nestled among miles of olive
groves, a ghostly white cloud appears on the horizon ahead.
Farther on, the cloud grows and materializes into a huge,
symmetrical volcanic cone sheathed in shining snows. It is
Mount Shasta, the great southern sentinel of the Cascades.
This soaring peak is the first of a stately procession of eleven
ice-clad giant mountains which extend northward along the
axis of the range through Oregon and Washington to the
Canadian border.

Shasta dominates the head of the Great Central Valley,
but it has not always held the center of the stage. Seventy
miles southeast, where the volcanic Cascades merge with the
granite Sierra Nevada, stands Lassen Peak. It appears as an
undistinguished, rounded hump rising above the rolling
mountains east of the valley.' But suddenly on May 30,

IO2 THE CASCADES

1914, without warning, Lassen Peak burst into violent erup-
tion. The crater belched mushrooming clouds of smoke ac-
companied by explosive ejections of dust, rock, and super-
heated gases. Later, lava poured down the west slope while
the whole mountain shook and rumbled.

For seven years Lassen Peak was the only active volcano
in the United States. Altogether, about three hundred erup-
tions occurred before the outburst spent itself in 1921. To-
day Lassen is peaceful again, but the region roundabout
exhibits such remarkable examples of recent volcanic action
that it was set aside in 1916 to be preserved in its natural
state.

Lassen Volcanic National Park, southernmost and small-
est of the three national parks in the Cascade Range, has
an area of 163 square miles. Besides the mountain itself, it
includes groups of hissing steam vents, boiling mud springs,
miniature geysers, and other dramatic indications that the
fires of Lassen are not dead. In the park, too, are scores of
mountain lakes, wild-flower meadows, evergreen forests,
waterfalls, and trout streams. From Red Bluff you can take
an all-paved loop to include Lassen, returning to Highway
99 either at Redding or Mount Shasta City.

The Lassen road leads east to the little forest resort of
Mineral, forty-seven miles east from Red Bluff. There it
turns north and climbs through magnificent fir forests for
eight miles to the park entrance. In another mile you reach
the Sulphur Works, some 7,000 feet up on the south slope of
Lassen Peak. You are now close to the heart of the sleep-
ing volcano. Steam vents, boiling mud pots, and hot sulphur
springs line a canyon bottom stained by chemical action into
pastel shades of pink, green, and blue. Five miles farther

CASCADE HOLIDAY 103

on, a foot trail leads in a little over a mile to another vol-
canic inferno called Bumpas Hell. In a steaming ten-acre
hollow are mud springs, small geysers, boiling pools, and
scorching gas vents.

Besides these two easily reached exhibits of volcanism,
there are several others accessible by longer trail trips.
Devils Kitchen, Boiling Springs Lake, and Willow Creek
Geyser are all within hiking distance of Drakesbad, a small
resort within the Park at the end of a fifteen-mile spur road
from the lumber town of Chester. Another road, poor but
passable, leads from Chester thirteen miles north to beauti-
ful Juniper Lake, largest in the park, and Horseshoe Lake,
two miles beyond, where the Park Service maintains im-
proved campgrounds. Trails lead from these lakes into the
roadless eastern section of Lassen Volcanic National Park.

Beyond the Sulphur Works the main loop highway con-
tinues to wind up the mountain's southern slope. It passes
Emerald and Helen lakes and crosses the southeastern shoul-
der of Lassen Peak at an elevation of 8,475 feet, the great-
est height reached by an automobile road in the entire Cas-
cade Range. At the high point a foot trail climbs to the
summit of the volcano, 10,453 feet. It is a boulevard among
trails, wide and gentle enough for lovers to stroll up arm
in arm, and it makes Lassen the most painless Cascade fire-
mountain to ascend.

Snow lies deep and long on Lassen's upper slopes. The
area has become a popular winter sports center, each season
closing with a ski meet on the Fourth of July.

The road dips down from the high point through lush
Kings Creek Meadows, passes pleasant, forest-fringed Sum-
mit Lake with its two improved campgrounds, to the Devas-

IO4 THE CASCADES

tated Area. Here during the violent 1915 eruptions, hori-
zontal blasts of hot gases swept down Lassen's northeast
slope. The snow cover was instantly melted and the water
and gases swept everything before them for a distance of ten
miles. Vegetation is again beginning to take root on the
barren hillsides, but the evidence of the complete ruin of
forests, brush, and meadows is still a striking example of
the power of our only active volcano.

At Manzanita Lake, which reflects the cone of Lassen in
its quiet waters, is the National Park headquarters and mu-
seum. The northern Park entrance is a mile beyond. From
here you can complete the Lassen loop to Redding, fifty-
two miles, or you may continue on State Route 89 by way of
McArthur-Burney Falls State Park and McCloud to High-
way 99 at Mount Shasta City. This latter is an interesting
trip through rugged volcanic country, and Burney Falls, 128
feet high, is one of the most beautiful in California.

Ten miles north of Redding is one of the greatest struc-
tures ever built by man. Just below the confluence of the
Sacramento, Pit, and McCloud rivers stands gigantic Shasta
Dam, the principal unit in California's $400,000,000 Cen-
tral Valley Project. Planned for irrigation, power, and flood
control, the massive concrete dam took seven years to build
and is 560 feet high and 3,500 feet across at the top. Be-
hind it stretches the blue waters of artificial Shasta Lake,
which winds up the three river canyons among the hills for
over twenty miles.

Highway 99 and the Southern Pacific Railroad are carried
across an arm of Shasta Lake on a high, double-decked
bridge. Nearby are boat landings and bathing beaches on
the new lake, which is rapidly becoming a popular recreation

CASCADE HOLIDAY IO5

center. After crossing another smaller inlet, the highway
ascends the narrow, wooded canyon of the brawling Sacra-
mento River and comes out on the open plateau at the foot
of towering Mount Shasta.

Rising in majestic isolation, over ten thousand feet above,
the forested uplands at its base, Mount Shasta is the second
highest peak of the Cascade Range but is second to none in
impressiveness. "Lonely as God and white as a winter
moon," its vast, shapely bulk dominates the region for scores
of miles in every direction. Like all the great peaks of the
Cascades, Shasta is a dead or dormant volcano, built up
through ages of time by successive eruptions of ashes and
lava. Its main summit is 14,161 feet in elevation and Shas-
tina, a secondary crater, a mile and a half to the west, at-
tains 12,433 ^ eet -

But it is unfortunate that most visitors see only the south
side of Mount Shasta. Early-day lumbering and repeated
forest fires have given the mountain a less attractive setting
than any other major Cascade peak. Then too, from the
little-known north and east sides Shasta itself is much finer.
The upper slopes are sheathed in glistening ice fields, and
five glaciers stream down the mountain's sides. A poor back-
country road traverses the wild region northeast of Mount
Shasta and is worth taking for a revelation of the real
majesty of this great snow-capped volcano.

The ascent to the summit is laborious rather than difficult,
and it requires no technical acrobatics of advanced alpinism.
From Mount Shasta City the recently built John Everitt
Memorial Highway now permits you to drive your car up
the south slope to an elevation of 7,600 feet. A mile and a
half by trail brings you to the Sierra Club's Shasta Alpine

IO6 THE CASCADES

Lodge, four hundred feet higher. During the summer there
is usually a custodian in charge and camping space is avail-
able. The summit climb takes eight to ten hours round trip
from the lodge, depending upon snow conditions. But if you
start around 2:00 A.M. and make Thumb Rock for sunrise
you will see one of the grandest sights of your life.

At the lumber town of Weed, nine miles north of Mount
Shasta City, U.S. Highway 97 branches northeast from
Highway 99. From here to the Canadian line the two major
roads parallel each other along the east and west bases of
the Cascade Range. At intervals, crossroads climb over the
crest, joining the two highways. Thus the Cascade road sys-
tem on a map resembles a ladder, with routes 97 and 99 the
sides and fifteen or so transverse roads forming the rungs.

Highway 99 follows the green, forested west side through
the thickly inhabited part of the agricultural and lumbering
Pacific Northwest. Farther along it are the cities of Portland,
Tacoma, and Seattle as well as scores of smaller pleasant
and prosperous communities. Highway 97, on the other
hand, lies along the high, thinly populated, semi-arid pla-
teau at the east base of the Oregon Cascades. It traverses a
yellow-brown land of vast distances, open pine forests,
jagged lava flows, and rolling wheat fields. In Washington,
97 crosses several eastern spurs of the mountains, dips down
into broad valleys famous for their irrigated fruit, then hugs
the west bank of the Columbia River almost to Canada. It
would be difficult to find two parallel routes with but a single
mountain range between them which show a greater diver-
gence in climate, scenery, and human activities than these
two Cascade highways.

North from Weed, Highway 99 crosses the Klamath

CASCADE HOLIDAY

River, climbs over the Siskiyou Mountains, and drops down
into the sheltered, tree-shaded town of Ashland. You are
now in Oregon. There is a greener, more northern look to
the countryside. And to the east the high, even plateau of
the Cascades begins, with the snow-splashed cone of Mount
McLoughlin, 9493 feet, rising to a point above it. At Med-
ford a crossroad heads for the high Cascades. Its destination
is Crater Lake, and the chances are a hundred to one you
will take it.

SECOND COURSE OREGON

Once, not so many thousand years ago, the Cascade Range
possessed a twelfth great volcano rivaling Shasta and Rainier
in size. One day this i2,OOO-foot peak vanished. Seventeen
cubic miles of mountain disappeared completely in the fires,
smoke, and dust of a gigantic eruption. Geologists, who
know about such things, call the prehistoric volcano Mount
Mazama, and explain how it came about that we lost a moun-
tain and gained one of the continent's superb natural won-
ders Crater Lake.

When the upper part of the majestic, ice-clad peak ex-
ploded or fell in upon itself during a prodigious eruption, it
left a stupendous circular crater five to six miles across and
4,000 feet deep, walled by precipitous, jagged cliffs. For
hundreds of years this steaming, fiery caldron gradually
cooled, then water seeped in and filled it halfway to the
brim. Thus was Crater Lake born where once a great vol-
cano stood.

Although there is no visible inlet or outlet, the lake today
maintains a constant level and its waters are clear, cold, and
unbelievably blue. When you stand on the rim, looking

IO8 THE CASCADES

down on Crater Lake enclosed in an almost perfect circle
of color-stained cliffs one to two thousand feet high, you
are not only struck by its unique beauty, but also with a sense
of mystery and awe. The titanic forces which made this lake
are stilled, but they have left their impress on every detail
of the landscape.

Crater Lake National Park was created in 1902 with an
area of 251 square miles. At the Park village, on the south-
west rim at an elevation of over 7,000 feet, are a lodge,
housekeeping cabins, cafeteria, and public campgrounds. A
zigzag trail descends 900 feet to the lake and another leads
to Garfield Peak, 8,060 feet, one of the finest viewpoints in
the Park. Each day a ranger-naturalist conducts an auto-
mobile caravan around the 39-mile road which circles the
rim. He stops at all the spectacular viewpoints and explains
the fascinating story of the suicide of Mount Mazama and
the birth of Crater Lake.

But perhaps the lake is at its best seen from a launch
skimming across its blue waters. If you have an explorer's
instinct you can spend days pushing into the many small
coves at the foot of the cliffs, visiting Wizard Island with its
crater, and circling the lava pinnacles of the Phantom Ship.
Your fisherman's urge may be satisfied at the same time,
fly casting or trolling for rainbow trout. For Crater Lake is
in good fishing country. The Rogue River which has its
source near the Park is one of the most famous trout-fishing
streams in the world and the home of the gamy steelhead.

From the Park village on the rim, the crossroad from
Medford drops down through the pine, fir, and hemlock
forests which clothe the sides of old Mount Mazama and
joins Highway 97 on the east side of the range thirty-eight

CASCADE HOLIDAY IO9

miles north of Klamath Falls. A few miles below the junc-
tion, the main highway follows the east shore of Upper
Klamath Lake, forty miles long and eight miles wide. Al-
most every kind of North American waterfowl can be seen
on Klamath Lake during spring and fall migrations, and
its waters are the home of hundreds of giant white pelicans.

Klamath Falls, somewhat below the lake's southern out-
let, is a busy modern city, center of a rich lumbering, agri-
cultural, cattle- and sheep-raising area. Mountain roads
lead west into the heart of the Cascades. Among deep for-
ests at elevations of five thousand to seven thousand feet
are many little lakes and streams stocked with rainbow, cut-
throat, eastern brook, and silverside salmon, while bass and
catfish can be taken at Hyatt Lake and Lake of the Woods.
The latter, evergreen-bordered and dominated by the great
cone of Mount McLoughlin, is one of the most beautiful
in the southern Cascades. On its shores are resorts, camp-
grounds, summer cottages, and bathing beaches.

But the greatest concentration of lakes in the entire range
lies north of Crater Lake. For a distance of sixty miles on
both sides of the crest are scattered a dozen large bodies of
water, ranging in length from one to six miles, while scores
of smaller ones are tucked away in the green folds of the
mountains.

The lake region is traversed both by a high-speed, trans-
Cascade highway and the Southern Pacific's Cascade Line
which crosses over the mountains from eastern Oregon to
the Willamette Valley. But the mountain lover who is will-
ing to leave paved boulevards can take State Route 209
directly north from Crater Lake.

This leisurely forest road crosses the barren expanse of

HO THE CASCADES

the Pumice Desert, legacy of Mount Mazama's eruption, to
charming Diamond Lake, cradled between needle-sharp
Mount Thielsen and the rounded dome of Mount Bailey.
Fishing and swimming are excellent, and there are rustic
resorts and improved campgrounds. North of Diamond
Lake the road penetrates the wild, heavily wooded head-
waters of the Umpqua River, climbs the divide at Windigo
Pass, then drops down to Crescent Lake and the trans-Cas-
cade highway, fifty-four miles from Crater Lake Village.

Besides Crescent Lake, backed by snowy Diamond Peak,
and Odell Lake on the railroad and highway, there are
Davis, Summit, Big and Little Cultus, and Waldo lakes
reached by fair mountain roads. A network of foot and horse
trails cover the mountains and lead to many smaller lakes.

The famous Oregon Skyline Trail, too, runs through the
center of the region. From the Columbia River to the Cali-
fornia line this superlative pathway in the wilderness fol-
lows the high backbone of the Cascades. For four hundred
miles it winds up under snowy peaks, crosses exquisite flower
meadows, passes more than seven hundred lakes, and leads
through vast silent forests. The Oregon Skyline Trail is a
link in the 2,150-mile Pacific Crest Trail which traverses
the length of the Cascade Range, Sierra Nevada, and south-
ern California mountains from Canada to Mexico. The Cas-
cade Crest Trail in Washington, the Oregon Skyline Trail,
and Lava Crest Trail in northern California now furnish a
continuous knapsack and pack-train route through a thou-
sand miles of the finest scenery in the high Cascades.

The next cross-mountain road to the north is the well-
known McKenzie River Highway, connecting Eugene on
the west with Bend in eastern Oregon. The road is named

CASCADE HOLIDAY III

for the rushing, foam-flecked McKenzie River, one of Ore-
gon's famed fishing streams, which it follows for fifty miles
on the west slope. Near the mile-high crest of the range
the highway winds through lake-dotted alpine meadows
and fields of desolate, black lava at the base of a trio of
imposing snow-capped peaks. These are the Three Sisters.

Rising to more than ten thousand feet, the great dormant
volcanoes carry numerous glaciers on their broad shoulders j
the Collier Glacier, between North and Middle Sister, is
the largest in Oregon. Surrounding the Three Sisters is a
region of mountain parks, fir- and hemlock-fringed lakes,
cascading streams, and a veritable show-window exhibition
of recent and intense volcanism.

The highway crosses McKenzie Pass, 5,325 feet, and
meets Highway 97 at Bend, a thriving lumber town lying at
the east base of the Three Sisters. Its hungry, whining saw-
mills are fed from hundreds of square miles of ponderosa
pine roundabout. But Bend is also a recreation center from
which roads lead into the mountains to Suttle Lake,
Metolius River, famed for its fishing, and the Three Sisters
country.

The ninety-mile Century Drive circles the southeastern
part of the last-named region. It is a good graded road
which climbs to over six thousand feet to a mountain gate-
way between Bachelor Butte and rugged Broken Top, then
descends into a broad upland valley at the foot of the tower-
ing South Sister. At pine-bordered Sparks and Elk lakes
are resorts and pack stations where you can outfit for a
week's or a month's camping trip. There is plenty of variety
and elbow room for a wilderness vacation in this section of
the Cascades, for nearly four hundred square miles have

112 THE CASCADES

been set aside by the United States Forest Service as the
Three Sisters Primitive * Area.

One of the most intelligent and farseeing policies of the
Forest Service is to preserve a small part of the magnificent
National Forest Area as wilderness. Beginning in the
1 920*5, some of the nation's wildest and most rugged areas
of mountain and forest were set aside as examples of primi-
tive America as God made it. As far as possible these last
bits of wilderness will be preserved as samples of a world
undisturbed by man. They are havens of camp and trail life
where roads, buildings, and commercial resorts are taboo.
The modern city dweller, on foot or with pack train, may
catch his fish, sit by his fire, and live an outdoor life in sur-
roundings comparable to those of the pioneer trappers and
mountain men of a century ago.

Today there are nine Forest Service Primitive Areas in
the Cascade Range three in Washington, four in Oregon,
and two in northern California. These representative pieces
of our once great western wilderness, wisely preserved by
the Forest Service, are not advertised as are the National
Parks. Their trails are still uncrowdedj their remote lakes,
meadows, forests, and peaks are visited only by those few
who seek out the peace and inspiration which can be found
to the fullest degree only in nature's wildest places.

There are many such places in the Three Sisters region.
But perhaps the most perfect bit of unspoiled country in
the Oregon Cascades is Jefferson Park in the Mount Jeffer-
son Primitive Area, thirty miles to the north.

* Since this manuscript was sent to the printer, the United States Forest
Service has declared the terra "Primitive Area" obsolete; henceforth Wild
and Wilderness Areas will be the accepted terras. "Wild" indicates an area
under 100,000 acres, and "Wilderness," one over 100,000 acres.

CASCADE HOLIDAY 113

If I were asked what was the most characteristic feature
which distinguishes the Cascades from all other mountains
on earth, I think I would vote for the subalpine parks just
below timber line which line the crest of the range like a
string of emeralds. Cascade parks are nature's landscaping
brought to faultless perfection, and to camp and wander in
such exquisite flowery sky-meadows is, to me, one of the
greatest pleasures in following Cascade trails.

Jefferson Park is among the finest of these mountain
meadows. Cupped in a westward facing basin high up under
snowy Mount Jefferson, it spreads a full two square miles
of lush greensward enameled with beds of blue lupine, deli-
cate pink shooting stars, and the carmine points of Indian
paintbrush. Among the flower gardens small crystal-clear
streams gurgle between mossy banks, and still pools reflect
groups of dark, spiry alpine firs and feathery mountain hem-
locks. Over the rocky rim of the basin to the south, Mount
Jefferson stands incredibly tall against the sky. From its lava,
summit pinnacle, brilliantly shining snow fields sweep down
the long slopes, their surfaces broken by cold, steely blue
outlines of glacial crevasses.

Surely, when good mountaineers die they must be trans-
ported to some Elysian alpine abode resembling Jefferson
Park.

The Mount Jefferson region is reached by the north
branch of the Santiam Highway which crosses the range
from Bend to Salem. Going west, the road forks from the
McKenzie Highway at Sisters, twenty-two miles from Bend.
After passing around the north shore of charming Suttle
Lake, the road climbs to Hogg Pass and forks again two
miles below Lost Lake on the west slope. The main high-

U4 THE CASCADES

way continues down the long valley of the Santiam River
to Albany j the right-hand branch crosses a broad, flat divide
to the headwaters of the turbulent North Santiam River
which it follows to Salem.

Around the road junction is an interesting region of for-
ests and lakes dominated by the rocky spires of Mount
Washington to the south and Three Fingered Jack on the
north. Big, Fish, and Clear lakes, with improved camp-
grounds, are reached by short spur roads. This section of
the Cascade crest is streaked with hardened streams of black
lava from the geologically recent volcanic field which cen-
tered around Belknap Crater, ten miles south.

The North Santiam Highway penetrates a heavily tim-
bered area, until recently known only to lonely trappers,
hunters, forest rangers, and hikers. For twenty miles the
road roughly parallels the west boundary of the Mount
Jefferson Primitive Area. This 135 square miles of roadless
wilderness includes 10,495-foot Mount Jefferson, Oregon's
second highest peak, as well as twenty-two miles of the Cas-
cade crest. A pack station is located at Marion Forks on the
North Santiam River from which point good trails lead
into the Primitive Area to Marion and Pamelia lakes, Hunts
Cove, and Jefferson Park.

At the junction of the North Santiam and Breitenbush
rivers is Detroit, a mountain village which has long been an
outfitting center for parties packing into the Jefferson area
for fishing, hunting, and climbing. Here you may take a
scenic road to Breitenbush Hot Springs resort, then on over
the summit to Olallie Lakes Recreation Area. Olallie Lake,
with cabins, campers' supplies, and boats, is the largest of
more than one hundred small lakes and tarns lying in an up-

CASCADE HOLIDAY 115

land basin at the foot of Olallie Butte. The road continues
north along the Cascade crest, following the route of the
Oregon Skyline Trail through forests and meadows to the
Mount Hood Loop Highway, sixty-five miles from Detroit.

At Salem, capital of Oregon, the North Santiam High-
way joins Highway 99 which you once again follow down
fertile Willamette Valley to Portland. But long before you
reach the suburbs of the state's largest city, the slim, white,
ethereal cone of Mount Hood appears in the northeast. The
peak seems to be lightly floating in the sky above the long
green swell of the Cascades.

For a century Mount Hood has been one of America's
best known and most famous mountains. From the earliest
immigrants seeking a route westward over the mountains, to
the modern automobile tourist, Mount Hood has stirred the
imagination of all who have beheld it. Rising with graceful
symmetry to a pointed, snow-capped crown, the peak stands
in magnificent isolation calm, aloof, peaceful. Although
early settlers estimated that Mount Hood was at least
18,000 feet in elevation, accurate surveys have ignomin-
iously reduced the summit to a mere 11,225 feet. But the
peak has suffered nothing from this mathematical amputa^-
tion; it tops everything else in Oregon and still looks every
inch of i8,OOO feet high.

Portlanders affectionately call Mount Hood "Our Moun-
tain." They take an intense civic pride in the great white
volcanic cone which can be seen from every part of the city.
Although forty miles distant, the mountain is as much a part
of Portland as the downtown office buildings, Union Station,
or Public Library. Mount Hood is pre-eminently a "people's
mountain." Its streams and lakes furnish water, power, and

THE CASCADES

light to a half million Oregonians and its slopes are visited
annually by more than a million people for summer and
winter recreation.

You can take your car close up under the snows and
glaciers of Mount Hood from Portland by a 1 65-mile cir-
cle drive which for variety and grandeur is not surpassed
anywhere else in the United States. The two sections making
the circle back to Portland are the Columbia River Highway
and the Mount Hood Loop.

The former follows the south bank of the Columbia, to-
gether with the Union Pacific Railroad, through the im-
mense gorge which the river has cut completely across the
basic lava rocks of the Cascade Range. Completed in 1915,
before the heyday of the ravaging bulldozer, this highway
is a classic of American road building. Every cut, fill, and
bank is carefully and artistically built up with concrete and
rustic stone retaining walls 5 each bridge is designed to har-
monize with the landscape j and part of the way is even
finished with neat cement curbing and gutters. Certainly the
Columbia River Highway is a remarkable monument to the
progressive, public-spirited citizens of Oregon who con-
ceived a road through the great Columbia River Gorge more
than forty years ago.

For fifty miles the highway climbs, dips, and loops be-
side the majestic blue river. Huge Douglas firs and lacy
maples arch overhead, and the underbrush is green and cool.
The brown basalt southern walls of the gorge, topped by
domes and pinnacles, rise a sheer one thousand to two thou-
sand feet above the roadway. The cliffs are cut by narrow
ravines and lined with foaming waterfalls. Every bend re-
veals a new vista across the river to the forested hills of

CASCADE HOLIDAY

Washington, a plumy cascade, or a deep fern-lined canyon.
It is a road of a thousand fascinating details one to drive
slowly, to savor, and to enjoy fully.

Latourelle, Waukeena, Horsetail, and Multnomah falls
are the finest of the many cascades. The waters of Multno-
mah make a perpendicular drop of over six hundred feet into
a tree-fringed pool. From the falls a six-mile trail leads to
Larch Mountain, 4,038 feet, from which there is a wide-
spread panorama of the gorge, miles of rolling fir-clad
mountains, and the three snowy mountain peaks: Hood,
Adams, and Saint Helens. Other forest trails radiate from
Eagle Creek Park recreation area to Ghost Falls, Chinidere
Mountain, and Wahtum Lake.

At Bonneville, forty-three miles from Portland, is the
$74,000,000 federal dam and hydroelectric project which
harnesses the waters of the Columbia. The dam is 1,100
feet across to the Washington shore and impounds a reser-
voir behind it nearly fifty miles long. Seagoing ships pass
through the huge lock beside the dam, enabling them to
reach a point 176 miles inland. One of the interesting sights
at Bonneville is the fish ladders where salmon actually climb
stairs from the river to the lake behind the dam.

With a capacity of more than half a million horsepower,
this gigantic power and navigation dam is a remarkable piece
of engineering and is of inestimable value to the Pacific
Northwest. But those who knew the Columbia Gorge before
its erection regret that the ruthless demands of economic
progress have destroyed some of the river's most beautiful
spots and interesting historic sites.

At the pleasant little city of Hood River we leave the
Columbia and head south on the Mount Hood Loop. The

Il8 THE CASCADES

road ascends wide Hood River Valley through miles of ap-
ple and pear orchards. Straight ahead is the great shining
mountain, its slopes mantled with ice and snow.

One of the finest views of Mount Hood and certainly
the most photographed is from Lost Lake, reached by a
fourteen-mile side road up the West Fork of the Hood
River. With the lake as a foreground mirroring the almost
perfectly symmetrical snow peak, the picture forms a bal-
anced composition of water, forest, and mountain. At the
lake are campgrounds, good swimming, and fair fishing.

Approaching the head of Hood River Valley, orchards
and farms give way to evergreen forests. The loop road
climbs rapidly through heavy timber to the base of the
mountain and enters Mount Hood Recreation Area. Twenty-
four miles from Hood River a paved branch road winds
up Mount Hood's north slope to Cloud Cap Inn. The sur-
roundings of this famous old resort lodge, built in 1889, are
utterly magnificent. It is situated near timber line, six thou-
sand feet up, at the foot of Elliot Glacier which sweeps down
from Mount Hood's summit in a frozen cataract nearly three
miles long. East, north, and west is a panorama -over hun-
dreds of square miles of mountain and valley, backed by
three snow peaks lining the horizon. Saint Helens and
Adams, each sixty miles distant, stand at either side of the
giant bulk of Rainier, 115 miles away.

Cloud Cap Inn is the starting point for the north side, or
Coopers Spur climb of Mount Hood. It is also on the Round-
^he-Mountain Trail which completely circles the peak near
timber line. This 37-mile foot and horse trail passes below
ten glaciers, leads through subalpine parks, over skyline
ridges, and by fir-bordered lakes. From early July to the

CASCADE HOLIDAY 119

first week in August the Round-the-Mountain Trail puts
on its biggest show of the year. Then the way becomes a
colorful journey through banks and fields of wild flowers.

Back on the Mount Hood Loop Road you continue around
the east base of the peak, following the rushing East Fork
of the Hood River. Along its banks is an area of resorts and
campgrounds crowded with vacationists during the summer
months. The road winds up through forests and meadows,
with ever-changing views of the mountain, to historic Barlow
Pass. There the first wagon train of emigrants crossed the
Cascades in 1845. Just beyond the pass is a junction with
State Route 50 which comes up the east side of the range
from U.S. Highway 97 north of Bend.

You now begin the long sixty-mile descent around the
south base of Mount Hood. This area has seen amazingly
rapid development in recent years as a winter sports center.
But in summer the south side of the mountain cannot com-
pare in interest and beauty with its north and east slopes.
However, perched high on the broad south slope is one of
the finest resort hotels in America. Timberline Lodge,
opened in 1937, was a WPA project sponsored by Portland
businessmen during the depression. The architecture of the
long, rambling, gable-roofed building with its graceful
hexagonal cupola, has been called "Cascadian" and has the
feel and atmosphere of the high mountains about it. The
design and construction of the lodge gave to hundreds of
skilled craftsmen and artists, then on relief, the opportunity
to express themselves in stone, wood, textiles, furniture,
.glass, and paint. Together, these anonymous workers created
a co-operative masterpiece of native American art.

Timberline Lodge in summer is the starting point for the

THE CASCADES

popular south side climb of Mount Hood and the Round-
the-Mountain Trail; in winter it is headquarters for some
of the finest skiing in the country. In fact, the entire upper
valley of the Zigzag River is a winter sports paradise with
resorts, ski tows, ski trails and ski "bowls." Government
Camp is the center of this south side region and is a busy
place the year round. At the camp there is a settlement of
hotels, tourist cabins, cafes, and service stations.

Below Government Camp the loop road descends the
Zigzag River to the Sandy, which it follows almost to Port-
land. Mile after mile you pass forest resorts, lodges, and
summer cabins. In late June masses of white, rose, and cerise
blossoms of the rhododendron bring light and color to the
somber fir woods by the roadside. It is a pleasant, gentle,
restful country after a trip so crammed with superlative
horizontal and vertical scenery.

When you drive into the suburbs of Portland after cir-
cling Mount Hood you will understand the pride and affec-
tion Oregonians have for their great white peak. You have
made an acquaintance with one of the most distinctive moun-
tain personalities in America.

THIRD COURSE - WASHINGTON

As we said at the beginning, the Cascades share their
abundant riches with the mountaineer behind a steering
wheel. The Mount Hood Loop is an example. But a far
better way to explore, enjoy, and to know intimately its
peaks, forests, meadows, lakes, and streams is to join one
of the many Pacific Northwest mountain clubs. These or-
ganizations of outdoor enthusiasts range from informal
groups of twenty congenial people who like to fish, hike,

CASCADE HOLIDAY 121

climb, or ski, to the Mazamas of Portland and Mountaineers
of Seattle with more than a thousand members apiece.

These clubs offer the easiest and cheapest way to get out
into the mountains. Most of them conduct scheduled, guided
walks each Sunday to a nearby mountain or scenic spot.
Week-end camping trips are taken into the back country
during the warmer months. The larger clubs feature summer
outings, a longer mountain vacation lasting two to four
weeks. Each year a different region is visited and many
enthusiasts return season after season to accompany these
amiable, democratic caravans to the Cascade wilderness.

Some of the clubs also maintain lodges, cabins, and huts
in the mountains, open the year round to members at nomi-
nal fees. In the cities are club headquarters, most of them
with meeting and lounging rooms and well-stocked moun-
tain libraries. A list of Cascade Range outdoor organizations
will be found in the appendix. No matter which club you
may join, the rewards will be far in excess of the small
annual membership fee.

Each summer the Mazamas of Portland conduct climbs
to the summits of Hood, Adams, and Saint Helens the
three "Guardians of the Columbia" all visible from the
city. Until recently Mount Adams was a retiring mountain,
requiring a pack trip to reach the circle of alpine meadows
below the glaciers. Today you may drive up to timber line
on Washington's second highest mountain in half a day from
Portland. Via the North Bank Highway through the Co-
lumbia River Gorge to White Salmon, then north on the
Trout Lake road to Bird Creek Meadows, Mount Adams
is a little over one hundred miles from Portland. The road
ends high on the south slope of the huge peak in a region

122 THE CASCADES

of parks watered by streams from the snowbanks. It is a de-
lightful place for a leisurely camping holiday.

Mount Adams, 12,307 feet elevation, is the third highest
in the Cascade Range. It is a mammoth, sprawling hulk of
a mountain which humps up to four gently rounded sum-
mits. The south side climb from Bird Creek Meadows is, in
mountaineers' parlance, a "walk-up," but the eleven large
glaciers streaming down Adams 7 cone have provided ex-
perienced climbers with some of the most sporting snow and
ice work in the Cascades.

The mountain is the center of a heavily wooded region
penetrated by several Forest Service roads which wander
for miles through the wilderness. Fishing is good in Goose,
Council, Takhlaks, Bench, Mount Adams, and Walupt lakes,
and automobile campgrounds are numerous in the area.

Thirty miles west of Adams, Mount Saint Helens rises
in white, flawless perfection above the green swell of moun-
tains at its base. Although the smallest of the eleven Cas-
cade fire-mountains, and but 9,671 feet high, Saint Helens
has the most evenly symmetrical cone of them all. Most of
the year the mountain resembles a giant scoop of vanilla ice
cream. As recently as the 1 840*3 Saint Helens is believed to
have been active. During the last eruption pumice cinders
were blown out from the crater, burying the cone to a depth
of ten to twenty feet. Forests were destroyed and streams
were dammed into lakes. Vegetation is slowly reclaiming the
devastated area, but there still remain many interesting evi-
dences of recent volcanic action.

Mount Saint Helens is reached from Highway 99 by two
spur roads extending to the base of the mountain on both
the northern and southern sides. The south route is the way

CASCADE HOLIDAY 123

to go for the easiest climb to the summit - y the northern road
leads forty-six miles in to Spirit Lake, one of the most beau-
tiful in the Cascades. In fact, there are few finer combina-
tions of lake and mountain anywhere, for directly above the
primeval forests on the south shore Saint Helens' glacier-
clad cone towers a full 6,500 feet.

Spirit Lake lies in a primitive, unspoiled region at the
north base of the mountain. Trails radiate in all directions
to a score of sparkling little lakelets tucked away in the hills,
where good fishing is to be had. On the south and east shores
of the lake are two resorts and three improved campgrounds.
Boats are available, and rainbow, eastern brook, and Mon-
tana black-spotted trout can be taken from the clear cold
water.

As you travel north from Portland on Highway 99, past
the neat model lumber city of Longview, to Centralia, the
massive bulk of Mount Rainier looms ever larger to the
northeast. When the details of rock, ice cliffs, and shining
snow fields become clearer you will probably whistle and
exclaim, "This is a mountain!" Thus do we mortals express
admiration for the indescribable.

For Rainier is one of the world's greatest mountains and
by far the largest, if not the tallest, in the United States.
Even a recital of dry statistics is impressive in the case of
such a gigantic feature of the earth's surface. Carl P. Rich-
ards of the Mazamas has computed that the volume of
Mount Rainier above the 5,ooo-foot level is forty-nine cubic
miles. If you could take the three "Guardians of the Co-
lumbia" and roll them into one, you would still be short
nine cubic miles of material to build Mount Rainier. In sheer
bulk the Big Mountain is seventeen times bigger than Saint

J24 THE CASCADES

Helens, five times greater than Hood, and nearly twice the
size of Adams.

Mount Rainier, the Indians' "mountain that was God,"
rises in rounded majesty from valleys two thousand feet
above the sea to a total height of 14,408 feet. On its broad
slopes are twenty-four glaciers clutching the cone like the
radiating tentacles of a huge white octopus. Forty-five
square miles of ice cover the mountain, and glacier tongues
push down into the forest belt ten thousand feet below the
summit. There are several ice streams five miles in length,
while the six-mile Emmons Glacier is the largest and long-
est in the country.

The Big Mountain is the central feature of Mount Rainier
National Park. With an area of 377 square miles it is the
largest of the three national parks of the Cascade Range.
The Park has four major entrances and two minor ones. In
fact, for lovers of unspoiled mountain wilderness, Rainier's
road system is becoming much too extensive. An all-paved
highway branches east from Highway 99 eleven miles south
of Chehalis and ascends the Cowlitz River Valley, entering
the Park at Ohanapecosh Hot Springs. This road then skirts
the east side of the mountain, leaves the Park at the White
River Entrance in the extreme northeast corner, and con-
tinues on to Tacoma and Seattle. Where the road crosses
Cayuse Pass it is joined by the Naches Highway which
climbs the east slope of the range from Highway 97 at
Yakima. In the southwest corner of the Park the oldest and
best-known road comes in from Tacoma by the Nisqually
River Entrance and winds up the mountain's south side to
near timber line at Paradise Valley. Unpaved roads also

CASCADE HOLIDAY 125

reach the Park via the Mowich and Carbon rivers on the
northwest side.

There are already eighty-five miles of road within the
Park boundaries. Yet "cats" and "dozers" continue to bite
into Rainier's flanks ; a new mountain road now leads to the
magnificent park country at the head of Puyallup River,
and is destined to reach the Mowich Entrance ; a link high-
way is being built to join Paradise Valley with Ohanapecosh;
and there is persistent talk of a loop road to circle the moun-
tain.

Paradise Valley and Yakima Park are the two main tourist
centers in Mount Rainier National Park. Both have alpine
lodges, housekeeping cabins, cafeterias, and nearby camp-
grounds. Similar accommodations are also available at Long-
mire and Ohanapecosh Hot Springs in the low forested
valleys at the mountain's base.

Paradise Valley is a rolling, floral park land interspersed
with groups of pointed alpine firs just below the vast glaciers
and snow fields on the south side of Rainier. The rounded,
white summit rises about nine thousand feet above the val-
ley. Few places in the Cascades offer so many fascinating
short walks and rides. Trails lead to Nisqually and Paradise
glaciers, Reflection Lake, Sluiskin Falls, Glacier Vista, and
Mazama Ridge. Ranger-naturalists conduct daily foot and
horseback trips in the valley 5 longer all-day excursions are
made twice a week.

Here is also the starting point for the summit climb. This
strenuous trip, for which a guide is essential, requires two
days. The night is spent at the staunch rock shelter at Camp
Muir, located at ten thousand feet. The view from Columbia
Crest, the highest point on the summit rim, is one of the

126 THE CASCADES

most extensive on the continent. A maze o Cascade peaks,
valleys, and ridges stretches north and south from the Ca-
nadian Coast Range to Mount Hood. The snowy Olympic
Mountains are outlined on the western horizon above the
blue waters of Puget Sound, while in the opposite direction
the tawny, semi-arid hills and plains of Washington's "In-
land Empire" shimmer through the heat haze.

One of the top pack trips in the Cascades is around Mount
Rainier by the Wonderland Trail. For over one hundred
miles this superlative pathway traverses a region of breath-
taking grandeur. Along the route are dense "rain forests"
of fir, hemlock, and cedar, miles of high-perched flower
meadows, little lakes, streams, waterfalls, airy timber-line
ridges, deep valleys through which rage milky torrents from
the glaciers. And always the great, white mountain against
the sky with its cliffs and snow fields, frozen icefalls, and
soaring ridges. The Wonderland Trail can be made in a
week, but it is better to spend ten days or more taking some
of the many side trips. Every few years one of the mountain
clubs spends its annual summer outing hiking the Wonder-
land Trail 5 dunnage, food, and equipment are carried by
pack train.

Yakima Park is situated in a hanging valley 6,400 feet
up on a northeast spur of Mount Rainier. On that side the
dome of the mountain is an unbroken field of ice from which
the Emmons Glacier sweeps down ten thousand feet in six
miles into the forested White River Valley.

At Yakima Park, as in Paradise Valley, ranger-naturalists
conduct short walks each day to nearby points of interest.
One of the most impressive close-ups of Mount Rainier's
icy crown is from Burroughs Mountain, 7,830 feet, four

CASCADE HOLIDAY 127

miles by trail from Yakima Park. There the Winthrop
Glacier pours down the north slope past you in a silent,
frozen flood a mile wide, more than five miles long, and
hundreds of feet deep. You are so near to the glacier's
wrinkled, riven surface that you can look into yawning cre-
vasses and see groups of fantastic towers and pinnacles of
ice. The "riffles" in this vast ice river can be likened to rapids
in a stream of water: they are caused by the ponderous, slow-
moving glacier's riding over rough places in its bed.

From Burroughs Mountain you may be fortunate enough
to see an avalanche fall from the ice cliffs lining the top of
Willis Wall high up on Rainier's north face. Periodically,
thousands of tons of snow and ice break away and cascade
down the 2,5OO-foot precipice onto the Carbon Glacier. The
roar of these avalanches can be heard for many miles.

But wherever you go or whatever you do whether you
spend a month or a day in the National Park Mount
Rainier will be one of the high points of your Cascade holi-
day. For our biggest mountain can proudly hold its own in
size, beauty, and grandeur with the great peaks of the world.

At Rainier you have entered the third, or alpine, section
of the Cascade Range. Thirty-five miles southeast of the
mountain the broad, mile-high, eroded plateau we have been
following from southern Oregon suddenly comes to an end.
Instead of isolated volcanic cones strung at intervals along
the crest, the range northward now becomes a labyrinth of
jagged peaks and twisting ridges, 6,000 to 9,500 feet in ele-
vation, cut by deep, narrow winding valleys.

Even the summer climate of this northern section is de-
cidedly sterner stuff. Although summer is the dry season,
as in the south, you often discover while trying to dry your

J28 THE CASCADES

socks by the campfire that this is strictly a relative statement.
Lassen Peak averages less than one-quarter inch of rain in
July and August, but four and one-half inches are apt to
fall at Mount Rainier during these two "dry" months. The
northern peaks may be cloud-capped for days at a time, and
your trip marred by zero visibility and persistent chilly driz-
zles which dampen the ardor of the most zealous moun-
taineer. On the other hand, if you are lucky the glaciers
may shine brilliantly under cloudless blue skies for two
weeks at a stretch. The northern Cascades are fickle and
unpredictable, but they are well worth wooing. And the
ardent pursuer is always rewarded sooner or later.

With increased elevation and ruggedness, the range is a
formidable barrier between eastern and western Washing-
ton. North of Mount Rainier only three roads cross the
crest in the 1 50 miles to the Canadian border. Each of them
follows a transcontinental railway line. A rambling, unpaved
mountain road climbs over Stampede Pass with the Northern
Pacific; hard-surface U.S. Highway 10 parallels the Chi-
cago, Milwaukee & Saint Paul and crosses the divide at
Snoqualmie Pass; Route loA goes over Stevens Pass above
the eight-mile Cascade Tunnel of the Great Northern Rail-
road.

But these roads follow lines of least resistance over the
lowest passes. True, they do traverse deep valleys among
heavily forested mountains, but they are only moderately
scenic, giving little hint that nearby is the most magnificent
alpine wilderness in the United States. However, it is in-
credibly rough country. In order to see the finest of the
northern Cascades, you must leave roads and civilization
behind and take the trails on foot or with pack train.

CASCADE HOLIDAY 129

There are six of these alpine areas in the northern Cas-
cades. The southernmost is the region around Goat Rocks.
Included within a 1 1 5-square-mile Forest Service Primitive
Area is a ridge of sharp, flinty pinnacles more than eight
thousand feet in elevation, enclosing a deep, semicircular
basin of meadows and forests. On the north side of the ridge
dazzling snow fields and glaciers descend to a belt of tim-
ber-line parks, sparkling with crystal streams and carpeted
with wild flowers penstemon, saxifrage, lupine, larkspur,
mimulus, avalanche lilies, and paintbrush.

Here is. the most southerly home of the rare and elusive
mountain goat. These sure-footed, horned rock climbers,
with coats of long silky hair, range northward throughout
the high peaks of the Cascades. They are usually seen only
as white dots moving across some impossible looking cliff
far up near the skyline. Since being protected by law from
hunters, mountain goats are increasing. But that other more
ponderous native mountaineer, the grizzly bear, having been
given no such consideration, is making a last stand far north
near the Canadian border.

The Goat Rocks Primitive Area is reached from Pack-
wood on the Cowlitz River road to Mount Rainier, or from
Yakima via Tieton Reservoir on the east side. Six miles up
the western approach trail is Packwood Lake. With its quiet
waters, picturesque little island, and steep mountainous
shores, it makes a beautiful camp site for a day or a week.

The next alpine region to the north extends along the
Cascade crest for eleven miles between Snoqualmie and
Stevens passes. The peaks are not high, ranging between
seven and eight thousand feet, but their sharp, jagged sum-
mits stand impressively above deep radiating valleys on

130 THE CASCADES

both sides of the range. There are a dozen small glaciers,
more than fifty lakes, forests of almost tropical luxuriance,
and miles o lush sky-meadows. The Cascade Crest Trail
traverses the area, and numerous trails lead in from all di-
rections. One of the best pack trips to this high country is
from the Stevens Pass Highway south up the Foss River
Trail to the lakes on the north side of glacier-capped Mount
Daniel, highest peak of the group. Three sizable lakes, four
to six miles long, all popular fishing resorts, lie southeast of
the area and are accessible by car. U.S. Highway 10, the Sno-
qualmie Pass Highway, skirts the shore of Keechelus Lake,
while Kachess and Cle Elum lakes are reached by short side
roads.

Farther to the east, fifteen miles from the Cascade divide,
the rocky pinnacle of Mount Stuart, 9,4.70 feet, dominates
a detached cluster of rugged granite peaks. Geology and
climate combine to make the scenery of the Stuart Range
unique in the Cascades. Unlike the typical brown rock of
the divide, these mountains are a cream-colored granite, and
because they are situated on the dry, eastern side, vegetation
is sparse and open. The combination is striking, but gives
the region a very un-Cascadian appearance. Profound, gorge-
like valleys are enclosed by gleaming granite walls rising
to barren, splintered ridges, towers, and spires 5 under the
peaks bare rock basins hold lakes and isolated oases of pocket-
sized meadows $ glaciers are small, and by midsummer the
snow fields have dwindled to ragged patches in the shadow
of the highest pinnacles. These east-side mountains have a
sharp, bright, clean-swept appearance quite different from
those of the humid west slope.

Approach to the Stuart Range is from Leavenworth near

CASCAD,E HOLIDAY

the junction of U.S. 97 with trans-Cascade Highway loA. A
narrow seventeen-mile dirt road leads up the stupendous,
V-shaped canyon of Icicle Creek, from which trails branch
south into the heart of the Stuart wilderness. One of the
most popular trail trips ascends Snow Creek to its head at
well-stocked Nada and Snow lakes in a rocky basin sur-
rounded by 8,000-foot peaks. Another trail leaves the road
at Bridge Creek Camp, branching to Eightmile and Stuart
lakes. Above the latter towers the precipitous north face of
Mount Stuart a 3,ooo-foot broken granite wall spread
with hanging glaciers. From the road end in Icicle Creek
canyon, trails also lead north into the wild Chiwaukum
Mountains and northwest to Chain-of-Lakes near the Cas-
cade crest.

The mountains of Washington are rich in minerals.
Wherever you go are signs of past mining activity. You run
across rotting buildings and ore dumps in the most surprising
pj aces on cliffs high above timber line, beside the icefalls
of glaciers, deep in remote valleys, and on the shores of
lonely lakes. Around many of these abandoned mines are
rusty boilers and broken machinery amidst scattered wheels,
ratchets, and cogs. Some of these have been standing idle
for fifty years. You marvel that this equipment, often weigh-
ing many tons, was laboriously brought in by man-and-mule
power over rough wilderness trails. And you wonder, too,
who were the disappointed eastern investors who spent thou-
sands of dollars on useless machinery. For in spite of the
prevalence of mineral veins and rosy promises, few have
made fortunes in Cascade mines.

The most interesting mining district, and at one time the
most active, is the Monte Cristo section on the west slope

THE CASCADES

thirty miles east of Everett. In the middle and late 1890'$
men dreamed of an Eldorado among the snowy peaks. One
of them was John D. Rockefeller whose gold, silver, and
copper mines flourished for several years. As a result the
town of Monte Cristo suddenly rose from the forests fully
equipped with saloons, gambling halls, and brothels. Fever-
ish activity accompanied by general hell-raising featured the
formerly quiet alpine valley under the glaciers. Today all
is quiet again a few moldering buildings along a weed-
grown street are all that mark the brave town of Monte
Cristo,

The district is among the most beautiful in the northern
Cascades, and is one of the two alpine sections which can be
traversed by automobile. A graded road has been built on
the abandoned right of way of the old Hartford & Eastern
mining railroad up the South Fork of the Stillaguamish
River almost to Monte Cristo. It connects with another road
down the Sauk River to Darrington. This loop enables you
to see some of Washington's finest mountain scenery from
your car.

Big Four Inn on the Stillaguamish, named for the giant
number outlined in snow on the steep face of the mammoth
mountain above it, is the chief resort of the region. Monte
Cristo itself is reached only by a six-mile trail from the road
at Barlow Pass. A scenic pack trip can be made among the
peaks above the ghost town: to Glacier Basin, Columbia
Glacier, Silver, Twin, and Blanca lakes. But the gem lake
of the Monte Cristo district is easily reached on foot in a
nine-mile round trip from the Sauk River road at Elliott
Creek.

It would be difficult to argue down anyone who main-

Timber felling, vintage 1900. Note the ten-foot crosscut saw.

Timber felling, 1949
Logging camp near Mount Rainier

CASCADE HOLIDAY 133

tained that Goat Lake has the most perfect mountain setting
of any body of water in the entire Cascade Range. And it
would be impossible to prove him definitely wrong. Cradled
in a basin rimmed with ice-sheathed peaks. Goat Lake is
strongly reminiscent of Lake Louise on a smaller scale. It
is only a little over a half mile long, but its glacial waters
are a shimmering expanse of emerald green, bordered by
luxuriant forests of fir and cedar. Behind are cliffs lined
with white threads of waterfalls from the glaciers above and,
on the skyline, the enclosing ridge sweeps around in a lofty
semicircle to culminate in the aspiring, snowy summit of
Cadet Peak, four thousand vertical feet above the lake in
a distance of a mile and a half.

High up under a blue ice cliff on a shoulder of Cadet
Peak is all that is left of the Penn Mine. In its heyday dur-
ing the late i89O 3 s miners worked in the shafts summer and
winter, their only contact with the outside world an aerial
tramway down the sheer cliffs to the lake. Old-timers in the
Monte Cristo district tell of twenty to thirty feet of snow
up at the Penn Mine, and of being marooned for two months
at a time with their food supply close to exhaustion.

Twenty-five miles northeast of Monte Cristo, deep in the
heart of a complicated complex of mountains and valleys, is
Glacier Peak. This graceful, 10,43 6-foot white cone is the
most elusive and retiring of all the Cascade fire-mountains.
Even to obtain a passable view of Glacier Peak you must
seek a lofty vantage point miles from the nearest road; to
reach its base requires a pack or knapsack trip of several days,
either from the east or west.

For Glacier Peak is, in fact, the southern sentinel of the
stupendous, primitive wilderness of the northern Cascades.

THE CASCADES

In an area measuring seventy miles north to the Canadian
line, and almost as wide across, there is not a railway, paved
road, or town. It is a wild, untamed piece of original Amer-
ica so rough that even horses cannot penetrate some of the
more remote valleys or cross the higher passes.

The northern Cascade wilderness is packed solidly with
hundreds of square miles of soaring peaks massed together
in lines, groups, and knots. They rise steeply thousands of
feet from narrow valleys clothed in a jungle-like growth
of huge evergreens and tangled underbrush. Literally hun-
dreds of glaciers mantle the summits, hang high in cirques
under rocky ridges, and stream down the mountainsides into
the valleys. There are probably twice possibly three times
as many glaciers in this one area as in all the other ranges
of the United States put together.

The peaks of the northern Cascades offer the alpinist
superb, but often dangerous, rock climbing, and the finest
snow and ice craft in the country. The fisherman can catch
his limit of unsophisticated but gamy trout from different
waters each day in the week. And hidden away among these
twisted, convoluted mountains are enough lakes, meadows,
waterfalls, alpine basins, and sweeping panoramas to keep
the lover of the outdoors busy for a lifetime.

There are numerous trails leading into the wilderness
from both sides of the range, but perhaps the most impres-
sive gateway is Lake Chelan on the east. From the town of
Chelan, on Highway 97, you start from dry, brown foothills
and penetrate the heart of the Cascades by boat. Lake
Chelan is one of the wonders of the continent ; it rivals the
fiords of Norway or the Alaskan inlets. Fifty-five miles
long and never more than a mile and a half wide, the lake

CASCADE HOLIDAY 135

fills the bottom of an enormous glacier-carved valley to a
depth of fifteen hundred feet. Mile after mile you skim
over the blue water, the mountains rising ever higher until,
around the last bend, the upper part of the lake stretches
before you like a gigantic corridor shut in by precipitous rock
walls seven to eight thousand feet high.

On the upper lake are Lucerne and Stehekin resorts,
starting points for pack trips into the alpine wilderness be-
yond. The most popular are the Railroad Creek and Agnes
Valley trails to Lyman Lake and Lyman Glacier. The fine
group of rock peaks and glacier basins at the head of Stehe-
kin River and North Fork of Bridge Creek are also well
worth exploring. Plans are under way to build a scenic road
over the divide at Cascade Pass, connecting Lake Chelan
with Marblemount and the Skagit River Valley on the west
slope. When completed, you will be able to drive your car
through some of the wildest and most rugged country in the
Cascade Range.

On the west side man rivals nature in producing lakes
almost as spectacular as Chelan. The city of Seattle has
dammed the Skagit River in three places for power and
light. Gorge Dam, Diablo Dam, 389 feet, and Ross Dam,
eventually to tower 650 feet above the river bed, have
created three artificial lakes which wind up the Skagit Valley
for many miles. Before World War II, two-day excursions,
including a boat ride on Diablo Lake, were conducted during
the summer season. These trips, extended to the new lake
behind Ross Dam, will be resumed in the near future. When
Ross Dam is completed you will have an opportunity to
explore twenty miles of the upper Skagit by boat.

Southeast of Diablo Lake a trail leads up Thunder Creek

THE CASCADES

to Park Creek Pass on the divide. The glaciers of Thunder
Creek are particularly fine: the McAllister Creek, Inspira-
tion, and Boston are among the largest and most beautiful
in the Cascades. But it takes considerable strenuous bush-
whacking to see the best of this magnificent region. Another
trail follows up the Skagit into the enormous i,25O-square-
mile North Cascade Wilderness Area lying along the Cana-
dian border. The west part of this Forest Service primitive
preserve, between the Skagit and Mount Baker, contains the
thickest forests and snowiest peaks in the Cascades.

Dominating the extreme northern end of the range, six
hundred miles from Lassen Peak where we started, is the
swelling dome of Komo Kulshan, the white, shining moun-
tain. Thus the Puget Sound Indians named the eleventh
Cascade fire-mountain which we know as Mount Baker. Al-
though but 10,750 feet in elevation, Baker's forty-square-
mile mantle of gleaming ice and snow rivals Rainier's in
extent. In fact, the almost unbroken purity of Mount
Baker's snow fields far surpasses that of the greater moun-
tain.

In the near future you will be able to circle Mount Baker
by a loop similar to that around Mount Hood. Road build-
ers have only to close a gap of a few miles between Baker
Lake and Austin Pass on the east side of the mountain to
make such a loop possible. The most scenic part of the future
circle is already completed. A sixty-mile paved highway
branching east from Highway 99 at Bellingham on Puget
Sound follows the North Fork of the Nooksack River to
Austin Pass.

Near the end of the road, at an elevation of 4,200 feet,
is Mount Baker Lodge, a chalet-type hotel with cabins and

CASCADE HOLIDAY 137

restaurant service. From the wide porch you look across
Heather Meadows, a hanging green garden perched high
above the deep valley of the Nooksack. The meadows are
dotted with mirror-like pools and groups of veteran moun-
tain hemlocks which here reach their finest development
Sharp, red-hued mountains along the Canadian border rim
the northern horizon, while directly east, bold-prowed
Mount Shuksan thrusts its knife-edged summit a vertical
mile above its skirt of glaciers. Shuksan is one of the most
distinguished examples of mountain architecture in America.
You are apt to be incredulous when you learn that this peak
with its tremendous precipices and hanging ice fields is but
9,030 feet high. The road ends at Austin Pass, 4,630 feet,
with a view of Shuksan on the east and the snowy north face
of Mount Baker to the west.

Short trails radiate from Heather Meadows to a score of
delightful spots between the two great mountains. Or you
can take longer trips over Hannegan Pass to the little-
known peaks and valleys northeast of Mount Shuksan to
Whatcom Pass and the Challenger ice fields, to Chilliwack
Lake, just over the line in Canada, and to the wild border
region on the upper Skagit River. Heather Meadows is also
a good climbing center: Shuksan is for experts only, but
competently guided ascents of Mount Baker are often taken
by ordinary mortals.

Beyond Mount Baker the Cascade Range suddenly ends
at the broad trench of Canada's Fraser River. We have
scanned the rich bill of fare of the Cascade banquet from
beginning to end. Possibly you have chosen some titbits here
and there which particularly appeal to you, and have

138 THE CASCADES

planned a trip next summer to northern California, Oregon,
or Washington to sample them.

But it won't be all as smooth and easy as our armchair
Cascade holiday. We had to leave out the details. There
will be heat, dust, wind, and chilling rains 3 mosquitoes will
hungrily attack you in July, gnats and black flies will swarm
around you in August. You may be scratched by the pestifer-
ous devilVclub and blistered by rocky trails. But you will
forget these things, remembering only the glories of the
mighty Cascades. And you will be content, for:

"Happy is he who, like Ulysses, hath made a goodly
journey."

LOGGING AND MINING

by James Stevens

T

-Lhe Indians logged the red cedar for canoes and houses
and the alder for their fires. In 1792 the exploring British
captain, George Vancouver, tried the Douglas fir (as it was
later named) for ship's masts and yards and found it good.
Real logging began at Fort Vancouver in the early i82o's.
A sawmill was set up there, and by 1825 cargoes of clap-
boards were being shipped to the Sandwich Islands. In that
year Governor Simpson of the Hudson's Bay Company in-
spected Fort Vancouver and ordered that the "coasting tim-
ber trade" be given priority over the fur business.

The sailing ships came up the Columbia and down Puget
Sound from the gray seas toward a green ocean of trees.
For many years it was hard to see the logging because of
the trees. Then axmen hewed out a trace for the covered
wagons that wheeled around Mount Hood. Water-powered
sawmills were set up on the banks of the Willamette. In
1845 the Simmons party turned north from the Columbia
because among its members was one colored family, and a
provisional legislature had barred Negroes from the terri-
tory south of the Columbia. "Colonel" Michael Simmons
built a sawmill on Puget Sound in 1847.

141

142 THE CASCADES

Real-quill logging began on the bottoms of the Cascades'
foothills with the California gold rush. More than a million
board feet of Douglas fir lumber was shipped from Oregon
City to San Francisco in 1849.

A bigger splurge of the kind was in 1906. Soon after the
great San Francisco fire, trainloads o lumber were backed
up all the way between the stricken bay region and Oregon.
All ships, too, were turned into lumber carriers as the
Columbia River and Puget Sound mills ran night and day
and the yells of "Timber-r-r-r ! Down the hill!" rolled all
along the western slopes of the Cascades, and from not a
few places among the east-side pines, too.

By 1906 the logging business of the Cascade country was
well into the transition from the pioneering phase to that
of industrial forestry. It was a way from old forests to new.
Timber was still treated as a mine. Timber was cheaper than
dirt. Every summer Seattle, Portland, Tacoma and other
towns that the Cascades looked down on were clouded with
the smoke of land clearing. Giant stumps dotted real-estate
developments and the new farms. The second growth came
on in waves when fire was kept off the cut-overs. It was
looked on as a major nuisance. Nobody dreamed that log-
gers might ever try to grow trees among the stumps. The
Douglas fir forest was still a green ocean between the Pacific
and the Cascades, and the pines made the east slopes of the
great range an evergreen land.

By 1906 the products of the Douglas fir log were being
shipped to sixty-seven countries. Three railroads ran
through the Cascades to the Midwest and to eastern con-
nections, and a fourth was building. The line to California

LOGGING AND MINING 143

had new branches into Oregon forests. The Yukon gold
rush, the world's fair at Portland, a series of land booms
that rose with plans for scores of other branch railroads
through the Pacific Northwest, the beginning of the Pan-
ama Canal project, and kindred wonders of the day, had
all served to cast new values on the forests. The federal gov-
ernment had set up the U.S. Forest Service as administrator
of many millions of acres of forest reserves which were to
be managed as future sources of supply for local industries.
The loggers and lumbermen were organizing for co-opera-
tion on traffic and forest-fire problems. The donkey engine
and the logging railroad had succeeded the bullteam and
the skidroad.

In 1910 Paul Bunyan was but a half-forgotten name in
the woods. The times were yielding better tall tales than
any old pinetop could invent. The flying machine was a story
of the day. So was the submarine and the wireless. There
were logging donkey engineers in the woods who had done
turns on the digging of the big Panama ditch. Henry Ford
was famous among men of the woods from the Skagit to the
Rogue, from the Klamath to the Okanogan. Steam machines
were not enough. Tractors were in the timber, pulling big
wheels on the east side, snorting along on distillate and gaso-
line. More jobs! Railroads building to Tillamook and Coos
Bay on the coast, the Natron Cutoff * starting through the
Cascades, Hill and Harriman racing lines up Deschutes
River canyon to the central Oregon pineries. Irrigation dams

*The Natron Cutoff, begun in 1910, gave the Southern Pacific Railroad
its present Oregon-California main line through the Siskiyous and the
southern flank of the Cascade Range,

144 THE CASCADES

and ditches under way everywhere, too. Thousands upon
thousands swarming all over the dry lands east of the moun-
tains to take up homesteads, thousands more buying "stump
ranches" from the lumber companies at four bits an acre.

The young man came west, not to grow up with the coun-
try but to seek his fortune. When fortune failed, there was
always work in the timber. It was hard work, and the young
men who could handle it commonly took jobs at a logging
camp only to keep them while looking for something better.
Sometimes a man would find himself making his fortune
out of trees, almost before he knew it. Sometimes, as in
1907, hard times came, the young men saw hope darken
and they turned to revolt. Then there was an organization
ready for them the Industrial Workers of the World, the
fighting "Wobblies." By 1917 there was war in the woods
as well as in Europe. The struggle grew, until it surged
three ways after 1936, with the C.I.O and A.F, of L, tim-
ber unions fighting not only the boss loggers but among
themselves.

The history of logging in the Cascade country is one that
heaves and roars with epic drama. All that I have attempted
to do in this note is to sketch an outline for a few stories of
the region's woods and woodsmen which may illustrate this
life of trees and men, touching on times past and on today.
My own life has been in it since 1902. I write a little from
things heard, mostly from things experienced.

DAY OF THE BULLTEAM

The wet winter wind wheeled over the Oregon Coast
Range, crossed the Willamette Valley and blew hard up the

LOGGING AND MINING 145

Mamook* for the snow peaks of the Cascades. It was a
dark day in the canyon. The dense forest of Douglas fir
and western hemlock and western red cedar dripped from
the fine rain. The sixteen oxen the "bullteam" stood with
heads down, the log chain slack under the eight yokes. John
Larrity, the bullpuncher, and his second man were heaving
the turn of logs together by the power of screwjacks. The
skids, small logs sunk in the earth at intervals of four feet,
were smeared with oil, and the riding side of the log was
peeled and slick.

The shod hoofs of the big spotted bulls slipped in the
soaked earth between the skid logs. It was always tough
going around this bend of the skidroad. The turn was stuck,
and John Larrity, being in a fair humor, was giving his team
the best of it by screwjacking the logs together and slacking
the coupling chains, just as a locomotive engineer jams the
cars of his train for an easy start.

It was a ten-minute job for the bullpuncher and his helper.
Then Larrity shoved a brown plug under his sweeping,
coaly mustache, ground off a chew that bulged his right
cheek, returned the plug to a pocket of his mackinaw, and
picked up his oxgoad.

The goad was a thick hickory stick over six feet long and
tipped with iron. A club, yet in Larrity's giant gloved hand
it seemed a switch. He held it straight up while he scowled
and figured over the bullteam and the turn of logs. He
broke his rumination by firing tobacco juice in a shot that

* Fictional place names in this chapter are "Mamook River," "Illahee,"
and "Swan Creek." This device has been used where the purpose is to project
features common to the whole region, in terms of general description.

146 THE CASCADES

hit the butt log squarely in the heart. Then he swung spring-
ily for the bulls.

"Yee-ay!" His growly bellow brought a shiver from the
low-headed brutes. "Yee-ay, Tamper, you, Hogan, haul
wheelers, on that slack! Snub and Sawbuck, h'ist! Leaders,
steady up! H'ist, swingers! H'ist, ye all!"

He bellowed on, lurching from yoke to yoke, the sharp
tip of the goad raking ribs and jabbing shoulders. The
wheelers leaned into the yoke and lumbered forward, the
swingers tightened the chain, the leaders took hold. Then
a lunge by all sixteen bulls in a single effort yanked the butt
log ahead. The eyes of the animals rolled as the pull of the
coupling chain caught the weight of the second log, but they
kept going. The long team began to labor with the tighten-
ing of the chain on the third log. The bullpuncher's profane
roars and the bite of his goad made the brutes grunt, groan,
and paw mud.

"There she skids! Gee, Hols! You ape of an ox gee,
Hogan! Swing, swing!"

Now they were logging, hauling the turn around the
tough bend. Up and down the skidroad Larrity made his
prodding and bellowing way. But there were slips, then a
slowdown. Vaulting on the goad, the bullpuncher leaped
the five feet to the top of the butt log. In another second
he had jumped on to the hips of Hogan, the near wheeler.
Yelling like a crazed cougar, Larrity dug into quivering
hide with the sharp calks of his boots. He jumped to the
off wheeler's back, then to the yoke ahead, using his goad
as a balancing pole, sounding that wild cougar squawl. Blood
trickled where his boots struck. The beasts of labor hit their
yokes in plunges of desperation. The haul picked up speed.

LOGGING AND MINING 147

Larrity lit on the ground as the turn of logs passed the
worst spot of the skidroad.

"All right, bulls," he said. a Slog along. We can do the
rest of ? er to the river rollways standing on our heads."

That was logging in the good old days, on the wet-
weather side of the Cascades.

FALLING THE ROUND STUFF

Catty Dan chopped from the left, Nels from the right.
The first thing for them in squaring off at a Douglas fir was
to notch for springboards, their working footrests. At times
(in the old days) they might notch and stairstep their way
up ten feet before setting in clear above the store of pitch
and the flare of the tree's trunk to its roots. Then each
planted his calk-booted feet far apart, sprung his knees,
bowed his back, and swung from his hips with the ax.

Shunk-shink ! Shunk-shink ! Shunk-shink !

Catty Dan took the lead, Nels followed his stroke. On
then, swing and swing, the thudding clang of the axes a
powerful beat, boot-size bark chips flying ; then a richer ring
in the ax beats, with soft, white sapwood chips fist-big a-
sailing 5 and then the cut into the true tree, the gold and red
heartwood of the old-growth Douglas fir of the uplands.

The chopping went on until the undercut was notched
rightly to guide the fall of the tree, the lower plane of the
cut horizontal, the upper line slanting down, all slick and
clean.

Then the springboards were stepped up on the other side
of the tree and mounted with ten-foot crosscut saw. Timing
was the thing for good sawing. Muscles needed to be loose
and working easy, fast though, pulling the saw, then letting

148 THE CASCADES

it slip smoothly into the pull from the other end, pulling
again, touch and go in split seconds.

The swing of teeth and rakers from one angle to another
in the kerf, the stop to slush coal oil along the saw blade
against binding pitch, the sense of when to stop and maul
in wedges to make room for the saw and guide the lean of
the tree, the response to the tree's first faint death shudder
Catty Dan and Nels had to feel and act on these things
without parleys, with no hesitation.

When Dan yelled, "Timber-r-r-r! Down the hill!" it
was also Nels giving voice. The two would come down with
freed saw and go as one man for shelter from limbs broken
and flying.

So the tree harvest went on, tree by tree, from the time
of the pioneer to the time when two men came into the
woods carrying a rig with a narrow oval frame belted with
linked saw teeth which could be spun like fury through big
timber by the power of a motor. Then time was past for one
of the hardest kinds of toil on the good, green earth.

LOGGING CAMP BUNKHOUSE." OLD STYLE

It was the main building of a camp in which two outfits
had gone broke. The layout had stood idle and rotting for
years in the times between loggings. The shakes, rafters,
walls, double-barreled bunks, and calk-pitted floor planks
of the bunkhouse held the smells of many winters of steam
from drying clothes and of many summers of sweating
bodies. Smells of tobacco smoke and juice were permanent
fixtures. Old scents of death were here, too. Men had been
taken mortally sick in this place. Men smashed in the woods
had been brought here dead, or here to die, or to wait for

LOGGING AND MINING 149

a while on the way to death. Men without homes, lost to
their people.

Human life at its lustiest had left its spirit here, too.
Night after night the shapes arose, in the hour or two be-
tween supper and sleep. The talk of the old-timers brought
them forth and up, mightier than life, through stories of
bullpunchers, axmen, and fighters who had lived here in
other years.

One regular night: Wire swung the coal-oil lamps and
their reflectors from the cedar ridgepole. Wire lines held
the mackinaws, shirts, socks, and drawers nigh the roof to
catch the ballooning heat from the pot-bellied heating stove.
Some loggers lolled in their bunks, reading or writing let-
ters by the light of candles from the commissary. Others
sat hunched on benches along the bunkhouse rows, heads
bowed, studying the life that was theirs to live in this place.
More were in quiet card games. It was a low-toned scene
of weary and none too hopeful men at peace. There was
seldom an argument here, never a fight.

The loggers were mainly in their sock feet. All wore over-
alls or ducking pants stagged just below the knee. Red strips
of drawers legs were revealed between the frazzled ends
of pants legs and sock tops. Suspenders as wide as the belly-
band of a horse's harness stretched over wool-shirted shoul-
ders. Pipe smoke drifted thickly over shaggy heads and
fogged the lamps and candlelight. There were no cigarette
smokers in camp. Tobacco juice puddled the ashes of the
heater bed. The light was so dim right there that the heater's
fat sides shone red and sparked yellow.

At nine o'clock the lights were doused. The gut-hammer
would ding-dong the men out of their blankets at five. Soon

150 THE CASCADES

the bunkhouse sounded with a chorus of hearty snores. The
glow of the heater faded. The smells thickened and settled
in the chilling air. The shapes sank down to rest, also. The
ghosts of old loggers might roam through pleasures and
palaces, but only in a ripe and seasoned bunkhouse could
they truly rest in peace.

LOGGERS' SALOON: 1910

The stern-wheeler brought a tow of log rafts down the
Columbia and up the Willamette to Portland. Four men
and a boy had paid for rides down from the camp on the
green skirt of Mount Hood. The boy was sixteen now, he
had held his own as woodbuck to a donkey engine in the
camp, and he hoped to go along with the four as another
man in Portland city. Ashore, he trailed them along Front
Street in the rain of a March night. Their way led to Eric-
sen's Saloon.

At that time Ericsen's had a world-wide fame. Easing in
behind the four big loggers, the boy peered around them
and into wonderland. His imagination exaggerated every
detail of the scene. The brown and shining bar curved away
from the door and down a room that seemed as big as a
circus tent. Row after row of card tables, each one crowded
with gambling men, reached into corners that, to the boy's
peering eyes, were mysteriously far in the smoke drift. Slot
machines stood in many colors ; they clacked and whirred as
men played them, and coins jingled forth now and then.
From far deeps rose sounds of piano and fiddle music. The
boy found himself moving ahead, swimming through a mel-
low glow.

The bar had the length of a city block in all its curves and

LOGGING AND MINING

turns. Back of it white lights shone on mirrors, pyramids
of glasses, and rows of queer-shaped bottles labeled with
vivid colors, and these stood on a back bar draped with the
snowiest cloths. The diamond-like dazzle of white was half-
blinding. Bright white light was also reflected from the
varnished columns and beams about the mirrors, from
the brass of bar rails and from the nickel of spigot handles.
The seventeen bartenders were all in white jackets. Polished
brass spittoons, \frhich to the boy's eyes were fit to serve as
huge vases for flowers, stood all along the massive brass
footrail. Above the glittering brasswork swung snowy towels.
The sights were unbelievable, a dream, to the boy who
had seen little that was grander than a homestead shack in
the junipers and sagebrush east of the mountains, and small
.shanty camps in the pineries. He stood back in a shadow
and looked and marveled and was glad to have come this
far in life. He heard music while the glasses clinked, the
gold and silver jingled on the bar, and the talk of men from
the woods surged through the vast, shining cavern of Eric-
sen's Saloon. He did not even venture to ask for a small
beer. This life in the saloon was intoxication enough. All
he Wanted was to be a Cascade Range logger from now
on and to come in once in a while to see the sights in Ericsen's
Saloon.

THE SHORT LOG COUNTRY

From the northern nub of the Siskiyous the Southern
Pacific Railroad had a branch that ran into the Klamath pine
area, on the east slope and southern end of the Cascade
Range. Only rock peaks stood between Swan Creek here
and the Douglas fir forests that spread away downward

152 THE CASCADES

from timber line on the west side of the range 5 but the forest
species, the climate, and the life of logging held a world
of differences. The Douglas firs grew in dense stands and
with understories of hemlocks and hardwoods. They knew
winters of rain and fog and summers of showers. Their
timber was mainly cut for rough work and much of it was
shipped green, sometimes in lengths of more than a hundred
feet for bridges and other heavy construction.

The yellow and sugar pines of the gentle slopes of Swan
Creek in the Klamath were widely spaced. They grew as
in a park, with little brush. Winters brought them snow and
clear freezes. The summers were sunny and dry. The lum-
ber from the pines was used by factories that made their
articles from wood; it went into boxes and home building.
The pine sawmills called mainly for sixteen-foot logs.

Where the long logs of the Douglas fir were skidded by
great bullteams at first, and then by heaviest machinery,
the short logs of the pines on the east side of the Cascades
made light and easy logging through the park-like forests.

On Swan Creek in 1910 one outfit was yet working the
stiff-tongued type of big wheels that had been developed
in the Lake States pineries. Back there, the old proposition
of moving logs from woods to mill by log-sleigh and river
drive had given way to the logging railroad and the big
wheels which permitted summer logging.

The usual set of two wheels was ten feet high, but some-
times a set would tower twelve feet. A heavy chain dangled
from the right of a set's axle, inside the wheel, and a toggle
rig from the left. Each hung from over the axle's top when
the tongue was down, level for hauling. A thick spring-
board was ring-bolted to the axle, its end jutting out behind

LOGGING AND MINING 153

for six feet. A peavey handle stuck straight up from the
axle by the springboard. When the teamster went out to the
woods from the landing with his wheels empty, his two
horses were hitched astraddle the tongue, which had its front
end carried up in a neck yoke, as with a wagon tongue. The
route was over rough roads which swampers had cleared
to places where bunch-teamsters had built big-wheel loads
of logs, each with a chain-hole under it. The teamster backed
his wheels over a load to which the two wheel-loaders di-
rected him, until the axle was above the chain-hole. Then
the teamster unloosed the doubletrees and the team was
driven out ahead of the tongue, to which one end of a long,
light chain was secured. One loader mounted the spring-
board, grabbed the peavey handle, then hauled with all his
strength while driving his legs down on the springboard
with all his weight. This would tilt the tongue upward as
the end of the springboard was borne down and rammed
into the ground, to prop the now towering tongue. When
the heavy chain was snaked under the load and toggled,
then the team out in front pulled the tongue down forward
with the light chain. The axle would turn forward with the
descent of the tongue and the loading chain would begin
to wind on it. When the tongue was brought to a level with
the top log of the load, the winding would have lifted the
load enough to ride in its sling under the axles. It was a
mighty, mighty clever outfit, and millions upon millions of
acres of pine forest were logged off with big wheels.

Soon slip-tongue wheels for four-horse teams succeeded
the old-time stiff-tongues. Steep logging could be done with
the new wheels, for they would let the load slip and drag

THE CASCADES

when it would begin to run up on the horses. Eventually
they were pulled by tractors.

The logging that men and oxen carried on in the long
log country and the logging that horses and men did with
short logs in the pines was hard on all, and in our fair
modern day of peace and good will it might well be for-
gotten. But you cannot forget it if you ever handled horses
on a big-wheel trail. . , .

Down the hill, with a load too close to a balance. The
big wheels running up on the horses, hitched out at the end
of the tongue, with no breeching, no brakes. On down the
rough, swamped road that twists among stumps, brush, and
blowdowns. Windrows of swamped brush along the trail-
road. The trick is to zigzag the big wheels from one brush
pile to another, slowing down the wild load of logs. Swing
to the left, now! Haw, Bullet! Back to the right! Yo! Hup!
Gee, there, Snorter, gee! Tight line, keep a tight line, team-
ster, and don't trip your calks on rimrock as that load of
logs swings at you and a wheel shatters brush. Tight line
pulls panic out of the horses 5 let go and it's a runaway.
There she wheels, back to the left again, haw her true, gee
back, and on. Then it's a straight pitch down ahead. Got
to run for this one. The horses have to outrun the load.
Hanging to the lines, you have to keep up, making seventeen
feet at a jump; you are between horses and load, alongside
the tongue that could bat your head off your neck in one
of its wild swipes, so that as high wheel and logs rolled over
you they'd bother you never, worry you not at all. You
duck the tongue, you keep your feet, you hold a tight line
to the end of the run and the level land to the landing.
Other men have been doing it season after season for twenty

LOGGING AND MINING 155

years. You can do it, too. You are a pinetop likewise, by
the holy old mackinaw, a handler of horses from away back
on the big-wheel trail. Now we're logging. Big-wheel men.

LOGGING DYNAMITER

In 1910 Jim Hill built a railroad up one side of Deschutes
River canyon and E. H. Harriman built one up the other
side. It was a race of giants from the Columbia River main
lines to the pine wealth of Oregon on the east slopes of the
Cascades, and for a route to the Klamath country and Cali-
fornia.

Bunch Horn was a boss dynamiter in one of the hill camps.
His job was. the digging and charging of a coyote hole a
toy tunnel in which men had to work on hands and knees
in the shoulder of a great cliff above the river. The job called
for a load of seventy-five hundred cans of black powder and
fifteen hundred cases of dynamite. Bunch put the job through
in record time. Then he pulled the switch and watched the
side of a mountain canyon split off with hellish roar and
smoke, belching thousands of cubic yards of shattered rim-
rock down to choke a raging river for a day.

Bunch was old enough to have dynamited log jams on
the Muskegon and the Manistee.* He liked to look solemn
and tell the young hard-rock men, "Why, this coyote was
no shooting. Paul Bunyan would set off the like with only
one of his fulminating caps."

"Why, Paul Bunyan," Bunch Horn went on one time,
"he took only seventeen charges to shoot all the timber,
stumps to boot, in Dakoty off the scenery. The only item

* Rivers famous in Michigan lumbering.

156 THE CASCADES

of scenery he missed there in that monster foray of land clear-
ing was a mountain that was h'isted whole by one of his shots.
Yes, sir, it stuck right with its timber and rocks, all in one
piece.

"Up and up that blasted mountain went/' declared Bunch
Horn. "Up she blew, then she done a flip-flop over the clouds
and, still solid, still sticking, that mountain dropped down
to light on her head. And there she stood, quivering for a
spell, but not enough to shake off her upside-down trees.
The pines on the slope just stood, hung on their roots, crowns
pointing to the earth far below.

"There she'd still be, except for the fight of Paul Bunyan
and Hels Helson the same Hels who muddied the Mis-
souri River forever with one spring bath. They dumb atop
the bottom of that upside-down mountain and fought 7 er
out, so's to be sure and hurt nobody else. They did, though.
A teeny boulder blew so far it hit poor Pewee Wilkins, the
runt of PauPs crew, and broke his leg three feet below the
knee. Well, Paul and Hels tore that mountain to pieces
before Paul could win. You still see the pieces, scattered
all over. The Bad Lands, folks call ? em nowadays. . . ."

Summer's end, Bunch went up to Tacoma and shipped
to Ohop as a high-climber. The work was to trim and top
giant Douglas firs and rig them up for high-lead logging.
With climbing harness and "irons/ 5 life rope circling a tree,
ax and saw dangling from ropes at the back of the heavy
belt, Bunch Horn would climb and trim his way up a tree
'blazed to serve as a spar for high-lead log skidding.

At a height of one hundred and fifty or more feet, with
a sixty-foot bush of boughs and crown above him, Bunch
Horn would saw and hew a shelf around the trunk, then

LOGGING AND MINING 157

tie in dynamite sticks, fuse, and blasting cap. These explosive
tools were drawn up by a passline which Bunch had carried
along in a coil on his belt.

His gentle job went on this way: Lighting the fuse,
Bunch drove downward with his legs, planted the spurs of
his leg irons in bark and grain, flipped the circle of his life
rope down the tree a way and held to it hard as he drove
swiftly down with spurs again. So he would go in rapid
motion to the ground.

It was Bunch's pride to time a fuse so that he would have
only scant seconds to reach shelter after hitting the grit. On
the ground he walked in all his gear, never hustling, always
just stepping out of harm's way as the giant tree "blew its
top." (That's where the slang term originated.)

The work went on with Bunch Horn climbing again to
receive a larger block and line by passline to start rigging
up the spar tree. This did not end until guy cables anchored
to big stumps held the tree securely, and mainline, haul-
back, and loading-boom blocks were swinging from the top.
Then the pull of a donkey engine below could be made to
swing the ends of skidding logs over stumps and windfalls
because it had a lifting pull from on high. The earliest
donkeys that succeeded the bullteams were "ground-lead"
affairs that simply snaked logs along the ground.

Bunch remained a high-climber in the Cascade Range
woods until the topping of spar trees with dynamite lost
favor to topping with saw and ax. But by that time log-
ging roads were being run high in the mountains, costing
ten thousand dollars a mile to blast out in some places. The
last heard of him, Bunch was back in the hard-rock. He may

THE CASCADES

still be at it. "Dynos who are the real quill never die," he
used to say. "And they won't never quit powder."

CAT LOGGING COMES IN

The first logging in the Mamook Valley to make lumber

was in 1849. The trees that were ^^^ then were at the
river's mouth and so close to water that they were rolled
by hand into rafting booms. The logging cleared a site for
the start of Illahee, a town of homes. More clearings up
the river bottoms were the start of farms. Logging went on,
slowly and steadily, spreading out to benches, then to hills.
The skidroad and the bullteam moved the timber from
stump to waterway. By 1899 the hoarse, chugging roar and
shrill whistle of the Dolbeer donkey echoed in the canyons.
The railroad came, and bigger and faster logging machines,
with high-lead and skyline skidding systems. They tore
through the timber in the twenties. Fire often rampaged
through the logging debris in the wake of the steam-driven
giants of the woods that had put Paul Bunyan and Babe
the Blue Ox in the shade.

Still there was timber. The Mamook area was roughly
one one-hundredth of the Douglas fir region the land be-
tween the snow of the Cascades and the foam of the Pacific.
It had about two hundred and sixty thousand acres of "com-
mercially available" forest land. About half of the acreage
and the sawtimber were publicly owned. Most of the saw-
timber stands were on the uplands} rough country, tough
railroading.

By 1929 the type of tractor that took itself along on belts
of broad steel links, cleated outside and cogged inside, pro-
viding tremendous traction, was in the mountains that rose

LOGGING AND MINING 159

from the headwaters of the Mamook. In front it carried a
broad blade for trail-making bulldozing. It pulled a trailer
with a high A-frame rig that stood on crawlers, like the
tractor itself. A cable ran from a drum at the tractor's rear
up through the peak of the A-frame or fairlead arch. By this
logs were snubbed up, their head ends were hoisted, and the
tractor-puncher heir of the bullpuncher and donkey-
puncher could yard timber down any old mountainside.
The powerful logging truck was another development.
Truck-and-tractor logging was the new giant of the forests
of the Cascade mountains, in the pineries of the east as well
as on the fir-bearing west slope. It was termed "cat logging,"
a derivation from the name of a popular tractor brand.

The development meant more than mechanical change. It
was new promise for business in the timber. Young wage-
earning loggers could not hope to save enough from their
wages to build and equip a railroad outfit, but they could
hope to finance a truck-and-tractor deal, and hundreds have
done so.

Between 1929 and 1939 the depression hit the lumber
industry harder than any other. Not until 1937, according
to the U.S. Treasury, did the industry produce a profit and
in 1938 it slipped into the red again. In 1933 the Tillamook
fire burned more sawtimber on two hundred and seventy-
five thousand acres in Oregon than had been cut during the
previous year from the nation's five hundred million and
more commercial forest acres.

But also in 1933 a set of forest practice rules was- accepted
by the lumber industry as part of the Lumber Code of the
National Recovery Act. When NRA was outlawed by the
Supreme Court the industry voluntarily kept the forest prac-

l6o THE CASCADES

tice section, and added to the organizations that had been
formed to make the rules effective. Pine loggers and fir
loggers of the Cascade country were leaders in this volun-
tary movement. In the Western Pine and the West Coast
Lumbermen's Associations forest conservation departments
were organized, with staffs of graduate foresters. The larger
timber companies began to hire foresters right and left. In
1941 a type of industrial forest management was agreed on
by private timber owners under the name of "tree farm. 3 '
This has come to represent the same things that "national
forest" represents in publicly owned commercial timber. The
logger whose land is certified by foresters as acceptable for
official registry as a tree farm must measure up to the high-
est practicable forestry standards.

So the lands of the loggers look good up the Mamook
nowadays. Most of the tracts that were torn up by oversized
and overfast railroad logging in the 1920*3 have come back
with thriving young forests. State laws of Washington and
Oregon now require the leaving of adequate stands of seed
trees on the logging cut-overs. The truck roads and tractor
trails serve to protect the new crops from fire. And the
tractor does not smash up the woods in the way of the great
skidders. These days, logging is less like mining and more
like an orderly farm harvest on the Mamook.

MAMOOK TREE FARM HARVEST

The Mamook Lumber Company and other timber people
of the area are the main supporters of a summer forestry
camp for members of the Boy Scouts, 4-H Clubs, the Future
Farmers of America, and for sons of forest industry em-
ployees. On a summer day after World War II sixty of the

LOGGING AND MINING l6l

campers were in the woods to see the logging, with Roy
Autry, forester of the Mamook Tree Farm, as their guide.
A federal forest ranger, a state fire warden, and a farm
forester were along. The trip was to be more than an outing;
it was to demonstrate how the whole two hundred and sixty
thousand commercial forest acres of the Mamook area were
coming under a plan of co-operation by all forestry agencies:
industrial, farm, state, and federal.

From a safe point the visitors watched two timber-fallers,
men of the same trade that Catty Dan and Nels pursued
fifty years earlier on the foothills of the Mamook. But for
the fallers of today there was no springboard-chopping that
would leave a ten-foot stump. The undercut to guide the
fall was sliced out with a motor-driven saw close to the
spread of the roots. The two men felled four times the trees
in a day that they could have brought down by chopping
and hand-sawing.

The standing timber hummed and droned with other
power saws. The big trees fell with a crashing thunder.
Down the hill the felled trees lay in packed windrows. There
single sawyers and axmen bucked the trees into logs and
chopped the limbs away.

"Too much wood in treetops, big boughs, dead snags,
broken and crooked small trees, are still logging leftovers,"
Forester Roy Autry told the young people. "Look up the
slope in the standing timber," he went on, swinging a hand
that way. "You see small stumps in the big trees there, with
tractor trails and brush piles. The usable small hemlocks
and other understory trees have been felled and snaked out.
Now they won't be smashed by the big operation that's to
come. Roads have been cleared through windfalls, also. We

l62 THE CASCADES

call that ^re-logging. There are machines made for it, little

ones."

He waved a big brown hand down the slope. "Now look
on out and away, down on the cut-overs of the log harvests
of twenty to thirty years ago. Salvage logging going on.
Hemlock trees were left then. Now we can sell hemlock
lumber and there's a market for hemlock as pulpwood. And
we also have crews with light machines gleaning after the
main operation that goes on now. This leaves a cleaner stub-
ble field, one in good shape for natural reseeding and for
protection from fire. Douglas firs want clean, clear-cut land
for reproduction.

"Foresters like to think of timber in terms of wheat or
corn. It takes a tree crop longer to grow and ripen, of course.
But it is a harvest with both timber and wheat. The tree
logs are run through the sawmill as the wheat heads and
stems go through the threshing machine. Then, just as wheat
is made into flour, bread, and other food products, so is
lumber worked up and applied in houses and other building
construction. Then, ideally, we grow new food crops on
wheat land and new building crops on tree land. The ideal
is hard to achieve, of course. Floods may erode and damage
the wheat land and fires may damage the tree land. Poor
management in both cases can also impoverish the land.

"There is a good forestry management plan in effect here,
on Mamook Tree Farm. There is another on the lands of
the national forest. Foresters are in control of state lands,
too. There are state laws that provide for reseeding on small
forest ownerships, on farms and the like. But all this is not
enough. Foresters need the support, the help of everybody 5
most of all to stop forest fires. This is why we show and

LOGGING AND MINING

tell the forestry story. This is why we have you young folks
up in the woods to see the logging."

The visitors 5 trail led on down through the log harvest.
The machine was king all the way. Below the buckers,
crawler tractors were bulldozing trails and skidding large
sawlogs among stumps and rotten windfalls to a landing pile.

Farther down was the truck-loading works, on a road
along the mountainside that had been blasted and bulldozed
out at tremendous cost. Here a compact steam skidder and
loader pulled in giant timbers from the tractors' pile to a
spar tree and swung them on motor trucks.

These trucks were traveling powerhouses. Roy Autry
pointed to a new one that had twelve speeds ahead and four
in reverse. It had the power and the brakes to wheel sixty
tons of timber down to the railhead. The common unit was
packed into a pair of front wheels, motor cab, a short frame,
two rear axles and eight rear wheels, with an eight- wheel
trailer that could be coupled out for any length of log load.

Unloaded trucks carried the trailer bunks and wheels be-
hind their cabs on return trips. The truck roads were deeply
ballasted, much more staunchly built than ordinary high-
ways to bear the enormous loads. When one was braked
to a stop at the railhead a transfer crane would lift its load
from the truck and trailer bunks and set it on the bunks of
a railroad log car.

"Tomorrow morning a trainload of logs will be dumped
into the log pond or booming grounds above the Illahee
sawmill," Forester Roy Autry concluded, at the end of the
trail. "A machine something like a steam shovel without a
shovel will nudge each load of logs off its car and drop them
into the water with the kind of splashing snort that Paul

jg^ THE CASCADES

Bunyan used to emit when he sneezed. The boom men sort
the logs by species and grade. The biggest and best Douglas
fir, for example, are sold to plywood mills as peelers. The
best hemlock are kept for lumber and the rest boomed apart
for the pulpwood market. Up in the sawmill the logs are
run through a variety of sawing machines, with picking,
choosing, sorting, and operating going on all the time to
produce the best grades of lumber from each log and each
piece of a log. The better the grade, the more the market
pays for lumber.

"There are leftovers in the sawmill just as from the
threshing of wheat. The latter leaves chaff. Sawing lumber
leaves sawdust. Much of the slabs, trimmings, and edgings
are slashed into fuel wood. The rest is the straw of the saw-
mill. It is ground up by a mechanical monster called the
hog and mixed with sawdust for fuel uses or used as fuel
alone. The smaller sawmills in the area, twenty or so of
them two thousand or more in the Cascade region have
to burn most of their leftovers. Forest products engineers
are developing new marketable items that may be made from
the logging leftovers of today and the scrap, the chaff of
the sawmills. Alcohol can be made from sawdust, sugar too,
and a yeast that will fatten cattle. Other new products are
from Douglas fir bark. There are five thousand wood prod-
ucts in common use, and more are coming on the market
every day. This is what pays for forestry. Public forestry
is paid for by taxes, of course, but taxes come in the first
place from production and sales.

"Lumber is the thing, though," said the forester. "The
sawlog is still the main product of logging here in the Cas-
cades, as in all other forest regions. The pulp log, the ply-

Giant Douglas firs near the entrance to Mount Rainier National Park

Clouds hugging Mount Shasta
The open snowfielcls at Timberlfne on Mount Hood

LOGGINGANDMINING 1 6$

wood peeler log, the fuel log, and all the other grades are
on the side. Building lumber comes from sawlogs, and build-
ing is to logging and tree growing what bread baking is to
wheat harvesting and growing. There's the meal ticket of
the forester and his work on the land."

Thus the logger and the industrial forester go to the pub-
lic with their story of forestry progress and of co-operation
with the government forestry men. To repeat, a main rea-
son for such effort with the public, and particularly with
young people, is the need for all hands to keep at work on
forest fire prevention. In 1940, "Keep Washington Green"
and "Keep Oregon Green" committees were formed with
representatives of various groups the American Legion,
women's clubs, etc., as well as forestry organizations for
forest fire prevention work. Success has been so great that
there are now "Keep Maine Green," "Keep Florida Green,"
and "Keep California Green" organizations, with seventeen
other state groups of the kind.

' Forestry practices in logging on the piney eastern slopes
of the Cascades have progressed there as well as on the
Douglas fir side. It does our hearts good, it is a sight for
sore eyes among all of us old pinetops and firconks of these
parts. It looks to us as though the foresters are becoming
well fixed to keep the Cascade Range green forever. So
let us pray.

SHORT NOTE ON MINING

The mill of the Holden Mine, of the Howe Sound Com-
pany, is a thing of beauty on a mountainside of the Cascades.
There it stands, or reclines, rather, a practical affair that was
designed and built for utility only. Yet somehow its planes

l66 THE CASCADES

hold the gaze as a work of art a prime example of modern-
istic art. Looking at it, you may be surprised to find yourself
thinking of the mill as the real picture, with the titanic
scenery as a material frame only. The Holden copper mine
is, however, the largest single metallic mining operation in
the Pacific Northwest. In 1937 the entire state of Washing-
ton brought forth only one hundred and twenty-eight thou-
sand pounds of copper. Then the Holden mine started up.
In 1938 the state's copper production was more than twelve
million pounds.

The Cascade mountains have few other single operations
in the mining field, whether in metals, clay, cement, or coal,
that the people of the region can point to with pride. While
Oregon and Washington are the two leading lumber-pro-
ducing states, Oregon in 1946 was fortieth in rank and
Washington was thirty-first among the states in terms of
mineral output.

The first white people in the region were on the prowl for
furs 3 then came the land-seekers in the early 1 840*3 and
after them the gold-rushers. In 1857 wild-eyed men stormed
from California to the Fraser River in British Columbia,
drawn by a gold discovery. Gold in Idaho, gold in the Blue
Mountains, and gold in rich pockets in the Cascade moun-
tains of southern Oregon, brought swarms of fortune-seekers
at various periods of pioneer times. A tethered mule kicked
the dirt from silver in Idaho's Coeur d'Alenes; there were
strikes in Nevada. John D. Rockefeller invested in a mine
called Monte Cristo, with its diggings in a scenic glory of
the Cascades.

But even Mr. Rockefeller's investment, according to some,
failed to pan out. The rough country and dense timber, par-

LOGGING AND MINING 167

ticularly on the west side, made the Cascades poor prospect-
ing country. When a man would cruise through and stake
a promising claim, its development commonly had to wait
upon the building of logging roads. Many an investment
went to smash on veins of promise which slipped away in
the characteristic faults in Cascade Range rock forma-
tions. Coal, cement, sand, and gravel have been the most
valuable products of mining in the Washington half of the
Cascade Range. Coal production hit its peak in 1918, with
4,138,424 tons valued at $14,564^445. In 1946 production
had dropped to 990,000 tons valued at $5,465,000.

In the i85O 5 s there were great dreams in Oregon of a
gold-mining industry in the southern Cascades. One pocket
yielded $400,000 in a year j another, $350,000. Prospectors
combed the region, finding no more mineral wealth worth
mentioning, but leaving campfires behind them to burn
forest wealth. The Blue Mountains hold the mineral riches
of Oregon today. The Cascades hold the timber.

THE CASCADE FOREST

by Walter F. McCulloch

powerful drumming of diesel donkey engines, the
clanking of tractor treads, the solid thump of ax and whine
of saw, mark the Cascade forest. For this is a production
forest, and were it not for the steady processing of lumber,
many men in Washington, Oregon, and northern California
would not eat. The timber is not only their forest, it is their
very existence.

In addition to its famed lumber production, the greatest
in America, the Cascade forest has other unique character-
istics. It is distinctly a linear forest, running north and south
in long thin belts on both sides of the mountains. Above all,
it is a fir forest. Here is the home of the Douglas fir, fore-
most timber species in the world, and here live all but three
of the balsam firs in North America. West of the Cascade
summit, regardless of local dominance of other trees, the
forest is collectively known as the Douglas fir region ; and
east of the mountains as the ponderosa pine region.

Through Washington, Oregon, and in northern Califor-
nia, the Cascade Range is inland, walled off from the sea
by the Coast Range. As a result the inland mountain forest
is strongly dependent upon rainfall and local geography.

171

THE CASCADES

Its distribution is determined by competition among species,
and is warped by fire.

RAIN, THE TREE MAKER

Moisture is the critical factor throughout the range. Very
little falls during the growing season, and there is always a
ruthless struggle among species for water. Slight changes in
site, soil, or weather cycles cause marked shifts in tree distri-
bution. Along the Pacific Coast, moisture-bearing winds
sweep in off the ocean and in the first impact against the
Coast Range spill a good deal of water. Up to 130 inches
of rain is not uncommon 5 moss-covered natives claim even
more. The eastbound weather slides down the inner side of
the Coast Range into the Puget trough of Washington, the
Willamette Valley of Oregon, and the Sacramento Valley
of California. In these areas it is more miserly with its rain,
averaging roughly 40 inches. Then commences the ascent of
the rugged Cascades, with increased rain falling at higher
elevations. The upper reaches are soaked with more
than 80 inches, and in many places along the backbone of
the mountains snow will be so deep as to hamper tree growth.
On the east side of the range the clouds expand over the
desert, drying up both weather and forest with astonishing
rapidity. Where high ground east of the mountains carries
the Cascade rain-shadow out into the dry belt, a pine forest
follows it, as in the Horse Heaven Hills of southern Wash-
ington and the Klamath plateau of southern Oregon.

At the Cascade summit there is one of the sharpest vege-
tational breaks on the continent, for this forest is in reality
two forests, east side and west side. The twain do meet on
top, but the change in rainfall is so sharp that the transition

THE CASCADE FOREST 173

from pure type to -pure type is very marked. In less than
half an hour's drive across the Snoqualmie, Santiam, or other
mountain passes, it is possible to run completely out of the
west-side fir-hemlock type and into the east-side pine type.
One of the most interesting examples of the influence of rain
on the forest is the unceasing wrangle between ponderosa
pine and sagebrush in the tension zone between forest and
brushland along the eastern foothills of the Cascades. Dur-
ing wet cycles, pine reproduction reaches east into the desert
and becomes well established. It strikes root down to the
permanent water table, and is able to hang on through the
following drier years during which it could not have started.
As these trees mature, their enlarging crowns demand more
and more water, and the thirsty root systems expand accord-
ingly. Hence the soil dries out, and smaller plants such as
sagebrush are forced back to the outer edge of the forest
fringing the desert. Small seedlings, too, are killed off or
beaten back to openings in the stand where competition from
the large trees is not so severe. During a very dry period,
however, even larger seedlings cannot keep pace with the
rapidly retreating water table, and they die 5 the older timber
too is weakened by lack of adequate moisture 5 pine beetles
attack, and many trees are killed. With the timber competi-
tion thus decreased the sagebrush revives and invades west-
ward areas, once the province of the pine.

The ponderosa pine forest holds to a narrower band along
the eastern Cascades in Washington than it does farther
south, for in southern Oregon and northern California there
is lower rainfall, which encourages western extension of the
species. Here too, the Trinity and Siskiyou mountains inter-
vene between the Cascades and the Coast Range to cause

1 74 THECASCADES

climatic and biologic confusion 5 the southern Cascades and
Siskiyou cross ranges hence support an alley-cat complex of
species. These vary from the extremely dry-site mountain
mahogany to the normally wet-belt hemlock. The pine type
spills on over into the west side in the Umpqua, Rogue,
Klamath, and Sacramento drainages. It persists in the Sacra-
mento, but gives way to redwoods in the fog-belt lower
Klamath, and to Douglas fir in the lower Rogue and
Umpqua valleys.

In one instance water has forever fixed the location of a
fir forest. This is in the lava country along the Cascade sum-
mit, between the south Santiam and the McKenzie passes
in central Oregon. A long time back, a viscous black lava
flow choked off a mountain stream, backing up its waters to
flood a small wooded valley. The body of water is now
known as Clear Lake and is noted for three things: won-
drously clear water, making the bottom of the lake readily
visible at considerable depths ; water temperature so low that
immersed wood rots slowly if at all $ and hence, and down-
right awe-inspiring, a cadaverous forest still standing up-
right on the bottom of the lake. Rainbow trout swim among
stout branches where eagles should perch, and men look
down, not up, to take the measure of a tall tree.

The bizarre forest of Clear Lake has one great advantage
over the neighboring woods it will not be consumed by fire.

FIRE: SCOURGE OF THE FOREST

From the Puget Sound foothills to the brush-field pla-
teaus in the Shasta-Lassen area, fire is a part of all forest
history. The degree to which fire upsets normal conditions
varies as those conditions were critical or nominal to begin

THE CASCADE FOREST 175

with. Fires change critical soil-moisture relationships, remove
shade, and alter seedbed characteristics to favor one species
over another. All the normal processes of competition and
succession which govern the development of forests are
grossly distorted by fire.

The influence of fire is illustrated by the competition be-
tween oak and fir along the western Cascade foothills in
Washington and Oregon. Oak sprouts vigorously after fire,
and so renews itself, phoenix-like 5 but young fir trees are
killed by fire.

At the present time Douglas fir and grand fir are rapidly
burrowing from beneath to pirate the oak stands. The needle-
like tip of a fast-growing conifer drills its way through the
forest canopy where the rounded crown of the slow-growing
oak cannot gain headroom for itself. As a result, in all but
the very driest sites oak is now losing ground as the firs
march out of the mountain forest into the foothills. The
question arises, why not before? why the conquest of the
oak now, when in earlier days it withstood encroachment
from the mountains?

The answer probably lies in the game-getting habits of
northwest Indian tribes. It was their custom to fire the val-
ley grass and brush cover in a great horseshoe. Deer and
other game trapped by the blaze charged back and forth
inside the narrowing circle of fire, frantically searching for
an outlet. Sooner or later the fear-crazed animals would
find and pour through the narrow throat of the horseshoe,
only to meet two long parallel lines of hunters desperately
at work with bow and spear. The killing over, the Indians
proceeded with the business of slaughter and meat-curing
while the fire, dismissed from attention, rampaged on to de-

176 THE CASCADES

stroy young conifers and take great bites out of the west-side
Cascade forest.

The result of the valley-generated fires was to make a
patchwork quilt of age classes in the bordering mountain
forest. In dry years the Indian grass fire might leap into
the crowns of the trees in the timber and go uphill for miles,
but in wet years it would snuff out under the first thicket
of saplings. Thus a many-aged young forest arose on the
lower slopes of the mountains. This has proven to be a sav-
ing grace during periods of heavy cutting 5 the difference in
ages means that many blocks of small timber are scattered
among older timber and cannot be logged. They will stand
as seed sources for adjacent cut-over areas until they in turn
become merchantable.

Fires arising from a different cause have mixed the age
classes on the upper reaches of the Cascades. Here lightning
is the scourge of the forest. The severity of lightning de-
struction increases from west to east and from north to south
in the mountain range. The south and east portions are higher
and receive more strikes} they are drier, which means that
more inflammable fuels are present and that fires will start
more readily 3 and finally, rain is a less frequent accompani-
ment to the lightning. All these things affect the distribution
of timber species.

Toward the Cascade summit and over the east-side pla-
teaus, a severe fire drastically changes the forest, for Doug-
las fir, Engelmann spruce, balsam fir, hemlock, cedar, white
pine, and ponderosa pine are all replaced by lodgepole pine.
This species is exceedingly vigorous in its youth. The small
stony cones survive fire well, some in fact appearing not to
open except by fire. In contrast, the papery cones and con-

THE CASCADE FOREST 177

tained seeds of competing species are readily burned. Then
too, the juvenile seedling of lodgepole pine is very hardy.
It scoffs at frost, it makes light of moisture deficiency, it
pioneers adverse sites with ease. Lodgepole is particularly
effective in revegetating hard burns, pumice-dust areas, and
other barren soils. This should earn it a better reward, but
the very fact of reclaiming and enriching these sites makes
it possible for other species to revive under lodgepole pro-
tection. Eventually the longer-lived, larger species will take
all but the poorest areas from the lodgepole, leaving it to a
country-cousin existence on the infertile fringes of the forest
proper.

Toward the south-central and eastern parts of the Cas-
cades the same kind of story is true, although the species
differ. Ponderosa and sugar pine are the larger and much
more valuable species in the overstory. Their seedlings start
best under very light shade. Beneath the considerable shade
of a mature pine-fir forest, the less valuable balsam firs,
particularly Abies grandis (grand fir), Abies magnifica (red
fir), and Abies concolor (white fir) will grow slowly, but
persistently, like hemlock under Douglas fir. In the past,
logging was concentrated on the big pines, which opened up
the stand, permitted accelerated growth of the established
young firs, and threatened to replace the valuable pines with
then relatively worthless firs. Lately the changing economics
of the lumber industry have made it profitable to cut a good
deal of the balsam fir. This not only reduces the fir seed
supply but makes more slash. Consequently there has been
more slash burning, which decreases the quantity of estab-
lished fir seedlings and equalizes competition between new
pine and new fir seedlings.

THE CASCADES

There is one ghostly pine forest, across the Deschutes
River from the eastern Cascade foothills, that never again
will be concerned with firs or fires. This is the lava-cast for-
est southeast of Bend. In the most recent period of volcanic
activity, Newberry Crater broke out with splay-footed
streams of lava which romped over the stricken countryside.
The flow was very thin, and in several areas the fluid lava
washed up the trunks of ponderosa pines and congealed. As
the green trees charred and burned to ash., the lava hard-
ened, and the basaltic casts of the trees remain. Now the
lava layer is twenty feet or more deep, full of holes which
were once tree trunks. The casts often extend four or five
feet above the surface of the main flow where the soupy lava
splashed up against the tree. The volcanic rock here is so
black that summer surface temperatures are unbelievably
high. In consequence little vegetation has been able to re-
establish, and the well-defined casts are markedly clear on
the landscape.

Farther south, in the lower part o the Cascades, scanty
rainfall and high summer temperatures work together to the
great disadvantage of the forest. Ponderosa pine and asso-
ciated fir species here move across the summit and dominate
the west side. That is, where fire permits 5 for the flame-tor-
tured slopes around Mount Shasta show that fire has mas-
tered the forest in this region. The inflammability of the
species, the normally low humidity, the frequent lightning,
and the boulder-strewn terrain, all make this an exceedingly
difficult area to protect against fire. The soil is generally
thin, and drastic changes follow a hot blaze. Trees are easily
killed and humus is burned out of the earth. As a result,

THE CASCADE FOREST 179

rain and snow evaporate faster from the bared ground, less
water is absorbed, and runoff increases. This tears off more
of the precious topsoil. Minor flash floods along the little
creeks gouge deeply into the stream bed and lower the water
table of adjacent land. All these things dry out the ground
and make it inhospitable for trees. The fire-resulting vege-
tation which follows is a variant of that botanical complex
known as "the chaparral." In the southern Cascades this
consists chiefly of broad-leaved species such as manzanita, a
small evergreen bush with red bark and berries-, bright
green and yellow leaves. It is the most widely distributed
plant in these brush fields; others are sticky-leaf laurel,
currants, ceanothus, and a whole host of shrubby species
called buckbrush and snowbrush. (Throughout the West it
is customary to designate many known and all unknown
brush species as buckbrush or snowbrush. There is no reason
to it, nor is there intended to be 5 buckbrush in one locality
will be snowbrush in another, and vice versa.) These shrubby
plants are worthless except for watershed protection and
game cover. In the aggregate they spread over several hun-
dred square miles, most spectacularly in the brush fields of
the Shasta region. This is similar to the rolling hills of brush
in the Sierra Nevada east of Lake Tahoe.

Forest restoration in brush regions is no simple task. Even
where the soil is not wholly impoverished, many problems
remain. Some years ago enterprising federal foresters in
northern California devised the "Plumas brush-buster," a
heavy plow with which to bulldoze a path through the chap-
arral by main strength and sweat. The plan was to plant trees
in the cleared-off strips. Despite unreasonable odds, some

l8O THE CASCADES

fairly satisfactory strips were cleared but this did not guar-
antee success. In the unholy underbrush lurked great num-
bers of rabbits which chomped down young trees as fast as
the foresters could plant them. What the rabbits missed the
deer virtually wore down, using the cleared lanes as con-
venient runways. The net result of all this adversity is that
artificial re-establishment of forests has proceeded very
slowly in the brush fields. In some parts the soil may be
so drastically beaten that only nature can restore the fire-
banished pine and fir. This will probably require several
hundred years of incredibly slow advance of trees as they
move in from the nearest forest fringe, shading out and
killing one manzanita at a time and replacing it with a tree
seedling which, if it lives, may finally reach over the edge
of the brush field and lop off one or two more bushes.

This is the process of competition and succession, a quietly
furious and continuous struggle between forest species. The
various stages in the fight are less clearly marked than in
tension zones where species contend for water; they are not
so boldly outlined as where lodgepole pine triumphantly
marches in to pre-empt an Engelmann spruce stand follow-
ing a burn. But far more widespread, more intrinsic a part
of the forest growing cycle, is the bitter, unremitting tug-
of-war among species all through the Cascades. It is well
illustrated by the perpetual competition between the light-
requiring Douglas fir and the shade-enduring hemlock.

COMPETITION: DOG-EAT-DOG

After a fire in the Douglas fir region, seedlings of this
tree generally swarm over the area in a short time if there is
a seed source nearby. At first they compete only among

THE CASCADE FOREST l8l

themselves, and an even-aged, pure stand develops. As the
stand thickens the forest floor is shaded, competition in-
creases, and no new Douglas firs establish under the dark
canopy 3 but balsam fir, western red cedar, and western hem-
lock seedlings begin to invade the site. Now begins a dog-
eat-dog struggle. Hemlock seedlings will persevere longer
than most other species despite both shade and competition
from larger hemlocks and rival species. When the canopy
closes overhead, the previously established young Douglas
firs become thin and spindly and are finally choked off, but
young hemlocks persist. As the Douglas firs mature their
growth and vigor begin to decline, and trees are killed by
the intense competition of the overstory. The tough hem-
locks still hang on beneath the canopy. Eventually an old
fir dies. With neither seedlings nor saplings of Douglas fir
left beneath the stand, death of the veteran merely yields
growing space to the hemlocks and their shady associates.
Released from competition, active growth of hemlocks takes
place in the understory, and with continued mortality of
the old Douglas firs, more and more hemlocks attain posi-
tion in the main canopy of the forest. Thus more hemlock
seed source is provided, more seedlings arise, and the cycle
from Douglas fir to hemlock is well along toward completion.
In the end the result is an uneven-aged old hemlock for-
est with a typically jagged canopy. Seen in profile it is saw-
toothed, as mature trees alternate with the immature. This
contrasts with a typically flat-topped even-aged forest which
is still developing, still in the pre-climax stage. Left alone,
the chances are that much of the wetter Douglas fir forest in
the Cascades would revert to hemlock, the true climax type.

THE CASCADES

Fire interrupts this sequence. It kills young coniferous
seedlings as well as the thin-barked older hemlocks and
white firs, but frequently the thick-barked older Douglas
firs will survive, to remain the only seed trees in the area.
On newly burned ground the Douglas fir seedlings are har-
dier and will persist. The shade-loving hemlock and balsam
fir seedlings germinate but do not survive the exposure and
heat. As a result, the normal ecological cycle is broken, and
the even-aged fir stand becomes dominant for long periods.
Eventually the hemlock begins the time-consuming task all
over again, only to lose out if fire sweeps the forest. Almost
all pure fir stands show signs of old burns where fires have
beaten down hemlock and maintained Douglas fir. Logging,
and slash-burning fires do the same thing today. One ex-
ception is the so-called selective logging where only a small
portion of the timber is cut, and normal forest conditions
are not greatly disturbed. Here the slash is often left un-
burned. Under these conditions hemlock will continue to
work toward eventual dominance of the stands. The excep-
tion to this sequence is found in the fringes of the valleys in
Washington and Oregon, in southern Oregon and northern
California, where the sites are too dry for hemlock, and
Douglas fir is frequently the true climax species. On still
more arid sites, fir in turn loses to the pines.

Over the Cascade forest as a whole, where hardwoods oc-
cur in the stand they enjoy a transient dominance following
fire because their vigorous sprout growth greatly exceeds
the slow growth of coniferous seedlings. Eventually the
conifers regain command, and the hardwoods are pushed
back to a few favored spots where additional moisture per-
mits them to compete on even terms with the conifers.

THE CASCADE FOREST 183

THE HARDWOODS

The Cascade Range is not particularly hospitable to hard-
woods. The summer growing season is normally marked by
a long dry spell, and in consequence the moisture-demanding
hardwoods are subordinated to the less thirsty conifers. The
broad-leaved trees are limited mostly to the valleys, coves,
meadows, and other well-watered areas.

An exception is the Oregon white oak, probably the most
widely distributed hardwood in the Cascades. It is a slow-
growing, leathery-leaved tree, persisting on thin-soiled hills
which conifers disdain. Ironically, after the oak has pio-
neered an area and has enriched the soil, faster growing
conifers move in under its protection and eventually poach
the site away. Young fir forests along the fringes of the
Cascades contain the gnarled and whitened carcasses of many
veteran oaks smothered under the dense canopy lifted
by the conifers an ill return for oaken assistance in giving
them a start. Not so large nor so useful as the eastern white
oaks, this Oregon oak nonetheless has some local utility for
furniture and flooring. One use is unique. It is made into
wedges which timber fallers drive into the cut to keep the
weight of the tree from binding their saw as they work.

Where the Siskiyous intersect the Cascades in southern
Oregon, and on down into the Shasta-Lassen country, the
Cascade forest in many places becomes a pine-oak woodland.
Along with the Oregon white oak, another important spe-
cies in this territory is the California black oak, a valuable
timber tree in local areas. The term "black 55 refers to the
bark rather than to the wood, for black oak lumber is by
no means objectionably dark. On the contrary it is very at-

184 THE CASCADES

tractive, has pleasing figure, and is as acceptable as white
oak for commercial uses.

Other hardwoods include canyon live oak and the odd
little huckleberry oaks, some of them scarcely more than
bushes. The canyon live oak is especially interesting because
of its foliage variation half of the leaf margins may be
sharply toothed and holly-like, the remaining leaf margins
being- entire.

One of the minor species in the Cascades foothills along
the Sacramento River is the breath-taking, magnificent red-
bud. This small tree brightens a March day all along the
dark canyon with its brilliant masses of tiny purple-red
flowers. These appear before the leaves, and are so strikingly
.beautiful that callous travelers maim the tree, breaking off
branches in such numbers that many a tree is horticulturally
browsed back to a bush each year.

Associated with the northern California oaks in the Sac-
ramento Valley, and scattered all the way to British Co-
lumbia in the Cascade foothills is madrone, a beautiful tree
which the early settlers mistook for magnolia hence Mag-
nolia Point on Puget Sound near Seattle. The large dark^
green glossy leaves persist for several seasons, but on young
trunks the bark is cast annually. The papery-thin brick-red
old bark cracks frequently in almost geometric pattern, to
reveal the delicately apple-green new bark beneath one
of the rare sights of the southern Cascades.

More common than the oaks, especially in the northern
part of the range, is bigleaf maple, the largest of the western
maples. It is found as an understory tree in the lower levels
of the mountains and in valley bottoms. There is not enough
maple in single stands to support a large hardwood industry,

THE CASCADE FOREST 185

but it is used locally for furniture. Some bird's-eye is found
in this species, and it is noted for its prodigious burls, which
are exported in considerable numbers to France and other
western European countries. In the Oregon Forestry Board
headquarters at Salem each room is finished with a different
native species in a different pattern. The bigleaf maple room
is probably the finest of all these magnificent examples of
wood craftsmanship 5 the walls are sections of burls, so beau-
tiful as to defy description. The traveler who drives through
Oregon without seeing this room has wasted his time and
gasoline. The bigleaf maple does not belie its name. Leaves
have been recorded up to twenty-two inches across, which
should be a record for maples if not for other hardwoods
as well.

From a medicinal standpoint, the most important hard-
wood in the Cascades is cascara. To date, the laxative prin-
ciple in cascara bark has not been synthesized successfully
and there is a heavy demand for the bark. As settlement
and logging encroach more and more upon the haunts of the
cascara, the search for new trees becomes ever more frantic.
One Oregonian had two fine large trees flanking the walk
in front of his home in a small town. Upon return from a
late Sunday afternoon drive he was horrified to find that
someone had taken advantage of the early fall dusk to strip
both his trees right in town. The ultimate purpose for
which cascara is intended frequently affects those who work
with the raw product. In consequence stevedores and other
freight handlers are somewhat wary of loading big cargoes
of cascara bark.

The largest Cascade broadleaf is the black cottonwood,
confined to major stream bottoms such as the Cowlitz, Wil-

THE CASCADES

lamette, and others, mostly on the west side of the range in
Washington and Oregon. Diameters of four to five feet are
not uncommon, and growing in the rich river-bottom silt the
tree may add rings up to an inch wide for several years in
succession. The chief uses are for fruit-box veneers, pulp,
and excelsior.

There is probably more alder than any other hardwood in
the Cascades. Minor botanical differences mark the red and
white alder but the woods are mixed indiscriminately in the
trade. Alder is light, easily worked, takes a good finish, but
has no reputation of its own. Hence alder boards go in the
back door of furniture factories and come out the front as
chairs and tables with mahogany, maple, and walnut finishes.

Among the less important hardwoods is Oregon ash,
which is more properly a valley species, reaching into the
Cascades only in thin fingers along the wider streams.
Rhododendron becomes a small tree in parts of the Cas-
cades, and is a good-sized shrub toward the upper reaches
of the mountains. In June and July its pink blossoms splash
against the green conifers in festive air. Dogwood is the
only other flowering tree of consequence. In spring the large,
showy, white flowers lighten the dark-green forest, and in
fall the bright red berries do the same. Dogwood has an
extraordinary and most appreciated habit: part of the time
the trees will flower a second time in the autumn. The white
flowers, red berries, and green leaves make a festive mass
of color, totally unexpected and hence more appreciated. An
inconspicuous little dry-belt tree is the gnarled, gray-green
mountain mahogany, Cercocarpus. Actually there are two
species distinguished chiefly by variation in leaf form. They
fringe the openings in the ponderosa pine forest and form

THE CASCADE FOREST l8y

dense thickets along the lava breaks, giving excellent deer
cover. The genus is not even closely related to mahogany,
its chief claim to fame being the exceedingly great hardness
of the wood. You might as well go to breaking rocks with
your ax as to try to chop seasoned mountain mahogany.
Another minor tree is golden chinquapin, often a dense, com-
pactly foliated tree, especially when young. This little-
known species is fairly common in the Coast Range, not so
prevalent in the Cascades. It deserves attention, for the wood
is beautifully grained and colored and is most appealing for
interior paneling and flooring. The evergreen leaves are at-
tractive, for the bright, glossy, green upper surface contrasts
sharply with the yellow underside.

The word yellow brings to mind trembling aspen, an un-
important "hardwood" but a major contribution to the
beauty of the east-side Cascade forest. In summer the light-
green leaves and chalky trunks relieve the somber hues of
the unpretentious conifers 5 and in fall the rich yellow of
the aspen gilds the landscape and warms the heart wher-
ever it is seen.

The Cascade broadleaves as a whole display none of the
superb coloring of the eastern hardwoods in the fall. Oak
and cascara leaves usually turn a dingy brown, become dis-
couraged, and fall off. Alder does not even go that far
the leaves casually drop off while still green. Aspen, ash,
cottonwood, and at times bigleaf maple, become yellow bea-
cons vividly resplendent amid the somber conifers. Dogwood
works in soft pastels, part of the leaves ranging from a gen-
tle red to delicate pink, while others stay light green. One
small broadleaf is left to retrieve the honor of the west-

r gg THE CASCADES

ern hardwoods in a brief moment of glory. This is the vine
maple, either a small inconspicuous tree beneath the forest
canopy or a big bush out in the cut-over areas. Most of the
year it is just another poor-relation kind of tree like lesser
alder species, elderberry, and similar modest hardwoods. In
the fall, though, it makes a great effort to do for all the
hardwoods what they cannot do for themselves transform
the forest to a painter's palette of color. Old burns blaze
again, not with searing flame but with the joyous march
of the vine maple in all the reds and yellows ever seen.
There is so much beauty in this little tree that it offsets the
lack in other Cascade hardwoods. At higher elevations and
on the east slopes of the mountains the Douglas or moun-
tain maple, in similarly brilliant colors, takes up the task
and spreads riotous color where the vine maple does not
grow.

One other hardwood must be mentioned, even though it
is not a major component of the Cascade forest. This is the
California laurel, according to California chambers of com-
merce and curio dealers; or Oregon myrtle, according to
Oregon chambers of commerce and curio dealers.

A number of attributes mark the myrtle (or laurel). It is
an evergreen with rich dark leaves and is strongly aromatic.
Younger trees form dense compact green pyramids, older
trees spread out into a wide rounded crown in the open but
are more compressed in forest stands. The wood is a great
prize. It is a bewilderingly beautiful assortment of grays,
greens, and bronzes, combining and yet contrasting so that
the figure at times is almost iridescent. It lends itself joy-
ously to the lathe, and in skilled hands, products of breath-

THE CASCADE FOREST 189

catching beauty emerge. The wood, especially from older
trees, is magnificent beyond compare in all the endless vari-
ety of lamps, plates, platters, book ends and similar gewgaws
in which it is pressed upon the wayfarer. In both states, in-
nocents abroad are assured that laurel (or myrtle) "grows
only here and in the Holy Land." Perchance it is hoped
with this ecclesiastical aid to make a sale which might not
come off if conducted on the grubby plane of ordinary com-
merce j but there is no virtue in this biblical association. It
is botanical nonsense of the first order. Actually the tree
grows only in the Coast Range and on the west side of the
Cascades. This rare species will be preserved in spite of the
tremendous demand for novelty uses. A "Save-the-Myrtle-
woods" campaign in Oregon succeeded in 1948 in setting
aside one of the finest groves along the Chetco River as a
state forest.

There is undeniable appeal in the broadleaf trees as they
change foliage with the shifting seasons. But the average
hardwood is a sorry sight in midwinter, naked against a cold
December sky in penance for its brief but gaudy fling in the
fall. The conifers remain steadfastly somber year around}
no turncoat change of color in a momentary flame of glory,
for theirs is the workaday chore of just growing wood. This
humble role serves well the people of the Cascade moun-
tains, and the great Plains, and New England, and other
centers of lumber consumption.

The Cascade hardwoods contribute less than one per cent
by volume of the total lumber cut in the range, for the Cas-
cade production forest is uniquely a coniferous forest.

190 THECASCADES

THE CONIFERS

The conifer forest is composed of few species, for in most
of the Cascades the growing conditions are so severe as to
exclude all but a few types from each locality. The most
widely distributed, and the tree which towers over all in
sheer volume, is that which keeps green the memory of the
Scottish botanist David Douglas. The Cascade forest is
chiefly Douglas fir on the west side north of the Rogue
River. Hemlock, red cedar, and true firs come in beneath
the older fir stands here. This type gives way in the well-
watered upper reaches to a forest composed chiefly of hem-
lock, with quantities of noble and silver fir at times forming
almost pure stands in small areas. On the summit there is
quite a mixture: the firs named above, plus alpine fir, moun-
tain hemlock, white pine, white-bark pine, lodgepole pine,
and Engelmann spruce. Going down the east side the forest
is rapidly reduced to fewer species. The usual pattern is a
ponderosa pine overstory with grand fir and white fir in the
understory. As the forest flattens out on the eastern foot-
hills, jumpers first replace the fir and then the pine. In
Washington quite a little Douglas fir occurs in the east-side
forest.

In the southern part of the range, California red fir and
Shasta red fir reach north out of California to the Crater
Lake region. Another California tree, the sugar pine, is
fairly common in the southern Cascades in Oregon, and one
hardy specimen has been verified from the Warm Springs
Indian reservation, close to Mount Hood. California incense
cedar is a helter-skelter component of mixed forests as far
north as the McKenzie River in central Oregon.

THE CASCADE FOREST

Except for the pine-oak woodland which tentatively ap-
pears in the Rogue country and southward, conifers are king.
In the Shasta-Lassen area the pine is ascendant in the pine-
oak type, and were it not for recurring fires it would prob-
ably crowd the oaks out of extensive areas which these
hardwoods are now homesteading.

Conifers are protected against the Cascadian summer
drought by their smaller leaf area and thicker bark, both of
which cut down water loss. These characteristics permit ever-
greens to survive where hardwoods fail, and explain the
prevalence of the coniferous forest, particularly the fir for-
est, throughout the Cascades.

DOUGLAS FIR

It is impossible to speak of the Cascade forest without
thinking of much of it as the Douglas fir forest. This tree
ranges from British Columbia to Mexico, but its best growth
is in a moist climate where winters are not too severe the
Pacific Northwest. Considerable quantities are cut in north-
ern California, but like southern Oregon the climate is too
arid for the best growth of the tree. Where conditions are
optimum, it will produce as much as 1,500 board feet of
wood per acre every year. This is the best; the average is
half that much. Though the redwood is intrinsically a more
vast tree,* more long lived, and though some trees are even
individually renowned, redwoods as a group are commer-
cially insignificant compared to the Douglas fir. The lat-
ter is cut in such tremendous quantities that in total it is

*The two largest Douglas firs, one each in Washington and Oregon, are
over 15^/2 feet in diameter, mere pipsqueaks compared to even adolescent
redwoods.

ICJ2 THE CASCADES

a veritable Paul Bunyan of trees. More Douglas fir wood
is used than that of any other tree, despite the fact that
many species have greater virtue for certain uses. Sitka
spruce is a better ladder material, but there are more fir
ladders, hemlock makes better flooring, but there are more
fir floors; and so on, There is just more fir in almost every-
thing.

The most widespread use is for structural purposes such
as plywood, dimension lumber, or timbers. With modern
milling machinery it is readily worked; it is strong - y and it
has been produced for every conceivable kind of specification
from mousetrap stock to mammoth timbers four feet square
and one hundred feet long. It shares the housing field to
some extent with ponderosa pine and the four southern pines,
but for heavier construction fir is supreme. New develop-
ments in metal connectors and in lamination of planks have
opened a big field for timber structures such as arches, col-
umns, and beams. Many of the Alcan highway bridges were
prefabricated of Douglas fir. Other uses for this great tree
are endless. Normally it furnishes most of the plywood and
more than twenty per cent of the nation's lumber, enough
to build at least 800,000 homes annually,

Douglas fir is an integral part of the life of every moun-
tain community throughout the range. Though other species
are logged in respectable quantity, the west side of the Cas-
cades is almost wholly the empire of the fir, and its total
annual production far overshadows the east-side pine.

Oddly enough, the fir is known as pine in some trade
circles. A good deal is exported as Oregon pine, and from
British Columbia it is still shipped to Europe as "Nootka"
pine, from Nootka Sound, whence "the first fir timbers were

THE CASCADE FOREST 193

shipped, away back almost to the time of the Spaniard. This
recalls a long-delayed tragedy in a sawmill up Nootka way
some years ago. A big fir log was being chewed rapidly into
planks when a horrendous metallic uproar broke out at the
head saw. Chunks of bark, log, men, and metal thudded
around the mill deck. When clamor was stilled and dust
settled, remnants of the saw blade were found deeply bitten
into a rusted cannon ball, embedded so far in the log that
the bark had grown treacherously smooth over it. What his-
tory here? A bold threat from the Spaniard or doughty Cap-
tain Meares to send the aborigine scuttling back into the
timbered Nootka shore? Whose shot bided its time, and, cen-
turies after, killed not red men but white? The lads so quiet
on the mill deck would never know.

Similar accidents were not uncommon a few years ago,
but in modern mills a type of mine-detector on the log-haul
locates hidden metal in the timber and saves men as well as
saws. This mechanical improvement has been accompanied
by many refinements in mill practice and in better utilization
of Douglas fir. It is now used for pulp as well as for lumber
and plywood, and the formerly waste liquors from pulp
mills are made to yield valuable by-products. Progressive
plants even process the bark, beating the Chicago packers
who use all but the pig's squeal.

These improvements in utilization echo back to the Doug-
las fir forest. More intensive wood use means higher return
from the forest, and more margin is available to maintain
and improve that forest. Largely through improved utiliza-
tion, forest industries in the Douglas fir region are now able
to develop their properties for repeated harvesting of trees.
The old-time policy of "cut out and get out" is being re-

104 THE CASCADES

placed by progressive management which will keep Douglas
fir lands productive. Throughout the Cascades (and else-
where) such a policy will enable this species to maintain its
position as the finest timber tree in the land.

THE PINES

The second most important timber tree in the Cascades
is ponderosa pine, the prevailing type on the east side in
Washington and most of Oregon, and on both sides of the
range in southern Oregon and northern California. There
is an irresistible appeal to the crisp pine woods. The bright
reddish-yellow trunks and green foliage are striking against
a blue sky. Unlike the dense redwoods or hemlocks, a lot
of sky can be seen through a pine forest. Open ponderosa
stands invite the woodsman, hiker, and hunter, for the park-
like forest permits easy entry and people can more readily
enjoy its beauty than in more densely stocked stands.

For the most part ponderosa pine grows on relatively flat
ground compared to the rough fir and hemlock forests.
There are authentic records of old-timers actually cruising
timber from horse and buggy. This somewhat casual ap-
proach would hardly do in the present period of high stump-
age prices, for ponderosa pine is exceedingly valuable today.
As with the Douglas fir, the pine forest of the Cascades is
primarily a production forest, providing employment for
men who are thus enabled to enjoy recreation, to use the
forest for pleasure as well as for work.

The smell of pine sawdust puts a resinous tang in the air
of Omak, Bend, Klamath Falls, Dorris, and Weed, to name
only a few of the pine mill towns. Pine is big business all
over the east side, and well it should be; pine lumber is one

THE CASCADE FOREST 195

of the most valuable woods in America, the economic main-
stay of many communities. This is the best-known and most
used box material in the West, particularly for fruit boxes.
It works with ease and hence is preferred for sash, doors,
furniture, toys, and general shop purposes in addition to
housing construction. A new solvent drying process removes
objectionable pitch from the knots and now the wood can
be painted satisfactorily, which opens up still more uses for
this already universally used timber.

In addition to its great value as lumber, the pine forest
protects the watersheds which mean life or death to the irri-
gated farms in the valleys below 5 under the trees there is
nutritious summer range for sheep and chunky beef cattle 5
and the forest provides an unsurpassed habitat for wildlife.

The Cascade ponderosa pine is cursed with a number of
insect enemies, chief among them the western pine beetle
which kills annually twenty to twenty-five times as much
timber as forest fires. Adult beetles lay eggs under the bark,
the larvae hatch and begin to gnaw tunnels in the vital
food-conducting tissues. If the larvae are so numerous that
their tunnels overlap, the tree is effectively girdled, and
dies. These beetles thrive on disaster. Following a terrific
blowdown which weakened whole forests of pine some years
ago, beetles moved in on the distressed trees and in one sea-
son took more timber than all pine loggers in the area. To
combat these epidemics, ponderosa foresters are now using
a system pioneered in northern California. Trees are classi-
fied according to beetle susceptibility and in a very light
cutting the most susceptible trees are removed, perhaps sev-
eral years before the normal logging front would have
reached them. The trees which are left are sufficiently re-

196 THE CASCADES

sistent to withstand normal attacks. There are other beetles
attacking ponderosa and other pines, but the western pine
beetle is by far the worst. Its threat of epidemic is a constant
sword held over western pine forestry.

A dreaded insect defoliator in the pine country is the
large, showy pandora moth. Its big, fat larvae feed upon
ponderosa needles and in serious epidemics may strip the
trees. In earlier days the Klamath Indians considered the
grubs a great delicacy, roasting them on a splinter over a
pine-cone fire. There are other insect enemies of ponderosa
and its associated Cascade pines, but these two exemplify
the worst of the common types bark beetles and leaf eaters.
Despite the inroads of pests and past heavy logging, pon-
derosa forests are now being managed on a long-term basis
in most places, and increased protection from insects and
fire should assure that this great tree will always be a main-
stay of the east-side Cascade forest.

In the Lassen-Shasta region and in southern Oregon a
close associate of ponderosa pine is its near relative the
Jeffrey pine. Ponderosa overlaps the Jeffrey both north in
the Cascades and south in the Sierra. Commercially they are
all one; the lumber is cut and sold without discrimination.
These two species hybridize and give taxonomists a head-
ache which is not cured even by the reams of "identification
literature" which allegedly make all things clear between
the species. Extreme specimens are readily distinguished, but
the characteristics are often so alike that any two similar
trees will at once provoke a furious controversy. In the
main, Jeffrey trunks are more reddish 5 the bark is broken
into narrower, deeper plates ; the needles are more bluish-
green, and longer^ and the cones are larger, often purple

THE CASCADE FOREST 197

when young, and a very light chocolate-brown when ma-
ture. The Jeffrey seeds are large, and hence very attractive
to squirrels, who clip off and destroy the cones to get at the
seeds. This habit is particularly noticeable in the magnifi-
cent stand of Jeffrey pine around Manzanita Lake in Lassen
Volcanic National Park. Red squirrels laboriously climb the
big trees here, chop off the large green cones and drop them
with an earth-shaking thump. Often as not a golden-man-
tled ground squirrel will pop out from a secluded den, seize
the cone, and with considerable grunting lug it into a burrow
before the red squirrel, in screaming indignation, can scuttle
down the tree fast enough to retrieve his prize. The red
squirrels never seem to learn , they climb, and cut, and grow
thinner and thinner, while the golden-mantled squirrels sit,
and eat, and grow fatter and fatter.

Sugar pine is the most valuable of the western pines but
is much less a tree in the Cascades, both in quantity and dis-
tribution, than in the Sierra. However it is still a magnificent
tree in the Cascades. The reddish or magenta bark points
out the tall heavy trunks from all other species. In early fall
the great cones are pendant from the tips of long straight
branches, ornamenting the crown as though it were a giant
Christmas tree. Sugar pine from a distance has stateliness,
but close at hand the great trunks, the warm coloring of the
bark, the noble crown, give it a grandeur almost unsurpassed.

It is limited to the southern end of the Cascades and in
commercial quantities does not extend far north of Crater
Lake. Here it is subject to disastrous frost injury. The thin
bark is little protection, and sudden drops in temperature
sometimes result in circular cracks in the wood. When placed
on the saw carriage, logs may open up like leaves of a quickly

IC)8 THE CASCADES

riffled book, the wood separating into uselessness along lines
of the annual rings. This represents a severe loss of valuable
wood.

Another adversity besets sugar pine and its five-needled
relatives, western white and white-bark pines. This is
blister rust, the dread disease which has killed untold num-
bers of these trees and which perils their continued existence.
Imported by accident in 1910, blister rust is now found all
over the West (the East, too). It has jumped as much as
two hundred miles in a year, making eradication both diffi-
cult and costly. The most common control measure used at
present is the elimination of currants and gooseberries, upon
which hosts the disease must spend half of its life cycle.

The western white pine is a sort of lesser sugar pine, with
smaller cones, smaller trunk, and a gray bark heavily
checked into small squarish plates. It is a fine lumber species,
and were it not for the surpassing value of the bigger tree,
it would be the best of western pines. This species is spar-
ingly distributed in the Cascades, never attaining the fine
stands that characterize white pine forests in Idaho.

Ponderosa, sugar, and western white pine have supplied
the lumber market for generations. Lately a long-despised
Cascades pine has also received some commercial notice. This
is the lodgepole, previously classed as too small and scrubby
to be of use. Now it is used as small poles, and minor quan-
tities are being sawed. It makes good pulp too (but there
is not enough water for pulp mills in most of the western
pine country).

White-bark pine is of interest because it is a creature of
the high places, a timber-line tree frequently associated with
mountain hemlock. Small, often scrubby, but always a tena-

THE CASCADE FOREST 199

cious tree, it lives a rough and precarious existence between
rock and snow. The five needles tend to cluster tightly, giv-
ing twigs a startled, bristly effect in contrast to the softer
sprays of sugar pine or white pine.

Two other pines in the Cascades have little utility for
the common purposes of man. Digger pine is restricted to
the California section of the range. It is a small, spraddled-
out tree, often with several trunks. The thin, bluish-gray
foliage sets it off sharply from other vegetation along State
Route 89 on the east-side foothills and in the upper
Sacramento Valley on the west side. The large stony seeds
of this tree were cherished as a food item by the Digger In-
dians. Knobcone pine is found in limited quantities in south-
ern Oregon, and in California chiefly on the west side of the
Cascades. Heavy, stony cones are borne in small clusters next
to trunk and branch, frequently becoming completely en-
cased by bark or wood. The cones are not readily consumed
by forest fires, but often are opened by the heat. This gives
knobcone a head start on burned areas and it becomes abun-
dant where other species and their seeds are completely fire-
killed.

THE HEMLOCKS

Western hemlock is the archetype species of the dark,
dank forest. Chiefly it is an understory tree, hanging on,
resisting competition, until it wears down some of its asso-
ciates and gains an equal position in the canopy. The thin
dark-brown bark is broken into long shallow ridges, and the
trunk is clean and straight, often free of branches for many
feet aboveground. The needles are not uniform as in the
firs, but of all lengths, small and fine, giving the twigs a

2OO THE CASCADES

delicate lacy appearance. The tiny cones belie their seed-
producing capacity, for hemlock usually produces large quan-
tities of very small, light seeds. They travel far, and account
for the wide dissemination of young trees wherever hemlock
seed source exists.

One odd characteristic of this tree is worth mention. The
seeds often light on top of an old stump or rotting tree. The
inherent hardiness of hemlock frequently enables the young
seedling to survive in such an unfavorable habitat 5 roots
quickly push down through the rotting wood and strike a
substantial footing into the solid ground. When the old
trunk finally decays into a pile of rubble, the husky young
hemlock will be found propped up in empty space by its
tough-fibered roots. At times these air-borne hemlocks as-
sume grotesque forms.

Western hemlock suffers from a black sheep in the family.
Eastern hemlock is a poor timber tree acceptable for casual
local use, but not a commercial species of any consequence.
When undiscerning loggers first hit Puget Sound they said
"Oh, more of that worthless hemlock," and for years it
was kicked around and cussed because it interfered with
Douglas fir logging. Strenuous efforts were made to get rid
of this so-called "weed tree." To the consternation of all
hands, it was presently discovered that this was not eastern
hemlock at all, but western hemlock, an entirely different
species. In fact not only was it valuable, but in some places
and for some uses, even more valuable than the favored
Douglas fir. For example, it makes a more satisfactory pulp
at less cost} and it is a harder, more durable flooring. It has
also been found that in some local areas hemlock will produce
more wood per acre than Douglas fir. For these various rea-

THE CASCADE FOREST 2OI

sons this long-maligned tree has now come into its own and
is one of the leading commercial species in the Cascades.

On more justifiable grounds the mountain hemlock is as
yet unknown to the lumber trade* It is a smaller tree, though
occasionally it stretches to four feet in diameter ; and it is
frequently bowed and gnarled from ceaseless struggle with
the elements. The mountain hemlock is no sissy ; it grows
on the roof of the Cascades where life is a constant free-
for-all against wind and stone and storm. It pioneers on
lava flows and the pumice-dust high prairies ; it battles the
deep summit snows to push timber line just a little higher.
Its heavily seamed gray bark is comparable to the wrinkled
hide of the old homesteader who won't admit the severity of
life on his rugged claim. The mountain hemlock deserves
more recognition. There are substantial forests of this species
on high ground close to the Cascades summit. In many areas
it is the only tree, sometimes the only vegetation, and hence
it is extremely valuable as a watershed protector.

For many years there was an infallible aid in identifying
the hemlocks the terminal lops over like a buggy whip.
This easy era came to an abrupt end recently when an earnest
freshman forester honestly inquired, "But what does a buggy
whip look like?"

THE BALSAM FIRS

Noble fir is a tree of the clean mountain slopes ranging
from elevations of 1,500 to 5,000 feet. The form of the tree
is a delight to the lumberman as well as to the layman ; tall
and straight, it tapers but little until the very crown. Fre-
quently the crown is concentrated on the upper portion of the
stem, leaving a long clear trunk. The foliage varies from

2O2 THE CASCADES

deep green almost to a robin's-egg blue. Viewed from a
lookout tower as the afternoon sun slants across these vari-
colored rippling twigs, the branches seem almost fluores-
cent. To complete the virtues of the noble fir, it has a mag-
nificent cone, probably largest of the genus except for that
of the California red fir. The spear-tipped papery bracts
of the bright-green cone completely wrap it, spiraling
around in precise rows which make it most attractive. As with
all balsam firs, the cones shatter while still on the tree, leav-
ing the central stalks upright like Christmas candles.

In addition to these natural graces, noble fir has another.
Along with the Shasta and California red firs, it is a Christ-
mas tree of incomparable beauty. In the young tree, branches
and twigs align themselves into patterns as geometrically
perfect as snowflakes. In this form it is such a majestic fir
that the most costly ornaments are shabbily synthetic com-
pared to the intrinsic beauty of the tree.

Lumbermen have been guilty of a botanical libel in the
naming of noble fir. Years ago an enterprising lumber dealer
found that he could sell larch when he couldn't sell balsam
fir, so noble fir promptly became larch. It is still "larch" to
Northwest loggers, and the misnomer is perpetuated in
Larch Mountain, east of Portland. There are no larches
within many miles of the mountain, and the top is wholly
covered with noble fir.

During World War II there was a frantic scramble for
high-quality wood to be used in aircraft. Noble fir was found
to have the necessary qualities, almost identical to those of
Sitka spruce, and access roads were pushed all over the Cas-
cades to reach the fir. The R.A.F. Mosquito bomber was
built of noble fir frames and birch wing covering. War uses

THE CASCADE FOREST 203

demonstrated that the fir was a versatile wood and it is now
more widely used than ever before. Foresters have begun
extensive plantations of noble fir in reforestation projects.

Close relatives of the noble fir in mountain habitat and in
use are the California red fir, Abies magnifica, and its va-
riety, Shasta red fir, Abies magnifica var. shastensis. Both
these firs are more heavily represented in the Sierra than in
the Cascades, but they reach into southern Oregon around
Crater Lake and a little north. It is very difficult to distin-
guish between these two without the cones: that of magnifica
is smooth on the surface, while in the Shasta variety the
papery bracts project like little bookmarks. The Shasta red
fir, in cone and in other characteristics, is intermediate be-
tween the California red and the noble firs, giving credence
to the belief that these trees hybridize extensively. The spe-
cies have so many similar characteristics, and there are such
variations in form within one species, that throughout the
Cascades the identification of the various firs is baffling to
expert and amateur alike.

The red firs are highly prized for Christmas * trees under
the name of silver-tips, and they fetch fantastic prices. One
enterprising vendor takes pictures of individual trees in the
forest, each tagged with a number. The pictures are then
displayed with great showmanship to a "restricted clientele"
in a gaudy metropolitan area. Patrons pay up to $25 to have
specific trees reserved for future Christmas seasons.

The red firs are increasing in value as lumber species. For

* The Cascades yield other holiday decorations. Mistletoe, staghorn moss,
and huge sugar-pine cones now go to Chicago and other eastern markets.
Local favorites are chinquapin leaf and burr clusters, salal greens, and the
attractive coral-red clumps of madrone berries.

2O4 THE CASCADES

many years the more favored trees such as sugar pine and
ponderosa pine were cut almost to the exclusion of the red
firs. Lately, decreasing quantities of the former species in ac-
cessible areas, plus high lumber demand, make red fir log-
ging a profitable enterprise.

The Pacific silver fir does not appear in California but is
an important tree in the Cascade forest in Oregon and Wash-
ington. It is cut along with noble fir, Douglas fir, and hem-
lock, and the wood is rarely distinguished from noble fir in
trade circles. The silver fir gains its name in part from the
whitish trunk of younger trees and from the strikingly silver
underside of the leaves. These form a sharp contrast with
the dark glossy green of the upper surfaces. The needles are
blunt and closely appressed to the twigs, giving small
branches a stubby appearance. The heavy purple cones are
smooth, smaller than noble fir, but also very attractive against
the heavy foliage.

Like the red fir, the grand fir, Abies grandis, and white
fir, Abies concolor, are steadily advancing in economic im-
portance. The former has been used by Northwest pulp mills
for a good many years, but extensive milling of both species
is a comparatively recent development. These trees are well
distributed throughout the Cascades, although grandis is
found sparingly in the California part of the range, and con-
color is more concentrated there than to the north. Both
species are marketed as white fir, and when properly dried
are acceptable for most lumber purposes.

Alpine fir, the last of the balsam firs found in the Cas-
cades, is the most widely distributed of the species, running
from Alaska to New Mexico. It is more of a Rocky Moun-
tain species than a Cascade mountain species, though it is

THE CASCADE FOREST 2O5

found at many points throughout the range in Washington
and Oregon. It has no commercial value as yet, but is bene-
ficial in watershed protection. Every migrant to southern
California depends in part on Colorado's alpine fir for his
water supply j and Klamath potato growers are equally re-
liant on alpine fir in the southern Oregon Cascades. This
is not a big tree, but it is an interesting one. It has by
long odds the sharpest crown of the mountain species. At
times the heavily foliated lower branches cluster thickly
all the way down to the ground, where they ripple out and
drape around the base of the tree like a heavy velvet dress,
too long for its wearer. It is unique and very lovely. The al-
pine fir also does something for the soul as well as for the
sight. The long, tapering, needle-like spires, steel-sharp
against a pristine cloud, give the mountain dweller a cathedral
of the joyous heart, a proof against the spiritually meager
existence of the mean and money-grubbing town. No man
who has stood on a rocky summit will question the worth of
alpine fir.

THE CEDARS

The most extensive cedar in the Cascades is the California
incense cedar, which runs up into Oregon almost to the San-
tiam country. At various times this species has been used for
pencil-slat stock, but it is subject to severe heart rot, and the
difficulty of cutting out clear material has forced abandon-
ment of operations. Because of the indigenous rot the wood
is not suitable for many other purposes, and it is frequently
left in the woods when more valuable species are cut. This is
gradually creating a serious problem in forest management:
with so much seed source of incense cedar remaining, the

2O6 THE CASCADES

young forest following cutting will run heavily to this ill-
favored species.

Western red cedar does not reach into California in the
Cascades, but in Oregon and more especially in Washington
it is an important timber species for lumber, poles, and shin-
gles. Most of the shingles made in the United States come
from Washington. This tree was important in the Indian
economy of the Northwest. It furnished war canoes and to-
tem poles, logs for the lodges, bark strands for weaving
clothing and baskets. Red cedar was most plentiful on the
moist lowlands of Washington. Now that area has been
turned to farms and pasture, and as logging progresses up
the Cascade slopes there is less cedar in the forest; it begins
to be a scarce commodity in some lumber markets.

The Alaska yellow cedar is less well known than the other
cedars, for in the Northwest it is confined almost entirely to
scattered areas in upper reaches of the Olympics and Cas-
cades. Textbooks do not show the tree in California, but re-
cently its presence has been authenticated in the extreme
northwestern part of the state. The extremely stringy and
pendulous branchlets on this tree give it a unique waterfall
effect. The small globular cone is similar to that of Port
Orford white cedar but it is six-segmented rather than eight,
and there are little hooks on the cone scales. For certain iden-
tification, the wood just beneath the thin bark smells like a
freshly cut potato. Alaska yellow cedar wood is beautiful ma-
terial to work. Many years ago the writer and some friends
built a two-story log cabin, roofing it with yellow cedar
shakes, and what shakes! They were an inch thick, a foot
and a half wide, and nearly four feet long, fully lapped to
give a double roof. This rugged construction was needed to

THE CASCADE FOREST 2OJ

bear up under the wet twenty-foot snows of the northern
Cascades. Another use of yellow cedar warrants mention.
Along the north Pacific Coast where the Cascades fringe the
sea, boats are as germane to daily life as are cars in Cali-
fornia. Many local craftsmen in the little cannery towns lend
their skills to boat building. The Indian fishermen used to
be very handy in boat work, molding the wood to shape their
seaworthy craft with scarcely a nail. The wood they prefer
is Alaska yellow cedar. It is light and tough and works so
well that it is a joy to use. Too bad there is not more of it in
the southern Cascades.

THE LARCHES

There are two larches in the Washington Cascades, one
in Oregon, and none in California. The more common tree
is western larch, sparse throughout the Cascades in compari-
son to its extensive stands in the Rockies. Mature trees are
almost as large in diameter as ponderosa pine, and compare
favorably in height. The foliage is a soft green, the needles
clustered on little knobs along the branches. There is a deli-
cate fern-like pattern to the twigs in their summer green, a
brief moment of bright yellow in autumn, and a forlorn
spider-web appearance against gray winter skies when the
needles have fallen for the larch is deciduous. Western
larch ranges over widely differing territory. In northern
Oregon it is companion to ponderosa pine on pumice flats
along the Metolius River, and in Washington it is an asso-
ciate of balsam firs and Douglas fir in the upper slopes.

Mountain larch is confined to northern Washington at
high elevations and is noteworthy for two reasons: few
people have seen it, and those who do may not believe their

2O8 THE CASCADES

eyes. The young branches are fuzzy with a white wool 5 when
one of these dew-covered trees is silhouetted against a misty
early morning sun, each twig apparently wears a halo, a very
arresting sight*

ENGELMANN SPRUCE

The last major conifer in the Cascades is Engelmann
spruce, more properly a Rocky Mountain tree and only spar-
ingly found in the former range. However, since it is the
only spruce in the Cascades, something should be said for it.
This is a good tree, tall and clean, excellent for lumber pur-
poses, though not occurring in stands large enough to sup-
port any extensive harvesting of the species. It is strictly an
upper-slope type, and does not overlap the better-known
Sitka spruce of the Coast Range. For purposes of identifica-
tion the species are distinguished as follows: an unsuspecting
citizen brashly seizing a Sitka spruce branch would be moved
to yell "Blankety blank blank"} whereas the same man tak-
ing hold of Engelmann spruce would merely say "Ouch."
In other respects they are much the same small flaky plates
scaling off the thin bark, which is essentially reddish purple,
but darker in the Sitka and somewhat grayer in the Engel-
mann. In the Cascades, Engelmann spruce is a useful mem-
ber of the watershed protection group of summit trees.

PACIFIC YEW

A minor tree, but common throughout the west-side Cas-
cade forest is the yew, of archery renown. This is no lost art
for there are public hunting grounds in the West reserved
to archers. In local areas the processing of yew bolts into
bows is quite an industry. Yew is an understory tree, gen-

THE CASCADE FOREST 2O9

erally found beneath the canopies of Douglas fir or hemlock.
Needles are flat, dark green above, lighter beneath, and the
twigs hence resemble redwood superficially. However, the
fruit is a delicate pink berry instead of a cone, and the bark is
not thick and stringy, but thin and red-plated over a smooth
purple underbark. A curious habit of this species is to form
dense jungles of a few to many acres. A notable example is
near Lake of the Woods in southern Oregon.

The Cascade conifers have been reviewed roughly in order
of diminishing importance. None of them is valueless ; even
those not yet turned into wood products, such as alpine fir
and mountain hemlock, have considerable utility for water-
shed protection. However, all other forest values are rela-
tively unimportant compared to the tremendous worth of the
Cascade conifers in the lumber business. In northern Call-
fornia, lumbering is one of the most important industries,
and in Washington it supports one-third of the people di-
rectly or indirectly. In Oregon the lumber business leads all
industries, even including agriculture, and it has contributed
a half-billion dollars to the state in a single year. The eco-
nomic lifeblood of the Pacific Northwest is the forest, most
of it the coniferous timber of the Cascade mountains.

THE FUTURE OF THE FOREST

The forest manager must utilize each species for its high-
est use, control the growing conditions so far as possible to
produce the best timber crop, and conduct the harvest so that
other forest values are not impaired. This kind of multiple-
use forest management in the Cascades is of relatively recent
origin, but it has come a long way in a short time.

2IQ THE CASCADES

The beginning of private forestry in the Cascades prop-
erly dates back to a stormy summer afternoon nearly forty-
five years ago. Thunder rolled ominously and lightning
stabbed the forest. Marvin Nye propped himself in the door-
way of the old moss-grown toll station at Cascadia, watching
anxiously. Not only keeper of the tollgate on the Willamette
Valley and Cascades Mountain Wagon Road, he was also
custodian of the valuable forest grant through which the road
worked its rugged passage. Electrical storms in the arid sum-
mer were a constant cause for worry and for watching. There
it was! A thin plume of blue smoke rose slowly, raggedly,
above the green firs on the distant mountain across the rough
Santiam Valley. Nye hastily summoned a crew and they
plunged into the woods with ax and mattock to subdue the
fire. The year was 1904. The date is important because it
marked the first organized effort of forest owners in the mid-
Cascades to combat fire, their greatest enemy.

Pioneer Nye * lived until 1944, and witnessed in this pe-
riod an incredible transformation of forestry in the Cascades.
From his humble beginning finding a small fire and put-
ting it out forest management in these mountains has
grown to a complex enterprise employing thousands of men
and requiring the investment of millions of dollars. To main-
tain the supply of raw material a number of companies and
individuals have established "tree farms": forest properties
pledged to permanent production. Tree farms must meet

*An interesting side light is Nye's reaction to the first automobile which
appeared at the tollgate. The old tariff sign, about four by six feet in size,
gave the rates for passage of everything from weaners to wagons. But no
automobile. Nye was only momentarily nonplussed. In a decision worthy of
Solomon, he charged the first car to pass through the gate three cents, the
same rate charged for a hog.

THE CASCADE FOREST 211

standards of good forest management established by forest-
ers of the lumber industry. Under this program, coupled
with better utilization of wood, a large segment of the indus-
try can stabilize its production, maintain employment, and
sustain communities.

Among the public forest owners, states and counties have
only minor holdings, but state forestry along the West Coast
has made a good beginning. State forest practice laws, better
protection standards, and more thorough reforestation, are
all helping to keep timberlands productive in the Cascade
mountains.

The federal government is the largest owner, public or
private, in the entire range. National Forests extend from
the Mount Baker at the Canadian boundary to the Lassen in
northern California. From a timber-production standpoint
these are the most important federal forests in the country.
They are managed by the U.S. Forest Service, the Bureau
of Land Management, and the Indian Service, for multiple-
use purposes. This means that considerations of recreation,
wildlife, grazing, and watershed protection are taken into
account in timber management planning. Under the mul-
tiple-use policy, some national forest lands will not be op-
erated for timber production.* These include scenic road and
riverside strips, campgrounds and primitive regions, and
winter sports areas such as the Mount Hood and Mount
Baker "winter wonderlands."

On all these public timberlands, and on an increasing num-

* Of course no cutting is permitted on the exclusively recreational areas
administered by the National Park Service. Forests in the three National
Parks, Mount Rainier, Crater Lake, and Lassen Volcanic, have greater
esthetic value than lumber value and will be retained uncut.

212 THE CASCADES

her of private operations, timber is being harvested on a sus-
tained yield basis that is to say, the quantity of timber cut
in any period is limited to the quantity which the forest man-
ager can grow in the same period. This necessitates protection
of young timber during harvesting ; the leaving of adequate
seed sources or replanting j thorough protection against fire,
insects, and disease 5 and research, especially in forest prod-
ucts, to make the best possible use of all the wood which is
grown. Developments like these will give greater perma-
nence to lumber towns and greater value to the Cascade
forests.

CASCADE FORESTER

An account of Cascade mountain trees would be incomplete
without acknowledgment of Oliver Matthews, the tree
tramp of Salem, Oregon. He is the benevolent chronicler of
the trees, a man devoted to the wildwood. He knows well
the great forest, and in his quiet way strives to make it appre-
ciated by the layman. Cascade timber to many people is
chiefly a valuable commodity, but it is also ruggedly beauti-
ful, and this aspect of the forest will live in the woods and in
the pictures of Oliver Matthews.

The man himself is sharp nosed, sharp eyed, and long
legged 5 agile as an antelope, too. His shock of wiry white
hair belies the vigor with which he runs the legs off young
woodsmen. He is neither a forester nor a botanist by profes-
sion, but he knows more about Northwest trees than either
of them. In winter he labors long nights at a cannery, and
in summer scours the forest untiringly in search of more tree
information. Let there be even the faintest rumor of an odd
tree, a big tree, an old tree, or a species growing off the res-

THE CASCADE FOREST 213

ervation, and the crack o dawn will find Oliver en route. He
will return triumphant with the facts, for he never quits un-
til he has run the answer to ground. As a result of this un-
ending capacity for hard work, this singleness of purpose, he
has shamed armchair taxonomists by proving them conspicu-
ously wrong in identification or distribution of certain spe-
cies. He has extended the range of limber pine into Oregon,
and Alaska yellow cedar into Calif ornia; he has discovered
the rare cut-leaf alder sport and the columnar white fir 3 he
has found a new variety of Baker cypress now deservedly
named for him 3 he has put more than 225,000 miles on his
Model A, and has taken years off his life through exposure
and adversity. The result of all this ardor? A gem of a tree
book being worked upon with absorbing effort, regardless of
health or cost or time*

THE FLOWERS IN OUR
BIT OF PARADISE

by Harry W. Hagen

/very man dreams of some peaceful, quiet place where
he can go for recreation, a place that is entirely different
from his everyday hurried existence. It may be the ocean
beach, a dude ranch, a lake in the deep forest, a certain fish-
ing hole, or any of a thousand and one places in this wonder-
ful land of ours. Some years ago my wife and I found the
place that fulfills our dreams, a place where we can "get
away from it all," as it were, and forget all our cares and
worries. We forget all these anxieties because our Bit of
Paradise, as we call it, is so full of wonderful things to see
and to do that there is no time or energy left for worrying.
What appeals to us most about this place is the abundance of
beautiful flowers that fills our paradise to overflowing. Where
is this place? It is high up in the mountains in what the nat-
uralists call the Hudsonian zone where the trees open up
into beautiful meadows so full of flowers of every color that
they excite the interest of everyone, be he flower lover or not.
Almost all mountain ranges rise high enough to contain
this lovely Hudsonian zone. Perhaps you will say that we can
go many, many places and find our paradise. In a sense this
is true, as the mountain meadows of all ranges are generally

217

2l8 THE CASCADES

very much alike and are filled with quite the same types of
flowers the world over. But when Maxine and I are in the
alpine meadows of the Cascades, we feel as though we are at
home and that these are our own meadows. Here are the
flowers we love the best because we know them so well.
Everyone is aware of the wonders and beauties of other
places, but those he knows, those that are a part of him and
of which he is a part, always seem a little better. I suppose it
is the affection of intimacy that makes this so the same deep
feeling we have for old friends. So it is in any of the alpine
regions of the lovely, friendly Cascades that Maxine and I
have our Bit of Paradise.

Below and leading up to this Eden of ours, the slopes and
ridges are covered with a magnificent forest of coniferous
trees: fir, cedar, pine, and hemlock, with a sprinkling here
and there of maple, alder, willow, cottonwood, and a few
others. This forest, too, is filled with flowers, some large,
others small, some very lovely and others with strange forms.
In some parts it is dark and somber and in others it is open
and sunny. Each place has its flowers: some need the light
and others like shade, some seek dry slopes and some want
it wet. Winding through this very fine forest are highways,
roads, and trails of all sorts that will take us up to the alpine
meadows with their sweeping views of timber-covered ridges,
sharp high peaks, summer snow fields and gorgeous carpets
of lupine, lilies, asters, phlox, paintbrush, and many other
flowers. These highways and byways are what Maxine and
I call the Trail to Paradise and a wonderful, flowery trail it
is, exceeded in beauty only by the Paradise to which it leads.
Since it is the flowers you want to hear about and just where
and how to find them, Maxine and I are going to take you on

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 2,19

a trip along this trail from beginning to end, through our Bit
of Paradise and even up onto the high ridges and peaks
above it. Then, after this simulated trip, perhaps you will
want to come and take a real trip and see for yourself all the
wonders that are waiting here for you. If once you make the
acquaintance of a few of the flowers, you will never be satis-
fied until you know more and more of them. First, however,
I want to tell you how we discovered our Bit of Paradise
and came to learn that the paths we had trod so often before
were a part of the wonderful Trail.

OUR FIRST ADVENTURE AMONG THE FLOWERS

It was on a wet mid- June day, on our honeymoon in the
mountains, that the flower enthusiasm came over us. How
completely we were taken we did not realize at the time,
for we were climbers lovers of the high peaks. There we
felt the exhilaration of space and height that only the climber
knows. On this wet June day we had planned to climb
Boulder Peak, but the rain and fog tagged our heels as it
had everywhere else we had gone. Breaking out of the wet
forest we came to a high mountain lake surrounded by snow-
banks, patches of bare ground and clumps of trees with
everything engulfed in fog and drizzle. We built a small
fire with the help of squaw-wood and pitch strips and
warmed our cold fingers. As weather like this might last
indefinitely, there was no use going farther. We started back.
For want of anything more interesting to do we decided to
see how many wild flowers we could find along the way and
how many we knew. Having come from the East Coast just
a few years before, Maxine knew almost none, and although
I am a native of Seattle, I was of little help.

22O THE CASCADES

Our meager knowledge proved to be a challenge. A month
and a half later found us in the mountain meadows of Mount
Rainier National Park for a week. This time we came
equipped with several books to help us with identification.
Armed with our slight knowledge and learned books we
started up the trail toward Pinnacle Peak. Each time we
found a new flower we sat down to see if we could discover
its identity. Words like hypogynous, glabrous, serrate, calyx,
were like a foreign language to us. A glossary helped but
it was slow going. One glen, which was carpeted with saxi-
frage, mimulus, shooting stars, and many other flowers un-
known to us at the time, completely ensnared us, and we
just sat there for the rest of the afternoon.

The effects of our enthusiasm were beginning to appear.
We began to realize how many flowers there actually were
and how very little we knew of them. From then on our
trips have been planned with the primary object of learning
the flowers and their habits, and the climbing of the peaks
has become secondary. Many a mountain mile we had cov-
ered before and had seen only the scenic wonders. Now
we are accompanied by a host of new-found friends. They
had been quietly standing by all the time, but we had been
too eager to get along the trail, too eager to reach the sum-
mit of our peak to notice them. It takes longer now to make
a thousand feet of elevation, and when we reach the lovely
flowering alpine meadows they usually fascinate us so much
that the peaks above quite often have to wait until another
day. We still climb them, though, and are richly rewarded
because some of the loveliest and most charming blossoms
are found growing on the cliffs and among the rocks of the
high peaks far up in the Arctic-Alpine zone.

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 221
THE ROADS ARE LINED WITH FLOWERS

Now it is time to begin our trip, so let us get in our car
and we shall be on our way. We shall have no itinerary, for
who can tell how long we will be with each flower or where
our wandering footsteps will take us. We only know that
we must see as much of these wonderful Cascades as we can,
see them in the spring, the summer, the fall, and spend
some time in each of the different zones they contain. We
shall travel from the Transition zone at their base and in
the low river valleys, up through the lovely Canadian zone
into the glorious Hudsonian zone (where our Bit of Para-
dise lies), and finally up to the high ridges and wonderful
peaks of the Arctic- Alpine zone. These zones do not have a
constant elevation throughout the range. They are lowest
in the northern part, with a gradual upward trend from
north to south.

As we speed along the highway and draw near to the
mountains the flowers seem to come out to greet us. Butter-
cups cover the moist places with a golden-yellow and green
carpet and spill through the fences into the meadows and
pastures of the farms and ranches along the way. Large
white daisies bob and nod their heads as we swish by, and
the foxglove lifts its tall spire of white or deep-pink tubes
for us to admire. Foxglove is a native of Europe but has
become perfectly naturalized here in the Northwest, a fact
that amazes many people. The drug digitalis is extracted
from it, and therefore Digitalis purpurea is beneficial as well
as handsome. Goat's beard, Aruncus Sylvester, grows on
moist banks and gets its name from the way its long thin
panicle of small white flowers droops down. Rosy spireas

222 THE CASCADES

line some parts of the roads and in the open woods we see
ocean spray, elderberry, and the lovely, fragrant syringa
which some people call mock orange.

TALL, MAJESTIC TREES

Our car plunges into a canyon, a canyon of trees, tall and
majestic, for at last we have come to the virgin forest. The
major part of the Cascades is within National Forests and
so, fortunately, large tracts are barred to the logger. Three
National Parks: Mount Rainier, Crater Lake, and Lassen
Volcanic, are included within its far-flung reaches. Some
areas are designated as Primitive Areas and have no de-
velopments at all except trails and a few access roads. Here
we can find the forest primeval, unscathed by sharp ax or
rasping saw, and though we are here to find flowers, we
cannot help raising our eyes and admiring these wonderful
trees. This is the home of the huge Douglas fir which some-
times reaches a height of three hundred feet and is exceeded
in size only by the sequoias of California. Western hem-
lock is abundant here, growing to a great height though
not equaling the Douglas fir. Western red cedar frequents
the low, moist river valleys. Its wood is noted for weather-
resistant qualities and the Indians hollowed out the great
logs to make their canoes. Silver fir, noble fir, and grand
fir are scattered throughout the forest but never reach the
size or dominance of the Douglas fir and the western hem-
lock. At Crater Lake National Park and in the southern
end of the Cascades the Douglas fir is less abundant, and
here we find ponderosa pine, which is generally called yel-
low pine, and lodgepole pine. In valleys, along streams,

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 223

and in other favorable locations broadleaf maple, vine maple,
alder, willow, and cottonwood are common.

Walking through a forest is like being in a different world
entirely. Trees, large and small, stretch up and up to the
life-giving sunlight, for you know they must have light to
survive. The weaker, slower growing trees are gradually
overshadowed by the strong, vigorous ones and sooner or
later die for lack of sunlight. Lower branches die off, one
by one, as the trees grow taller and taller to keep them-
selves in the sun. Thus the forest thins and prunes itself,
and eventually great trunks are produced that stand like
pillars in a temple, tall, straight, and awe-inspiring. Trees
that measure 75, 100, and even 150 feet from base to the
first branch are frequently encountered.

The ground is covered with shade-loving plants and
shrubs that form a tangle of underbrush, while dead trees,
leveled by age or the elements, sprawl upon the ground or
lean against their neighbors some newly fallen, others
covered with mosses, and some in the last stages of decom-
position*

WE START UP THE TRAIL

Somewhere in this wonderful forest we shall find a trail
to our liking, and here we shall leave our car, for we must
take to our two feet to see the flowers. It makes no differ-
ence just where we choose our trail northern, middle, or
southern part of the range for every section has charm to
spare.

Lovely little spring beauty, Montia sibirica, will be there
to greet us with its small white or pinkish flowers veined
with red. It is one of the very first to bloom, is quite com-

THE CASCADES

mon, and keeps blossoming well into the summer. Another
species we shall see is the small-leaf spring beauty, Clay-
tonia parvifolia. It grows on mossy banks and cliffs and
along rocky stream banks. The small, single flower growing
near the clump of spring beauty is star-flower, Trientalis
latifolia. If you look closely you will see that its blossom is
a perfect little six-pointed star which, like the spring beauty,
is sometimes white and sometimes pinkish. A patch of yellow
ahead catches our eye and when we get there we find it is
the yellow woodland violet, Viola glabella. Most people
call it Johnny-jump-up. Johnny-jump-up grows abundantly
all along the trails and throughout the forests of the Cas-
cades until we have climbed quite a bit higher where we
will find a cousin that likes higher altitudes. His pretty
yellow flowers and heart-shaped leaves will capture your
heart as they have mine. Violets are one of my favorite
flowers and I always delight in finding them.

Sometimes I hear a conversation like this, "Why look
over there! There is some bleeding heart. What's it doing
way out here? Pve got some in my garden at home." This
always amuses me because wild bleeding heart, Dicentra
formosa, was here long before the white man ever came. Its
home is in these forests and here for ages it has spread its
lovely, lobed, fern-like foliage and held up its sweet little
pink hearts. Its specific name, formosa, means beautiful and
when you see it you will say that truly it is well named.

Now our wandering feet lead us near a boggy stream and
a strong, unpleasant odor assails our noses. We follow it to
a handsome yellow flower that looks something like a calla
lily growing right in the mud. The flower appears first, and
later the large, cabbage-like leaves will develop. The scien-

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 225

tist calls it Lysichitum americanum, a few people call it swamp
lily, but to everyone else it is skunk cabbage and our noses
say this is right. It may have an offensive odor but its large
yellow bloom brightens up gloomy, swampy places like a
patch of golden sunlight. Now let us look around a little bit,
for this is the home of another of Johnny- jump-up's cousins,
one that is as shy as he is bold. Ah, there it is nestled down
among the grasses and other plants, a little bit of pale violet or
lilac. It is our pretty little swamp violet, Viola palustris, shy
and inconspicuous, moisture-loving, short of stature, but a fine
example of our wild violets. We will find it in bogs, along
mossy stream banks, and in wet meadows from the foot of
the mountains all the way up to the alpine meadows where
it joins with myriads of other wild flowers in our Bit of Para-
dise.

But come, we must be on our way, for there are many
treasures yet to be found as we make our way up the trail
through deep forest and open glades, by rushing streams,
murmuring brooks, and splashing waterfalls, and across oc-
casional old burns. Each of "nature's darlings," as John Muir
called them, demands that we stop and make its acquaintance,
but there are so many hundreds of different flowers that in
the short time we have together I can describe only a com-
paratively small number of them and tell you the names of
a few others.

Trilliums like the shady forest and are unmistakable with
their three white petals and three broad leaves at the top of
a stout stem about six inches to a foot long. The flowers turn
lovely shades of pink and purple just before they die. They
are close relatives of the eastern wake-robin. The wild lily-

226 THE CASCADES

of-the-valley, maianthemum, raises its stalk of tiny white
blooms, and we see the small white stars of false Solomon's
seal, smilacina, and the dainty bells of the twisted stalk,
streptopus. Now our trail leads through more open forests
and here we see the fine tiger lily, Lilium columbianum,
named in honor of the Columbia River on whose banks it
was first discovered. Its beautiful petals are orange covered
with brown-purple spots. Why it is called tiger lily instead
of leopard lily I have never been able to find out, but peo-
ple do many peculiar things, so tiger lily it is. If we happen
to be in Oregon, we shall see the Washington lily, Lilium
Washingtonianum, with its beautiful white blossoms finely
dotted with purple. It seems unfortunate that the lily bear-
ing the name of the state of Washington does not grow
there and that Washingtonians must go to Oregon or Cali-
fornia to admire it, but such are the vagaries of plant nomen-
clature. All plants have their northern and southern limits,
as well as their altitudinal limits, but perhaps some day
someone may undertake the fine task of gathering seeds of
this beautiful lily and sowing them in various places in the
Cascades of Washington. If they will not grow there, nothing
will be lost, but if they do, then Washington will have
gained a fine new inhabitant and all Washingtonians will
be grateful to him who sowed so well. If we are lucky we
may see a checker lily, Fritillaria lanceolata. This one has
dark purplish flowers mottled with greenish yellow but un-
fortunately is not as common as the other two.

The tall shrub with magenta flowers and prickles which
scratch our arms as we brush by is the salmonberry. It is so
named for the color of its fruit, which ranges from shades
of deep yellow and salmon to dark red and is shaped like an

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 227

overgrown raspberry. The one with larger leaves and flat
whitish flowers is the thimbleberry. It has a flattish, red fruit
like a wide shallow thimble. The red elderberry is covered
with sprays of creamy white, and just ahead we see a large
bush with roundish leaves and showy white flowers. That is
a serviceberry. The bush with the oval, dull green leaves
that fills many places between the trees with a massive tan-
gle and tumbles down over banks is salal. The small urn-
shaped flowers all hang from the underside of the flower
stalk and develop into black sweet berries that were gathered
in great quantities by the Indians. The pioneers made pies
and jams of them, but nowadays we very seldom hear of
anyone gathering them. Salal is related to the eastern win-
tergreens and, like those plants, it contains an oil which
makes it an extreme fire hazard during dry spells. It then
takes fire very readily and burns rapidly with an explosive,
crackling sound.

See that smaller shrub with the glossy, holly-like leaves
and loose spike of yellow flowers? That is the Oregon grape,
Berberis Aquif olium, the state flower of Oregon. Well chosen
it is, say I, for the whole plant is beautiful, not just the
flowers. It is held in such high esteem that it and its varieties
are used in multitudes of rock gardens as well as to line
walks and driveways, not only in the Northwest, but in
many other parts of the country. It is not really a grape at
all but is a member of the barberry family and brings forth
dark-blue, tart berries. When I was a boy, my brother and
I used to pick them as well as salal and my mother made
an excellent jelly by combining sweet salal and tart Oregon
grape. Wild strawberries are frequently found in these open
forests and if we have time to look around, we shall surely

228 THE CASCADES

find some. The berries are much smaller than the cultivated
varieties but they are also just as much sweeter as they are
smaller. If you like your strawberries fresh from the vine
without cream and sugar, there is a treat in store for you
when you bite through a wild strawberry. Blackcaps are an-
other real treat. We shall recognize them very easily because
their stems are nearly white, have stout stickers, and are
densely clustered at the base. The white flowers are small
and inconspicuous but the black berries, shaped like little
skullcaps, are delicious. A dish of blackcaps with cream, or
better still ice cream, is a dish fit for the gods.

THE FOREST RECLAIMS ITS OWN

A forest fire is like a demon let loose and leaves in its
wake only destruction and desolation. If the fire is a large
one, it consumes everything. The very fertility is burned
out of the soil. Some of the older logging operations were
nearly as bad. The slashings were left on the ground and
soon became as dry as tinder. Eventually they caught fire,
and, just as with a regular forest fire, the aftermath was
desolation. So much is taken out of the soil that practically
nothing will grow in it and the area presents an unvarying
bleak, wasted appearance year after year. Mother Nature,
however, being wise in all things, has designed plants that
will flourish even in these burned-out places.

Our trail leads through one of these old burns and the
first thing we see is giant fireweed, Epilobium angustif olium.
It is generally about two to three feet high but on occasion
grows much taller $ it has long, narrow, alternate leaves and
is topped with a long loose cluster of deep-pink or rose-

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 229

purple flowers. It is very abundant in dry places like this,
and though a single plant is not overly beautiful, large
masses of it make a very pleasing sight.

I remember one trip where our road crossed a place that
had been logged off a long time before. Enough time had
passed so that the ground was generally covered with a little
green, and patches of alders, four or five feet high, grew
here and there. But what made us stop the car was the fire-
weed. We were on a gently rolling plateau and the whole
area was covered with deep-pink fireweed like a sea of color
swelling, rolling, and sweeping away from us for miles in
every direction. High spots that caught the sun's direct rays
were pink, slopes were a deeper pink, and the hollows were
rose-purple. Nearly every degree of shading was there, and
we just sat and drank it in until Bs-s-s-s-t! a bee went right
through the car, in one open window and out the other.
Then we noticed that there were swarms of bees buzzing
around in every direction. The explanation was simple. Fire-
weed makes excellent honey. A beekeeper, taking advantage
of the hundreds of acres of nectar-filled blossoms, was
parked a short distance from us with his truck, trailer, and
portable beehives. We closed the car windows and lingered
a little while before driving on our way. The Indians gave
this plant its name of fireweed because when it is in bloom,
it makes the hills look as though they are on fire. Later
the seeds blow away in masses like clouds of smoke.

Now let us drop our eyes and see what some of this green
is that sparsely covers the ground. There is a vine with
stickers and plain white flowers. We call them wild black-
berries, although there are other blackberries that grow wild

23O THE CASCADES

here. The latter are just called blackberries. Wild black-
berries straggle along the ground and grow over old logs
and stumps. They are the hardest ones to pick, but also have
the finest flavor. They make the best preserves and when
baked in a pie, are in a class by themselves.

These old burns are favorites o the brake fern, or bracken
as some call it. We have seen it in practically all dry, waste
places but it has a great liking for logged-off or burned-off
land. Brake fern is anywhere from two to six feet tall and
has rather plain, coarse fronds in contrast to the beautiful,
delicate, feathery fronds of some of the forest ferns. Brake
fern, though, does serve a very definite purpose. Under-
neath the large fields of it are last year's plants, dead and
dry, and beneath them are countless others decaying and
gradually adding a little humus to the burned-out soil. The
fireweed grows, blooms, and dies. Wild blackberry leaves
unfurl, grow larger, wither, and drop to the ground. Brake
ferns poke up tight little fists, reach toward the sun, cast
their spores, then shrivel and die. The cycle of life goes
on and on year after year. Slowly, very slowly, a little rich-
ness is gradually added to the poor soil until finally a tiny
winged seed, blown from the forest, comes to rest and finds
enough good earth to sprout and grow. A seedling is born
and as it grows it sheds needles which, decomposing, add
their tiny bit to the soil. More seeds find favorable spots,
become young trees, and by shedding add still a little more
richness. Nature has at last reclaimed the land laid waste
by the fire demon and if it is left undisturbed, a mighty
forest of giant, stately trees will cover this spot a few hun-
dred years after we, while eating juicy blackberries, admire
a sea of deep-pink fireweed.

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 23!
COMMON FLOWERS, SAPROPHYTES, AND ORCHIDS

How cool and shady it is for us to be in the forest again.
Here is a good place to sit and rest while we have some
lunch by this little stream tumbling down the hillside. See
that mass of wide, leathery, heart-shaped leaves trailing
over the ground? Look under the leaves near the ground.
Ah, there it is, an exotic, brownish-purple little jug with
three long, thin appendages. It is the blossom of the wild
ginger, Asarum caudatum. Notice the faint ginger-like odor
which accounts for its common name.

One of our constant companions as we climb up the Trail
to Paradise is foamflower, whose loose raceme of very small
white flowers is like a bit of airy fluff. In the lower woods
its leaves are divided into three leaflets and it is called
Tiarella trifoliata. Higher up, in the Canadian zone, the
leaves are not divided but are merely lobed, and it is called
Tiarella unifoliata. All intermediate leaf forms can be found.
Fringe-cups are common all along the way, and the plant
with three large, fan-shaped leaflets and a compact spike of
small white flowers at the end of a long slender stalk is
vanilla-leaf, so named for its odor. When dried, the leaves
are even more fragrant and because of this some people call
them sweet-after-death. The pioneers and settlers called
them smelling-leaves. They used to dry them and hang them
in bunches to perfume their cabins and log houses. The little
shrub that brightens so many spots among the trees with its
four to six creamy-white, petal-like bracts surrounding a
head of tiny greenish flowers is Canadian dogwood, Cornus
canadensis. The leaves are four in number and are strongly
veined like those of its cousins, the flowering dogwood trees.

232 THE CASCADES

In the fall it is conspicuous with its bunch of bright red
berries which give it another common name, bunchberry.

Do you notice a delicate, sweet fragrance in the air? Let
us get around this turn in the trail and see what it is. It is
twin-flower, lovely, dainty twin-flower. Small, pink, tubular
bells swing on the ends of short slender stems and are al-
ways in pairs, hence its name. It is a prostrate trailing vine
that covers the forest floor in places, spreads over rocks and
rotting logs, climbs old stumps, and hangs over banks. The
leaves are evergreen, small and shiny, and above them is
the thick covering of sweet-scented, pendant bells. Beloved
it is of naturalists, for they named it Linnaea borealis in
honor of Linnaeus himself, the great Swedish botanist, doc-
tor, and teacher who laid the foundation for the study of
modern botany. His systems of plant nomenclature and of
classification, though not followed today, were the means
of systematizing all botanical study and paved the way for
present methods.

In the deep, moist forests where branches of the dense
trees interlace overhead to form an evergreen canopy and
where, even on bright summer days, a condition of semi-
twilight exists, live a small group of very strange plants.
They have lost all green coloring matter, which is necessary
for self-support, and live on dead and decaying matter. The
best known of these strange, saprophytic denizens of the
forest is the Indian pipe or ghost plant, Monotropa uni-
flora. Its stout stems are from four to ten inches tall, usually
occurring in clusters, and bear a solitary small, bell-like,
drooping flower at each tip. The whole plant is waxy or
pearly white, which accounts for the name ghost plant. The
name Indian pipe comes from its fancied resemblance to an

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 233

ordinary clay pipe. The many-flowered Indian pipe, Mono-
tropa Hypopitys, is similar to the Indian pipe but instead
of being dead white it is yellowish to reddish and has a num-
ber of flowers near the top of the stem. Occasionally it is
called pine-sap.

The most striking member of this group is the barber's
pole or sugar-stick, Allotropa virgata. Numerous scale-like
leaves clothe the bottom of a distinctive red-and-white
striped stalk about six to twelve inches high topped with a
short, crowded spike of flowers that lack petals. Pine-drops
is the largest of this group, growing from one to three feet
high. It has a reddish-brown, sticky stalk with globular
flowers arranged along the upper part. Its scientific name is
Pterospora andromedea. Two other members of this sapro-
phytic group occur in the Cascades: Newberrya congesta,
a flesh-colored plant with a crowded or congested mass of
flowers at the end of a short stalk j and Pleuricospora fim-
briolata, an erect, white or yellowish fleshy plant about six
inches high with flowers in a dense raceme. If our Bit of
Paradise did not have such an irresistible attraction, we
would take some time to hunt for these odd members of
the heath family, for the best way to find and to see wild
flowers is to leave the trail and scour through the forests or
the fields and meadows where they are unmolested. But as
we have only a comparatively short time to see many, many
more flowers we must keep going up the trail, remembering
always to a make haste slowly."

Do you see that little plant with two opposite, broad
leaves in the middle of its stalk? If you look closer you will
see, near the top of the stem, some very small green flowers
that look like little orchids. They are orchids, for this plant

234 THE CASCADES

is a listera, a member of the orchid family of which a num-
ber are native to our Cascade Range. Three species of
listera grow here and are very similar, all of them being
called twayblades from their characteristic pair of opposite
leaves borne about midway on the stem. Another kind of
orchid is the coral-root, corallorhiza. Coral-roots get their
name from their coral-like, branching roots. Generally they
have pinkish or purplish stalks and lovely little orchids on
short stems.

Aha! I have found a hidden beauty behind this large
tree. It is a lady's slipper, Cypripedium montanum, one of
our showiest wild flowers. It has a white slipper-shaped lip,
veined with purple, and brown or purplish petals that are
wavy or sometimes twisted. If fortune smiles upon us, we
may see the queen of them all, the rare, beautiful calypso,
holding her solitary court in a shady temple whose columns
are towering tree trunks which support a roof of lacy
branches through which sunlight filters as it does through
the windows of a great cathedral. Calypso's petals are light
purple and her slipper-like lip is a delicate rose or pink
mottled with maroon or purple. Inside is a tuft of yellow
hairs. Truly we would have to search a long time to find
another single flower to match the delicate, fragile beauty
of this queen of our orchids. Like many another fair plant it
has been gathered extensively by a thoughtless public, and
though formerly common it is now quite rare.

WE ENTER THE CANADIAN ZONE

Do you notice how much smaller the trees are up here
than they were where we left the car, and that the forest
is less dense and shady? We are entering a different life

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 235

zone the Canadian zone. There is no sharp line of demar-
cation, but a gradual transition from one zone to another
within a few hundred feet of elevation. Although the west-
ern hemlock and Douglas fir are still common, they no
longer dominate the forests. White pine, which we saw oc-
casionally below, is common now along with silver fir, grand
fir, noble fir, and Alaska cedar. In the southern part of the
range we will find red fir, Shasta fir, lodgepole pine, and
white pine. The undergrowth of bushes and shrubs is less
dense, and the forest floor is open in many places. The slopes
are generally steeper now. Rocky outcroppings, deep can-
yons, and narrow valleys are frequent. Numerous streams
tumble down the mountainsides, and in this region we will
find many small bogs, lakes, wet cliffs, and waterfalls. In
many places the tree trunks and branches are clothed with
drooping, thread-like, pendant lichens that give them a light
gray color. How different is the aspect of the forest here,
clothed in its light gray garb, from the majestic trees of
the lower forests with their luxuriant masses of undergrowth.
Many of the shrubs and herbaceous plants of the Transi-
tion zone continue on up into the Canadian zone. Foam-
flower is still with us and has completed the change of its
leaf from compound to simple. Johnny-jump-up is smaller
in size and we do not see his bright yellow face as often,
but right by your feet is his cousin the round-leaf violet,
Viola orbiculata. Its flower is also bright golden yellow but
its leaves are evergreen, nearly round, and usually lie flat
on the ground. The Canadian dogwood shows to even better
advantage here than it does lower down. That pretty little
shrub, vying with it for our attention, is pipsissewa or
prince's pine, Chimaphila umbellata. It has narrow, toothed,

236 THE CASCADES

leathery leaves and four to eight nodding pink flowers in a
loose terminal cluster. When very young the blossoms are
like little pink globes, but when in full bloom the flowers
open up and the petals become concave. It stands anywhere
from six to twelve inches tall. Another species, Menzies'
pipsissewa, Chimaphila Menziesii, grows here also but it is
much smaller, only four to six inches high, and has only one
to three white to pinkish flowers. We might not see it,
though, as it is not very plentiful. The beautiful white star
that mixes with the Canadian dogwood and the pipsissewa
is alpine beauty, Clintonia uniflora. Between the two or three
tulip-like leaves it bears a single, pure white star which is
truly an alpine beauty. On occasion I have heard it called
Queen's cup, but I much prefer the other more common
name.

The l^rge bushes, literally covered with clusters of rose-
pink blossoms, that fill the open place just ahead of us, are
rhododendron. Each bright corolla is a jewel, a single cluster
is enchanting, and to see a rhododendron bush in full bloom ?
glowing with color, is a thrilling sight. They are quite gen-
erally distributed, in open parts of the forests at low and
middle altitudes, in the southern Washington Cascades,
throughout all of the Oregon Cascades, and on into Cali-
fornia. Purple ones are sometimes found and, on rare occa-
sions, a white specimen is seen. The superb rhododendron
has been chosen by my home state of Washington as its state
flower.

Those bits of scarlet flame dancing about in the breeze are
columbine. Their faces are bright lemon-yellow while their
backs and five long spurs are scarlet. Each flower, borne on
the end of a slender stem, nods and sways with every little

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 237

bit of wind. There, in that moist spot beside the trail, is
something I have been looking for an old friend, the
monkey-flower, Mimulus guttatus. We will find it in wet
and moist places, by streams and on river bars all through
the mountains at low and moderate elevations. Sometimes
the plants are few, but in favorable places they grow in
masses from two to three feet high and are covered with
large yellow flowers. They owe their common name, mon-
key-flower, to a very slight resemblance to a monkey's grin-
ning face. I once heard a lady say that they looked like
some kind of a wild snapdragon 5 but no pampered, culti-
vated snapdragon, fine as it is, ever has the carefree, jaunty
air of a monkey-flower.

The pink flower we see just a little farther along prefers
moist ground too. It is Corydalis Scouleri, the first plant we
have encountered for which I can find no common name. I
suppose there are mountain folk who have named it, but I
have yet to meet them, and the people who do know what
it is just call it corydalis. The lack of a common name is a
little difficult to understand because it is one of the most
delightful flowers of this part of the forests, and though it
is not profuse we will see it often. It grows in masses about
three or four feet high and has, in my opinion, the most
beautiful foliage of all, even more pleasing than the ferns.
The soft, delicate leaves are divided into many round or
oblong lobes and are a wonderful shade of blue-green on
top and lighter gray-green underneath. The flowers are
borne on terminal racemes, and each blossom, with its long
spur, looks like a little pink, long-tailed bird. They perch,
one above the other, on the flower stern with a very sprightly

238 THE CASCADES

air and seem about to hop off, one after the other, and fly
away in formation.

Let us hurry along up the trail to that deep shady place,
for there we shall find some shade-loving flowers. On that
bank is one of the best of them, the ethereal forest anemone,
Anemone deltoidea. It generally grows in patches or groups
and has a fragile white flower, about the size of a silver
dollar, on the end of a very slender stem. Near the middle
of this stem are three broad, toothed leaves. Anemones have
no petals, as do most flowers. The parts that appear to be
petals are the sepals. They are among my favorite wild
flowers, not the forest anemones alone, but all species of
them. We have several _ species, as you will see, each liking
a different locality and each with its own special charm.

The little trailing plant with small, strawberry-like flow-
ers is a rubus, a member of the same genus as the blackberry.
There are two of them 5 one, Rubus pedatus, with three to
five leaflets, and the other, Rubus lasiococcus, with lobed
leaves. They are usually called trailing raspberry, and the
former is sometimes called bird's-foot bramble. In the late
summer and fall they both have a small, irregular red berry
that looks like a few segments of a raspberry.

Here is a peculiar little plant with its flowers all growing
from one side of the stem. It is the one-sided pyrola, Pyrola
secunda. It has a stalk from five to ten inches tall that curves
over slightly, and the small, greenish-white flowers are all
attached on the inside of the curve. The leaves are nearly all
basal and resemble the leaves of a pear tree, thus giving it
its name of pyrola which means a little pear. There, by that
old log, see the stalk about a foot high with pink flowers
and long-stemmed, basal leaves? That is Pyrola bracteata.

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 239

A few other species of pyrola are found in our Cascade
forests but probably we shall not see them for they are
found only occasionally.

Some of the shrubs encountered most frequently in this
region are the huckleberries. There are three or four differ-
ent species and they all like the open forests where they
sometimes form thickets among the trees, around the edges
of boggy meadows, and along lake shores. They grow from
three to six feet high and bear small round or urn-shaped
white or pinkish flowers. They are not, however, noted for
their flowers, which, though pretty, are small and incon-
spicuous, but for their delicious berries. They make wonder-
ful jelly and jam and are delicious eaten fresh in any way
you like fresh berries. Huckleberry pie just melts in your
mouth. When Maxine and I are in the mountains during
berry season, we have them with nearly every meal and
always take some home with us. They start to ripen in Au-
gust and the peak of the season is around Labor Day. Then
large numbers of people come to the mountainsides and
reap a fine harvest. Some folks pick just for themselves,
but others gather large quantities which they sell at road-
side stands or in the cities and towns.

Many of the pickers we see are Indians. In the old days,
before the white man came and changed their life, a large
part of the Indian's diet consisted of berries of all sorts in-
cluding the delicious huckleberry. They gathered huge
quantities of huckleberries to be dried and pressed into a
kind of cake for use during the fall and winter. On the
eastern slopes leading up to Mount Adams, in the southern
part of Washington, is a vast open area where huckleberries
grow in great profusion many, many acres of them. These

24O THE CASCADES

were and still are the favorite berry fields of all the Indians
for miles around in every direction. Formerly they came by
foot and on horseback with their whole families and pitched
their tepees in the same places where their ancestors had
camped before them. Along with the picking and preparing
of the berries, foot races and horse races were held, games
were played, and at night huge campfires were enjoyed with
story-telling and dancing. The Indians still come but no
longer on horseback or on foot. Now they come in cars of
all sorts, large and small, but mostly old jalopies loaded
with men, women, children, dogs, and belongings.

Our trail crosses a small trickle of water and the ground
all around is boggy. Nestled down among the other plants
is an old friend from below, the shy swamp violet. All those
stalks with the green flowers are green bog orchids, Habe-
naria saccata. Out there in the middle of the bog that very
handsome one is a fine rein-orchid, Habenaria leucostachys,
generally called white bog orchid. Its stout hollow stem
stands from ten to thirty inches tall, has narrow leaves at
the bottom, and bears numerous fragrant white orchids about
a half-inch long, in a terminal spike. Come over here to the
little rivulet itself and see this patch of lovely grass of
Parnassus attractive white, shallow cups at the ends of
slender erect stems. Clustered at the base are succulent, kid-
ney-shaped leaves about one to one and one-half inches
broad, truly a fitting flower for the delightful name grass
of Parnassus. It is, however, not a grass at all but a member
of the saxifrage family called Parnassia fimbriata. Its name
comes from Mount Parnassus in Greece where it was first
discovered a very long time ago.

We must leave this wet place now, for time presses hard

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 24!

on our heels, as it always does when we are in the mountains.
Each flower is so interesting or lovely and there are so many
other things to see and do that minutes and hours fly swiftly
by and days, even weeks, slip pleasantly, dreamily away, al-
ways leaving some places unvisited and some flowers to
bloom unseen.

As we swing up the trail again we see more trilliums, and
that reddish-purple flower is one we missed in the lower
forests. It is a penstemon, Penstemon nemorosus. It prefers
these rocky, open slopes we are crossing now. The tube-
shaped blossoms, about an inch or more long, are in a loose
cluster at the end of a long leafy stem. They are called
beardtongue in the eastern part of America and in Europe,
but here in the Northwest we usually call them penstemon.
On these rocky, open, sometimes dry slopes we shall find
different types of wild flowers from those in the forests and
wet places. You no doubt will recognize the yarrow. It is
very common in dry ground at sea level and occurs all
through most of the Cascades from their foot to the flower-
ing meadows. The loose sprays of small white flowers, scat-
tered over the slope, are rusty saxifrage. Up on those rocks
is something we have not seen before, a sedum, member of
the stonecrop family which is a very durable tribe of plants
that has the faculty of enduring long periods of drought.
Stonecrops always grow on rocks and cliffs where they are
exposed to the sun's full withering force and where water
is not held veig/ long. The stems are short and tufted with
light-green, small leaves that are always thick and fleshy,
and if you were to cut through one, you would find it filled
with moisture. In some species they are egg-shaped or
rounded like little barrels filled with water to keep the

242 THE CASCADES

plants fresh when others around are dried up and withered.
At the ends of the flowering stems are tight clusters of
bright yellow, five-pointed stars.

That place where water is seeping over the rocks should
be interesting. It is indeed, for here is our first harebell, the
beautiful Campanula rotundifolia. Lovely blue bells, swing-
ing on slender, delicate stems, nodding and dancing, hardly
ever still, are rung by the slightest bit of breeze. We shall
find them on rocky cliffs, talus slopes, gravelly stream banks,
and in the high meadows of our Bit of Paradise. They are
known to many people by the name of bluebells or mountain
bluebells.

Let us follow the trickle of water a little way down the
slope and see what we shall find. Here is another saxifrage,
one with long-stemmed, broad, basal leaves. The small
bushy plant with light-yellow flowers is yellow willow-weed,
Epilobium luteum, cousin of the giant fireweed. There is
something that looks like a violet. Let us take a closer look
at it because, although its deep violet-blue flower looks like
a violet, it is, instead, the butterwort with the very odd name
of Pinguicula vulgaris. The plant itself is not at all like the
violets, with their heart-shaped leaves, but has a basal rosette
of flat fleshy leaves with slightly rolled-up margins. The
strange thing about them is the slimy, sticky secretion with
which they are covered. This viscid substance catches and
holds any small insects that are unfortunate enough to come
in contact with it, and the plant proceeds tp digest them.
From the center of the rosette arises a single bare stalk
topped with a violet-blue flower a lovely lure, beckoning
unwary mites to their destruction.

Let us take a moment here to enjoy another kind of

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 243

beauty. These open spots give us wonderful, sweeping pan-
oramas. We can see the forests flowing down the mountain-
sides to the river valleys below, covering nearly everything
with a mighty host of trees. The roar of the river, now far
below us, has become a faint murmur, and we have the feel-
ing of being really high in the mountains. Tall ridges, glis-
tening snow fields, and lofty peaks that were hidden from
our view before, are revealed in ever-increasing numbers
as we travel upward on the Trail to Paradise. Across the
valleys we can see rocky cliffs, rock slides, and an occasional
avalanche chute making a bright green streak in the dark
green of the forests. Not very far above us on some of those
ridges, do you see where the solid forests end and small
openings begin that soon become larger and larger, with
clumps and patches of slender spire-like trees? Those are
the meadows that are our Bit of Paradise. We know now
that we are nearing the end of our trail, that soon we shall
be reveling in the fields of flowers, drinking in all the beauty
that is there.

THE CASCADES ARE VERY DIVERSIFIED

While we are sitting here enjoying the views spread out
before us I think this is an appropriate time for me to tell
you a little about some of the other parts of the Cascades
that are very different from those that we have seen and
are going to see. The trail we have been following is on the
western slope of the range, which is supplied with a copious
amount of rainfall and snow by the moist westerly winds
that blow in from the Pacific Ocean. The eastern slope re-
ceives much less precipitation, and as one travels eastward
the amount of rainfall becomes smaller and smaller until

244 THE CASCADES

at the eastern base of the mountains semi-arid conditions
prevail. In these dry places sagebrush is common and there
are very few trees. On a journey into the mountains from
the east, you would find the few trees gradually gathering
their forces until they form a fine forest. This forest is made
up almost exclusively of ponderosa pine, a very handsome
tree up to two hundred feet in height. The older specimens,
especially, have clean-cut appearing trunks and rich cinna-
mon-colored bark. This yellow pine forest is very different
from the luxuriant coniferous forests of the western slope.
The trees stand farther apart and there is an almost total
lack of undergrowth. This continues for quite a long way
into the mountains, until, with the advent of more moisture,
a few firs and hemlocks put in their appearance. These be-
come more and more numerous until they are the dominant
trees and the forest is similar to that which clothes the west
side.

I must take time to tell you of one group of flowers that
grow throughout these drier regions. They are the splendid
lewisias, named in honor of Captain Meriwether Lewis of
Lewis and Clark fame. Their rosettes of flat or narrow suc-
culent leaves and delicately tinted flowers are usually found
in rocky locations. The finest species, and one that is con-
sidered by many people to be unexcelled as a rockery plant,
is Lewisia TweedyL It has wide green leaves and sprays of
large flowers which are the most delicate tint of apricot or
salmon pink. It flourishes in Washington in a comparatively
small area bounded on the north by the upper end of Lake
Chelan and on the south by Blewett Pass. Fortunately for
me this area is fairly close to my home.

Another very interesting part of the Cascades is the south-

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 245

ern end of the range where it crosses from Oregon into
California and marches on down to Lassen Volcanic National
Park. Here you will find a delightful blending of northern
or Cascade types of flowers with southern or Sierran types.
One very characteristic plant of this region is the bright red
snow plant, Sarcodes sanguinea, which appears soon after
the snow has melted. It is a fleshy plant about a foot high,
and is related to the Indian pipe, barber's pole, and other
saprophytes.

The picturesque Columbia Gorge, by which the mighty
Columbia River penetrates the range and through which its
waters pour relentlessly on toward the sea, has a flora that
is unique as well as beautiful. In range of altitude the region
Is almost wholly within the Transition zone, but the flora
of that zone is scarcely represented at all. Through some
phenomenon of nature the flowers are mainly Canadian and
Hudsonian types. Shooting stars and saxifrage, among many
others, will be found there. Arabis furcata, which I have
found at seven thousand feet on Mount Adams, also grows
on the rocky banks of the gorge at elevations of only a few
hundred feet.

There are many, many more of these fascinating, beauti-
ful, and different places in the Cascades, each having a flora
to fit its own peculiarities. Perhaps among my readers there
will be those who feel that their favorite parts of the moun-
tains have been slighted or overlooked. All I can say is that
on such a short trip as we are having I can give only a few
glimpses of this diversified range. From its southern end,
just a few miles south of Lassen Volcanic National Park,
it stretches more than six hundred miles in a straight line
to the Canadian border and then continues on into British

246 THE CASCADES

Columbia where it bends to the west and merges with the
Coast Range. It is truly a tremendous range, one in which
a person could spend a lifetime and not know it completely.
A whole volume could be written on just the wild flowers
alone that are to be found within its far-flung reaches.

BACK. TO THE TRAIL

We must be on our way now., so it is back to the trail and
up toward the meadows for us. The leafy plant about three
feet high growing right beside the trail is Mertensia pani-
culata borealis. Its attractive, tubular, light-blue flowers,
about one-half inch long, are borne in loose clusters. It is
generally called mertensia, though one of our books says
it is western bluebell and another calls it lungwort. The tall
shrubs covered with large flat bunches of small white flow-
ers are mountain ash. They are common in open places and
along the borders of woods all through this zone and in the
alpine regions above. They reach a height of six to fifteen
feet and have compound leaves made up of many small, ob-
long, toothed leaflets. In the fall brilliant clusters of scarlet
berries hang on these shrubs for a long time and make a feast
for the mountain birds including the Clark's crow and our
bold friend the camp robber. Now we see some bright golden
heads of arnica yellow disks surrounded by bright yellow
rays. They are members of the composite or sunflower fam-
ily which is the largest in the plant kingdom. There are a
dozen or more species of arnica in the Cascades and they are
all so much alike that it takes some botanical training to tell
them apart. I am 3 therefore, not going to try to describe any
for you except to say that they have opposite leaves. Any

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 247

similar flowers which we find with leaves arranged alter-
nately on the stems will probably be senecios.

As we follow the trail into the woods again we find a
handsome shrub about six feet high with showy, creamy-
white blossoms that occur in twos and threes. Some of the
glossy leaves are splotched with yellow as if they had a
blight. This is mountain rhododendron or white rhododen-
dron, Rhododendron albiflorum. Over there, in that shady
spot, I see some small deep-purple flowers which cannot be
pinguicula because the ground is not wet enough. Let us
have a closer look. They are violets, the loveliest ones we
have in our mountains and the only ones with the color gen-
erally associated with violets. These shy sprites hide away
ifi shady spots of the forests and snuggle down among the
grasses, sedges, and other taller plants of the alpine meadows.
Because they are inconspicuous they have no common name,
so we shall just have to call them purple violets or Viola
adunca.

There, growing almost in the trail itself, is a fine clump
of many-flowered Indian pipe. We might mistake them for
the drippings of some giant fairy candle. In that open sunny
spot ahead, stands a tall plant drawing every eye like a
shining white beacon. It is squaw-grass, a plant which at-
tracts perhaps more attention than any other. It has a thick
mat of coarse, grass-like leaves and a flower stalk about three
feet tall topped with a large, dense, club-like bunch of beau-
tiful creamy- white flowers. It is a member of the lily family,
as you will see by examining one of the small, fragrant,
starry blossoms, and has the tongue-twisting name of Xero-
phyllum tenax. In days gone by the Indians used its tough

248 THE CASCADES

leaves in making their baskets, which accounts for its com-
mon names of squaw-grass and Indian basket-grass. It is so
conspicuous and attractive that it has a number of other pop-
ular names, some of which are bear-grass, elk-grass, pine
lily, and mountain lily. In the open forests, especially where
the trees are small, we shall find it growing sparsely in some
places and in others very abundantly. Some parts of our Bit
of Paradise are brilliant with the massed, shining beacons of
squaw-grass.

Our trail now leads across a small bench through which
flows a tinkling, laughing brook. Growing in all the wet
places and even right in the water itself are our first marsh
marigolds. Lovely white blossoms are held up by erect stems
for us to admire. Like the anemones, to which they are re-
lated, they have no petals, but instead have petal-like sepals.
The two species we have in the Cascades are very much alike,
differing mainly in the shape of their succulent leaves, which
are mostly basal. One, Caltha leptosepala, has large heart-
shaped leaves, and the other, Caltha biflora, has broader,
kidney-shaped leaves. Just a little farther along is a group
of -uniquely shaped flowers, our gorgeous shooting stars,
Dodecatheon Jeffreyi. They have large clumps of upright,
broad, basal leaves about six or eight inches long and nu-
merous erect stems bearing at their ends wonderful light-
magenta to rose-purple blossoms. The petals are bent back
and give them a shooting-star effect. They are sometimes
called birdbill but shooting star is the most popular and
appropriate name.

The small, white, airy clusters are another kind of saxi-
frage, one that likes wet places, and it adorns all the streams
and rill$ we shall encounter from now on until we have

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 249

climbed to the very highest meadows. The tall stout-stemmed
plants with broad divided leaves, large flat clumps of white
flowers, and a covering of fine silky hairs is cow parsnip. It
is from two to five feet tall and is abundant in moist soils
throughout the higher forests and some of the meadows.
Large size and a robust appearance, not beauty, are what
make it a notable plant. In the wetter places are more stalks
of green bog orchids and on sloping, sunny banks are purple
asters and yellow senecios.

Again I call your attention to the trees. The western hem-
lock has been replaced by the mountain hemlock, Douglas fir
has been left far down the mountainside, and the first alpine
firs now make their appearance. We have entered a most
interesting region, the place where the upper part of the
Canadian zone meets and intermingles with the lower part
of the Hudsonian zone. Here we shall find flowers and
shrubs of both regions growing side by side. In the shade
of trees are twayblades, Canadian dogwood, pyrolas, and
mountain rhododendron, and right next to them in sunny,
open spots are asters, arnicas, shooting stars, and marsh mari-
golds. Yellow monkey-flowers are joined here by their cous-
in, the bright pink monkey-flower, Mimulus Lewisii. Scarlet
columbines dance in the wind, yellow violets lie close to
the ground, and we shall even find a few triiliums. Seem-
ingly coming down to meet them are a few clumps of blue
sweet-scented lupine, while here and there are patches of
pink heather, a scattering of phlox, and delicate white stars
of avalanche lilies. The low shrubby plant forming patches
on the dry rocky banks is shrubby penstemon, Penstemon
fruticosus. Its tubular, purple flowers are about one to one

25O THE CASCADES

and one-half inches long and are borne in small clusters
above the rest of the plant. Eager as we are to reach the
open fields of flowers, we must stop a moment to examine
the strange shaped blossoms of the common lousewort,
Pedicularis racemosa. It forms tufts with the stems nearly
always leaning out, away from the center. The white or
pinkish flowers have a peculiar twisted appearance but still
are quite pretty. Lousewort will be our constant companion
from now on and will delight us with the different odd
shapes of the various species.

OUR BIT OF PARADISE

As we climb steadily upward our trail crosses the little
dashing brook again, and its banks are lined with bright
masses of pink mimulus, purple asters, and tall white vale-
rian. Any feeling of fatigue we might have is now forgotten
and we swing along the trail with renewed vigor. We come
to a small side-hill meadow filled with sweet-smelling lupine
and dotted with brilliant red paintbrush, white tufts of moun-
tain dock, tiger lilies, and valerian. We hurry across it, into
and up through a thicket of alpine fir, Alaska cedar, and
mountain hemlock, scarcely taking time to notice the flowers.
The slope eases off and then suddenly the trees open up
and, as if stepping through a doorway, we are in a gently
sloping meadow covered with a carpet of wonderful flowers.
It is like being in a different- world and indeed this is true,
for here is a different world, the world of mountain mead-
ows, with scattered groups and clumps of alpine trees. We
have reached the end of the Trail to Paradise. The loveliest
part of the mountains now lies before us.

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 251

"Above the forests there is a zone of the loveliest flowers . . .
so closely planted and luxurious that it seems as if nature, glad
to make an open space between woods so dense and ice so deep,
were economizing the precious ground and trying to see how
many of her darlings she can get together in one mountain
wreath daisies, anemones, columbine, erythroniums, larkspurs,
etc., among which we wade knee deep and waist deep, the
bright corollas in myriads touching petal to petal. Altogether
this is the richest subalpine garden I have ever found, a perfect
flower elysium."

Thus wrote John Muir,* the famous geologist, explorer,
naturalist, and conservationist. From a Californian by adop-
tion, whose favorite mountains were the Sierra Nevada of
California, such words were a very great tribute to the flow-
ering meadows of our beloved Cascades. It so happens that
the area of which he wrote is now Mount Rainier National
Park, but the same words are true of the regions around any
of the old, dead volcanoes of the Northwest from Garibaldi
in British Columbia to Lassen Peak in California. Change
a word here and there and you have a description of almost
any Cascade mountain meadow. Here in these marvelous
subalpine regions we shall find masses of flowers of every
hue, veritable gardens to delight us. The best time to see
them is in the last two weeks of July and the first two weeks
of August. It is during this period that the most flowers are
in bloom, but the flower season starts much earlier some
time in mid- June when the drifts of snow are rapidly melt-
ing away, leaving more and more ground to be warmed by
the bright sun.

* From Our National Parks, by John Muir. Copyright, 1901, by John Muir.
Published by Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston.

252 THE CASCADES

THE WHITE AND GOLD OF SPRING

Most of the slopes and swales are soon white again, not
with snow, but with lovely, fragile avalanche lilies. They
cover large areas with dense fields of nodding, white, starry
flowers. A single blossom, silhouetted against a deep-blue
sky, is a regal beauty with its white, recurved segments and
yellow center. In other places glacier lilies hold sway, turn-
ing the banks and hollows to gold with their bright golden-
yellow corollas. Both kinds bloom right next to the
snowbanks and even thrust their leaves up through the edge
of the snow in their eagerness to feel the warmth of the sun
after so many long months in the icy grip of winter.

To watch one of these seas of golden or creamy-white
blossoms rippling in the wind is a sight that will linger long
in your memory. The beauty of these flowers has gained each
of them a number of other common names. The white ava-
lanche lily, Erythronium montanum, is sometimes called
deertongue, adder's-tongue, and dogtooth violet, while the
yellow glacier lily, Erythronium grandiflorum, is called fawn
lily and lamb's-tongue. Avalanche lilies seem to prefer the
western side of the Cascade crest and the glacier lilies prefer
the eastern side. In some situations this holds true right up
to the very divide itself, as was delightfully illustrated to
Maxine and me on a short trip to Chinook Pass early last
season. On the west side, around Tipsoo Lake and above,
the slopes were white with masses of avalanche lilies, flecked
here and there with the gold of glacier lilies. The trail
crossed over the divide and followed the eastern slope for
some way and here were golden-yellow fields of glacier
lilies with an occasional avalanche lily. We chose a branch

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 253

of the trail that led us to a pair of lovely twin jewels named
Deadwood Lakes. In doing so we recrossed the ridge to the
west side and here again we found fields of white avalanche
lilies. Somewhere south of the Mount Baker-Harts Pass
region, in the northern end of the range, no one knows just
exactly where, the avalanche lily reaches its northern limit
and then the glacier lilies take over both sides of the
mountains.

The mountain buttercup, Ranunculus Eschscholtzii (an-
other tongue-twister), is a companion of the lilies. Soon after
the snow has melted its small plant blooms, but its glossy
yellow flowers, though commonplace, are never seen in such
profusion as the lilies. Along with these early spring flowers
appears another hardy pioneer, the western anemone, Anem-
one occidentalis, whose silky-haired, feathery foliage and
fragile appearing blossoms seem to belie its hardy nature.
Shortly after the snowbanks have receded, up pop tight
little fists which soon develop into short hairy stalks topped
with paper-thin, whitish flowers. The backs of the petal-like
sepals are tinged with blue and covered with fine hairs. The
leaves stay tightly rolled up in their buds until the stalks
have grown taller and the sepals have dropped. Then the
fine, feathery leaves unfold and the handsome gray-green,
plume-like heads develop. They grow about eighteen inches
tall and last all through the summer and early fall, waving
their fuzzy plumes at every passer-by. Later in the season
you will sometimes come across the following very pleasing
sight. About a foot from the edge of a late snowdrift are
little fists of western anemones poking through the ground,
five feet away they are in the glory of full bloom, a few feet
farther are taller stalks with ragged and drooping flowers,

254 THE CASCADES

and still farther away are the soft, feathery leaves and fuzzy
plumes of fully developed plants. A few people call them
pasqueflowers and more than a few call the seed heads little
dish mops.

THE GLORY OF SUMMER

Spring lasts a few short weeks and then summer bursts
forth in all its glory, filling the meadows with a wealth of
beautiful flowers of nearly every color, size, and shape. This,
then, is the time we shall want most of all to be in our Bit
of Paradise, to inhale deeply of the indescribable fragrance
that fills the air, and to feast our eyes on the enchanting
fields of flowers. We can wander wherever our fancy takes
us in these open park-like places. Finding a likely spot we
can sit down and admire the magnificent sweeping views of
forested ridges rolling away into the distance and rugged
peaks thrusting their rocky summits high into the clear air.
Snow fields on the higher mountains shimmer in the sun-
light and quite often we shall see one or more of the great
old volcanoes rearing their mighty heads far above all the
rest, their flanks clad with snow and gouged by streams of
glacier ice. Our Bit of Paradise has a background of rugged
mountain scenery and a foreground of tender flowers.

Probably what will catch your eye first are the paintbrush,
because of their brilliant coloring, and the lupines, because
of their wonderful fragrance and profusion. The paintbrush,
castilleja, are clustered, erect plants that look as if they had
been dipped in a paint pot. The whole tops are bright with
color ranging from orange through shades of red, scarlet,
and deep crimson. Their brilliant clusters are scattered
throughout this region in large and small patches and occa-
sionally they form large groups. There was one of these

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 255

groups near our camp last summer at Mystic Lake, in Mount
Rainier National Park, and from the slopes and ridges above
it looked like a deep crimson pool. The lupines are about the
most abundant flower in the fields, filling some of them with
a multitude of blue to blue-purple blossoms. They are leafy
plants with palm-like, divided leaves above which rise many
long racemes of flowers which fill the air with their sweet
scent. Vying with paintbrush and lupine for your attention
will be mountain dock, Polygonum bistortoides, and vale-
rian, Valeriana sitchensis, a pair of long-stemmed white flow-
ers. Valerian is usually the tallest plant in these flower
gardens and bears at the end of its stalk a convex clump of
very small white blossoms. The leaves are mostly basal and
have a strong odor, while the flowers have a pleasing helio-
trope-like scent which accounts for its also being called
mountain heliotrope. Actually there is no relationship be-
tween the two plants. Mountain dock has a dense, oblong,
white cluster at the end of a slender jointed stem. Because
this stem is so slender they appear, from a little distance, to
be small blobs of white floating among the other flowers.

Yellow is added to the other colors by a number of plants.
The mountain dandelion, Agoseris alpestris, is quite like the
common dandelion. Arnica and senecios add their bit, and
the fanleaf potentilla, Potentilla flabellifolia, is common. It
resembles the buttercup and has fan-shaped leaves that are
divided into three parts. It is a larger plant than the butter-
cup, though, and the flowers are a deeper yellow and not as
glossy. No matter whether you call it a buttercup or not,
it is very pretty and in some places it covers large areas with
a carpet of green and gold. Potentillas are also called cinque-
foiJs, a name that originated in Europe.

256 THE CASCADES

Light shades of purple are added to the color scheme by
asters and erigerons, one of the latter being the common
mountain daisy. Almost everywhere are the heathers, low
shrubby plants literally covered with small pink or white
bells. Pink heather, Phyllodoce empetriformis, with its
bushy stems and pretty pink bells will be encountered first,
but after our wanderings have taken us a few hundred feet
higher, it is joined by white heather, Cassiope Mertensiana.
White heather is a little shorter than pink heather and has
tiny leaves that press flat against the stems, giving them a
four-sided appearance. Near the ends of these square stems
are the lovely, pure-white, nodding bells. To see these two,
phyllodoce and cassiope, growing side by side surrounded
by other flowers, is a wonderful sight.

Stalks of lousewort are scattered here and there among
the other plants and in favorable situations they form thicker
groups. Each of the several species has its own distinctive,
strangely shaped flowers. One in particular, the elephant's
head lousewort, Pedicularis surrecta, is sure to catch your
eye. It grows in moist soil and boggy places and each of its
red-purple blossoms is shaped just like an elephant's head
large ears, long trunk and all.

ALPINE IANDSCAPE

Our Bit of Paradise is not an uninterrupted expanse of
meadow, but rather a blending of open subalpine forests and
colorful flower-filled meadows. The first openings reached
are small and are generally encircled by the forests, but as
we climb upward the trees give way more and more to open
fields that soon become park-like with an exquisitely hap-
hazard arrangement of trees in groups of various sizes and

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 257

even an occasional rugged individual going it alone. Over
most of the range the groups are usually made up of alpine
fir, mountain hemlock, and to a lesser extent Alaska cedar
and white-bark pine. Toward southern Oregon and over the
southern part of the range the Alaska cedar disappears, al-
pine fir is less prevalent, and here we shall find Shasta fir,
lodgepole pine, and western white pine along with the moun-
tain hemlock. All of these species form pure stands in some
locations but more often they grow in association with one
another.

My favorite tree is the alpine fir, Abies lasiocarpa, which
is considered our most beautiful conifer by many persons.
It is tall, slender, spire-like, and clothed with luxuriant dark,
blue-green foliage. The lower branches are drooping, often
hiding the short trunk. On the topmost branches are borne
the cones which, from a distance, appear to be little owls
perched in the top of the tree. It has a pleasing habit of
forming "family groups" with the large trees in the center
and seedlings around the outside, like children clustered
around their parents. A small single tree with seedlings
around it has been likened to a hen with her brood of chicks
huddled under her body and wings.

The meadows themselves are not all alike, but are com-
posed of a variety of terrains that are mixed together in
every possible way. In each location Mother Nature has
planted a different kind of garden with its particular type
of flowers, and we will find flowering meadow gardens, wet
gardens, and rock gardens. Each has its own special charm
but combines with all the rest to form a whole of infinite
beauty.

The flowering fields are a riot of color with their lupine,

258 THE CASCADES

paintbrush., mountain dock, valerian, potentillas, and heath-
ers both pink and white. Light-purple mountain daisies and
purple asters are sprinkled throughout the other flowers,
and in some spots the ground is covered with them, swaying
in unison with each breath of the breeze. Arnica, senecios,
mountain dandelions, hawkweeds are scattered everywhere.
We shall see alpine forms of pearly everlasting, yarrow,
and goldenrod. The list of flowers belonging to the com-
posite family is long indeed, too long for me to point them
all out to you at this time. It includes even the prickly
leaves and purple heads of the Indian thistle. Cusick's veron-
ica is a small plant that adds deep blue to the color scheme,
and purple violets will be found here, but your eyes must
be sharp to see them since they grow very close to the
ground. In contrast to these small plants is the green or giant
hellebore, Veratrum viride. It has large, strongly veined,
pleated leaves, rises from three to five feet high, and has
small greenish flowers arranged in a drooping panicle like
the tassels of a cornstalk. Its size and robustness, among
other plants so slender and highly colored, is what attracts
attention.

Wherever there is dry ground we shall find the spreading
phlox, Phlox diffusa, an attractive plant with numerous lilac
to white flowers and clustered, sharp-pointed, very narrow
leaves. As its name suggests, it spreads over the ground and
has a habit of covering little hummocks with a mass of
blooms. Contorted lousewort and bracted lousewort raise
their clustered stalks of peculiar flowers here. Alaskan spirea,
Lutkea pectinata, is common in these meadow gardens, some-
times forming thick mats of sharply cleft, bright-green, small
leaves topped with dense racemes of small creamy-white

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 259

flowers. The tall beacons of squaw-grass will be found in
these same dry locations and the mountain blueberry, Vac-
cinium deliciosum, a low twiggy shrub, frequents them also.
As its specific name implies, its fruit is a very delicious berry
much sought after by birds, bears, and people.

The groves and clumps of trees are full of flowers and
flowering shrubs j each sunny glade within them is like a
miniature meadow. Dwarf mountain ash, mountain rhodo-
dendron, and rosy spirea bloom among and around the edges
of the trees. It is around their margins, too, that we shall
find mertensia's baby-blue bells and the loosely tufted plants
and clustered blue cups, each with a yellow center, of Ja-
cob's-ladder, polemoniuiru

The lily family gives us some of our most exquisite wild
flowers. One of the fairest of these is the calochortus that
adorns many of our mountain meadows. Its creamy blossom
has on the inside a dark purplish spot and long soft hairs
like those in a cat's ear. It is endowed with a wonderful,
delicate beauty, and this winsome charm has given it a num-
ber of names including Mariposa lily, sego lily, mountain
tulip, and cat's ear. I shall never forget the memorable trip
on which Maxine and I saw our first calochortus. We were
camped with our club, the Mountaineers of Seattle, at Cham-
bers Lake and made the fortunate decision, with a few
friends, to visit a place called Snowgrass Flats, an area of
fine alpine meadows. We hiked for some time through high
open forests, down to and across a rushing stream, and up
the ridge on the other side. Presently we came to the first
small glades and very open forests just below the flats them-
selves. Our trail followed up the course of a brook, and just
before we reached the meadows we heard a waterfall. Going

26O THE CASCADES

to the brook to investigate, we discovered twin waterfalls
with merry, colorful flowers crowding their margins. They
were not high, roaring falls, but, rather, small intimate
streams of water tumbling, side by side, over a short rocky
cliff the most beautiful falls I have ever seen. We feasted
our eyes on them for a long time and then continued on the
short distance to the open fields. There we found our calo-
chortus. There were many of them and our hearts were full.

Often in the summer there are places where shade or a
sheltered location has retarded the melting of a snowbank.
Here will be an island of spring flowers avalanche lilies
or glacier lilies, buttercups and western anemones sur-
rounded by the more highly colored summer flowers. Spring
and summer are here joined together in the same marvelous
garden.

Boggy places, lakes, tarns, streams, and rills abound in
our Bit of Paradise, providing us with many delightful wet
gardens. The banks of creeks and rivulets are gay, in many
places, with the bright rose-pink of Lewis' monkey-flower.
As we approach closer we shall see gorgeous shooting stars,
pure-white marsh marigolds, and occasionally the wonderful
deep blue of delphinium. Small white stars of saxifrage, in
loose airy clusters, are scattered along these watercourses.
Alpine veronica, a little smaller and a lighter blue than Cu-
sick's veronica, grows here too, as do a number of dwarf
fireweeds which have small pink to light-purple flowers.
The lovely white cups of grass of Parnassus follow these
streams up from the forests below, but are not seen as fre-
quently as most of the other flowers. Finest of all the mon-
key-flowers, and in my opinion the most beautiful yellow
flower we have, is the alpine or tufted monkey-flower, Mim-

Squaw-grass, wimetinifs calltil hc-ar-j;r.is>

Indian pipe, often called ghost plant

Seed pods of western anemone
Called "old men of the mountains"

Glacier lily

Western anemone ; picture taken at 6,000 feet
in Mount Rainier National Park

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 26l

ulus Tilingii, variety caespitosus. It is found along water-
courses, especially in the upper meadows, where it forms
dense masses that are covered with bright-yellow blooms
like particles of concentrated sunlight. Sometimes right in
the middle of a brook you will find it growing on rocks,
changing them into tiny islands of gold.

Marshy lake shores and boggy places are the home of ele-
phant's head lousewort, marsh marigolds, shooting stars,
and rosy spirea. If we look closely we may find pale swamp
violets hiding among the grasses and sedges. Another incon-
spicuous flower in these swampy situations, one that most
people overlook, is the alpine swamp laurel, Kalmia poli-
folia, variety microphylla. It is diminutive, hugs the ground,
and its blossoms are lovely deep-pink, shallow cups. The
cotton grass or cotton sedge, Eriophorum angustifolium,
grows abundantly here and sometimes seems to take com-
plete control of small areas. Each slender stalk holds aloft a
little tuft of cotton.

In these wet places we shall find the deep-blue gentian,
Gentiana calycosa, usually growing in clumps with each stem
ending in an upright tubular bell that is colored a fine deep
blue. It was first discovered near Mount Rainier by Dr.
William Fraser Tolmie, one of the first white men to pene-
trate the wilderness of the Cascades. On September 2, in the
year 1833, he made a collection of plants on a mountain
in the northwest corner of what is now Mount Rainier Na-
tional Park. This mountain has since been named Tolmie
Peak in his honor.

Some of the most fascinating parts of our Bit of Paradise
are the charming rock gardens we shall find on every cliff,
ledge, and outcropping of rock. Each crack, fissure, niche,

262 THE CASCADES

or cranny that will allow a plant to gain a foothold has its
flowers. This is the home of the shrubby cinquefoil, Poten-
tilla fruticosa, and the cliff or rock paintbrush, Castilleja
rupicola. Dainty blue bells of campanula, small starry saxi-
frage, and the little bulbous leaves and yellow blossoms of
stonecrops adorn these rocks. The dwarf mountain daisy,
Erigeron compositus, is occasionally found on rocky ledges
where it forms cushion-like tufts and bears white to pinkish
short-stemmed little daisies. Small patches of phlox and
Alaskan spirea grow on these ledges, too, sometimes trailing
over their edges and blurring the harsh contours of the
rocks. The rocks are also softened in many places by the
prostrate, creeping mats of mountain juniper and kinnikin-
nick. Kinnikinnick, or bear-berry, has small bunches of pink-
ish, urn-shaped flowers that develop into bright-red berries.
It also has the jaw-breaking scientific name of Arctostaphylos
uva-ursi. Bears are extremely fond of these berries and go
to great lengths to find them.

Here in the rock gardens are fine displays of rock pen-
stemon. The commonest is Menzies' penstemon which is low,
bushy, has small leathery leaves and purple flowers. Less
abundant, but more than making up for it in brilliance, is
the best one of them all, the cliff penstemon, Penstemon
rupicola. It has rounder, gray-green leaves and brilliant rose-
crimson flowers. Once in a while you will find the rare sight
of both kinds growing in the same place. Wherever the rocks
are wet we shall see mist-maiden, a succulent plant with
slender stems, thin kidney-shaped leaves, and airy sprays
of small white blossoms. We might even see Drummond's
anemone tucked into a rocky crevice. The delicate creamy-
white flowers will be washed with a faint bluish tinge.

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 263

As I tell you of these flowers that seem to spring from the
very rocks themselves, a verse comes to my mind just as it
did to Maxine and me one time in the mountains. It is
Tennyson's poem:

"Flower in the crannied wall,

I pluck you out of the crannies;

I hold you here, root and all, in my hand,

Little flower but if I could understand

What you are, root and all, and all in all,

I should know what God and man is."

Equaling or perhaps surpassing the cliff gardens in charm
and beauty are the rocky slopes that are characteristic of
many parts of our Bit of Paradise. Mother Nature has
planted some of them with rock gardens so exquisite in their
apparently haphazard arrangement that a mere human gar-
dener will either exclaim with joy or weep from frustration
on seeing them. The rock penstemon, paintbrush, shrubby
cinquefoil, harebells, saxifrage, stonecrop, etc., are as much
at home here as they are on the cliffs and ledges. Thick mats
of phlox and Alaskan spirea spread around and over many
of the rocks, and Cusick's veronica makes spots of blue here
and there. In the lower parts of the Hudsonian zone we shall
see the tall stalks and clustered blue-purple flowers of Pen-
stemon serrulatus and a little higher are two shorter, dainty
ones with very small flowers, a half inch or less in length.
The more common, Penstemon procerus, is bright blue
and the other, Penstemon confertus, is a delicate, creamy
yellow. Sandwort, arenaria, is generally distributed over
these slopes, and here too are the small pink or light-purple
flowers of rock cress, arabis, and the lobed white petals and
bladder-like capsules of silenes. In the northern half of the

264 THE CASCADES

range are two very pretty rockery plants, the bright-yellow
mountain wallflower, erysimum, and the mountain primrose,
douglasia, which is low, tufted, and has small clusters of
rose-colored, primrose-like blossoms.

Many more rockery flowers grace these marvelous rock
gardens. In some places the heather, asters, daisies, lupine,
lousewort, and other plants of the meadow gardens grow
among them and join with them to create a picture that is
complete in every detail.

This open, park-like terrain through which we have been
roaming is very limited in area when compared to the vast
extent of the forested regions. But the wonderful panoramas
of rugged mountain scenery, the soft, verdant beauty of the
slopes and fields themselves, and the marvelous arrays of
flowers combine to give it a charm and beauty surpassing
that of any other part of the mountains.

In this fairyland of mountain meadows, so full of flowers,
Maxine and I have found our Bit of Paradise and we know
that you, too, will react as we did to the magic of its spell.
A few hours spent hiking along the forest trails and wan-
dering at will through the alpine meadows will create a de-
sire to spend days and weeks of happy, leisurely relaxation
in this wonderful Cascade mountain playground.

By various means the alpine regions have been made ac-
cessible to everyone. A way can be found for you to reach
your Bit of Paradise too. If you are addicted to hiking and
in my opinion this is the best mode of mountain travel there
are innumerable trails, all a part of the Trail to Paradise, that
will take you there. In some places rough Forest Service
roads reach this region, and if you are limited by time or by

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 265

physical ability to traveling on paved highways, it is still
attainable. Fine smooth highways give access to the flowering
meadows of Mount Baker, Mount Rainier National Park,
Mount Hood, Crater Lake National Park, and Lassen Vol-
canic National Park.

TIMBER LINE AND THE ARCTIC-ALPINE ZONE

Even more restricted in extent than the Hudsonian zone
is the Arctic- Alpine zone for it is limited to the upper slopes
of the dormant volcanoes and other high peaks that rise
above the limit of tree growth. It is a region of rocky peaks
and ridges, scree slides, high barren slopes, snow fields, gla-
ciers, and severe weather conditions. You might assume, as
most people do, that surely no plant life can exist in these
barren, inhospitable places, exposed as they are to all ex-
tremes of weather and where winter lasts eight, nine, and
sometimes ten months of the year. Such is not the case, how-
ever, as quite a few flowering plants inhabit this highest of
our zones. All of them are interesting and some are very
beautiful. It is something of a thrill to find a lovely little
tuft blooming in a rocky crevice and to realize that it also
grows, near sea level, in Alaska, in Greenland, and around
the Arctic. A few of our species are also native to the high
Alps of Europe.

Our trip includes a short jaunt into this interesting region
where we will find flowers blooming above the snow and
ice. The easiest and best way to get there is on the slopes
of one of the sleeping volcanoes, but before we reach it we
must climb through the upper part of the Hudsonian zone.
As we gain elevation the trees become ever smaller and
fewer until at timber line they are reduced to gnarled,

THE CASCADES

prostrate specimens. There is also a gradual change in the
flowers, a few carry over into the upper regions, becoming
smaller and dwarfed as they go, and some new ones make
their appearance.

In the higher meadows we shall find the alpine aster,
Aster alpigenus; yellow heather is added to the white and
pink varieties j saxifrage takes to the rocks and now includes
Tolmie's saxifrage, the most attractive of them all. As we
approach timber line we shall begin to see LyalPs lupine,
a dwarf species that forms rosettes of small silvery leaves
and short, tight bunches of brilliant blue-purple flowers. The
golden aster, Erigeron aureus, a dainty, tufted plant with
bright golden heads, enters the picture here too. I remember
one time when Maxine and I were climbing the trail on
Burroughs Mountain, a broad-topped, bleak old mass, and
as we neared the summit a sweet fragrance that could only
come from lupine filled the air. When we poked our heads
over the top, we saw a field of LyalPs lupine and golden
asters like a wonderful carpet of blue and gold. It was
breath-taking.

All of the plants we see now are small, grow in tufts,
cushion-like clumps or mats, and generally are thickly cov-
ered with some kind of hair. The purple and crimson rock
penstemon make fine displays here, and the dwarf moun-
tain daisy is seen more often in these higher rocky places
than it is lower down. Eriogonum pyrolaefolium, variety
coryphaeum, a member of the buckwheat family, is com-
mon in very dry or sandy soils. It has a cluster of small
oval leaves and dense, rounded umbels of whitish flowers
on stout stalks. Growing with it, but not as common, we
shall find pussy's-paws, Spraguea caudicifera. Its leaves are

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 267

darker green and more densely crowded, and the pretty lit-
tle flower heads are pinkish to rose-red.

As we pass beyond the last trees the ground becomes
more barren and rocky, and we are in a world that is bleak
indeed, the Arctic-Alpine zone. The flowers still continue
the struggle, and though their foliage is greatly reduced in
size and they have fewer blossoms, each blossom is just as
large and brilliant as those of the lower elevations. Sme-
lowskia, a member of the mustard family with finely di-
vided, gray-green leaves and tiny white flowers, is seen to
good advantage here, and the mountain sorrel, Oxyria
digyna, haunts the sheltered nooks and crannies. Drum-
mond's anemone is encountered infrequently, but it will be
worth our while to search for these fragile appearing flow-
ers, tinged on the backs with lovely shades of blue. Vying
with LyalPs lupine for first place in beauty is the silky
phacelia, Phacelia sericea, an elegant little plant of the
waterleaf family. It has silky silver-green, divided leaves
and dense head-like clusters of deep violet-blue. Forms of
mountain dandelions, Agoseris alpestris, Agoseris villosa,
and Hulsea nana, make occasional spots of bright yellow.
Here we will find SuksdorPs silene, a short-stemmed
variety, and alpine Jacob's-ladder, Polemonium elegans,
with its tiny leaflets and showy clusters of blue-violet flow-
ers with yellow centers. It also has an unpleasant, skunk-like
odor. This inhospitable region is the home of the exquisite
moss campion, Silene acaulis. It grows in cracks and on
ledges of cliffs and outcroppings of solid rock where it forms
pincushion mats, like patches of moss, that are literally
covered with lovely deep-pink flowers.

If we were to continue climbing higher and higher into

THE CASCADES

the Arctic-Alpine regions the flowers would drop out, one
by one, and become very scarce. We would have to climb
quite high, though, before they disappeared entirely, for
smelowskia and Draba aureola, another member of the
mustard family, have been found at an altitude of ten thou-
sand feet.

A short description of part of a climb we made to the
summit of Columbia Peak, elevation 7,134 feet, will serve,
I think, to give you some small idea of what might be en-
countered on a rock peak extending up into the Arctic- Alpine
zone. We left our camp at the old ghost mining town of
Monte Cristo quite early in the morning and swiftly passed
through the Canadian zone on the trail to Poodledog Pass.
From the pass we took a branch trail that leads to Twin
Lakes through the lovely Hudsonian zone. Shortly before
reaching the lakes we left the trail and took to the west
ridge of the peak itself. Trees gradually became fewer and
smaller and the views grander as we climbed higher and
higher. At last, on a high shoulder of the ridge, we passed
the last trees. Above us were only rocky slopes, bare rocks,
and a few snow fields.

We continued doggedly upward expecting to see few, if
any, flowers. Close above us a mountain goat, monarch of
all mountain climbers, trotted across a snow slope and soon
disappeared from view. We scrambled on, seeing a number
of flowers scattered here and there. One slope held quite a
garden of bush penstemon, phlox, saxifrage, stonecrop, hare-
bells, and other flowers. Presently we came to a ledge about
fifty feet below the summit and here, at an elevation of
7,100 feet, we found Drummond's lovely fragile anemone,
beautiful, deep violet-blue silky phacelia, and cushions of

THE FLOWERS IN OUR BIT OF PARADISE 269

exquisite deep-pink moss campion. This alone was worth
the hours of hiking and climbing we had already put in, but
we were not yet finished with surprises. We made the inter-
esting climb of the last few rocks, and as we gained the
summit, the very highest point itself, lo and behold, what
was there to greet us but the pretty yellow blossoms of the
shrubby cinquefoil. We were amazed to find it in such a
place, exposed to every mountain storm and to all extremes
of weather. Though the leaves were very small and the
plants stunted, each flower was as large as any we had seen
far down the mountainside. The combination of an exhila-
rating climb, magnificent views, and beautiful flowers trem-
bling in the wind, sent us happily on our way home, tired
in body but recreated in spirit.

ALPENGLOW

Time is running out on us, the sun hangs low in the
western sky, and our trip, as all trips do, is rapidly nearing
its end. We must retrace our steps swiftly lest darkness over-
take us before we reach our car. Down we go to our Bit of
Paradise, where we linger for a few last moments to fill our
beings with all the beauty that is there. Then into the forest
and down, down the trail until at last we reach the place
from which we started.

As we roll along the highway toward home, the sun sinks
behind the Coast Range to the west and we stop to see the
Cascades flushed with the gorgeous alpenglow. Then we
wish that we were back in the high places, in our Bit of Para-
dise, where we can best see the first delicate shades of pink
turn darker and darker as the shadow of night swiftly creeps
out of the valleys and up the sides of the mountains until

27C THE CASCADES

everything is engulfed in darkness. We might be fortunate
enough to be there when the valleys below are filled with
clouds, like a vast sea that stretches to the horizon. It was in
such a lovely setting that my friend Clark Schurman saw
a rare occurrence that inspired him to write:

"Into the cloud-sea far below
I, lonely, watched the red sun go.
Then, turning, miracle of glad surprise,
Enchanted, saw the full moon rise."

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES

by Ellsworth D. TLumley

he Cascade Range is a natural barrier which effectively
separates most of the birds of the eastern slope from those
of the coast. Birds from both sides move up and down the
mountains but few cross over. The Cascades offer a wide
variety of bird habitats, for they extend from the low foot-
hills with logged-off and burned-over areas, through sec-
tions of uncut virgin forests, up to the mountain meadows
with their islands of alpine fir, and beyond to the snow-
capped rocky peaks. The number of different bird habitats
is further increased by the many rivers, ravines, lakes, and
swamps found throughout the range.

The rise from slightly above sea level to an elevation of
several thousand feet places sections of the Cascades in four
life zones. Because of their ease of movement birds cannot
definitely be placed in discrete life zones. Most birds show
a decided preference for one habitat and may be found with
more success in a specific place. However, in their search
for food and during migration they may wander or deliber-
ately move into habitats and zones in which they are not
customarily seen. The bird watcher in the mountains may

273

274 THE CASCADES

therefore have a number of pleasant surprises as he finds
bird friends in unexpected places.

Low valleys cutting through the foothills at the base of
the Cascades lie in the Transition zone. Practically all of
these valleys have been logged off and many of them have
been burned over a number of times. Typical birds to be
seen in the open country are the Lewis woodpecker, Cali-
fornia quail, Oregon ruffed grouse, and Pacific nighthawk.

Just above the Transition zone lies the Canadian zone.
Here the fauna and flora are similar to that of the lower Ca-
nadian provinces. The great forests which have not been
logged are made up of the giant Douglas fir, western hem-
lock, and red cedar. Such flowers as trilliums, Canadian dog-
wood, and twin-flowers are common. In this zone one may
expect to find the varied thrush, winter wren, pileated and
Harris woodpecker, sooty grouse, Steller's jay, Oregon jay,
kinglet, nuthatch, and chestnut-backed chickadee.

The Hudsonian zone lies above the deep forests. Here
the Douglas fir, red cedar, and western hemlock have given
way to the tall slender alpine fir, the Alaska cedar, and the
mountain hemlock. These trees appear in islands scattered
about the great alpine meadows. During the short summers
the meadows are blanketed with a mass of brilliantly colored
flowers. The moist clouds blowing in from the Pacific cover
these meadows with many feet of snow during the winter.
The trees are tall and spire-like with their branches all
growing downward to shed the snow. This part of the moun-
tains attracts many bird watchers for here are to be seen
birds not often encountered in other places. A few of the
many birds to be observed are the mountain bluebird,

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 275

Clark's nutcracker, hermit thrush, calliope hummingbird,
GrinnelPs chickadee, and slate-colored fox sparrow.

Many peaks and ridges of the Cascades rise above the
6,5Oofoot elevation and thus leave behind the Hudsonian
zone. Except where heavy winds prevail, these high eleva-
tions are covered with perpetual snow and ice. During the
short summer the sun's heat melts exposed lower surfaces,
where a few hardy plants are able to survive. A few birds
find the rocky ground and bare cliffs suitable homesites. The
pallid horned lark, white-tailed ptarmigan, Hepburn's rosy
finch, and pipit are to be found beyond the tree line in the
Arctic-Alpine zone.

The smell of the trees, flowers, and forest floor $ the feel
of the moss, the soft spongy earth, and the rough bark of
trees j the sound of running water, hum of insects, and the
songs of birds, all are as pleasure giving and soul satisfying
as the beauty of the mountains, the color of the flowers, and
the sight of flying birds. The truth is, many songs are heard
where one bird is seen, so that the ability to identify a few
bird songs brings more pleasure to the mountain climber
than the ability to identify a few birds by sight. Many of
the songs have an emotional appeal similar to the soft music
of a pipe organ or the gay music of the violin. Bird watchers
time many of their mountain visits to the song season just
to hear the morning and evening songs of some of the moun-
tain birds.

The deep gloom of the Douglas fir forests that skirt the
base of the Cascades creates a mood altogether fitting for
the melancholy song of the varied thrush. To the naturalist,
the single note repeated over and over, seldom on the same
pitch, is as much a part of the forests in spring and early

276 THE CASCADES

summer as are the Canadian dogwood. Queen's cup, and
trillium. The varied thrush, often called the winter robin
and Alaska robin, migrates vertically, therefore during the
winter months many are seen about the .cities of Puget
Sound. With the coming of spring they slowly move up the
mountains singing their weird song during most of the day.
The guttural single note is so easily imitated that it is pos-
sible, by whistling the note, to coax several of the birds to
answer the song and to flit through the branches overhead.
After the song season is over the varied thrush becomes a
ghost bird which silently moves through the trees, giving
the bird watcher only an occasional glimpse of a fleeting
shadow.

The rapid bubbling song of the winter wren entirely
changes the somber mood of the forests, for this cheerful
songster seems to bring rays of sunshine to the forest floor.
The winter wren buoys up your spirit and makes you want
to sing with the tiny sprite. And oh! how tiny he is. You get
but a glimpse of him as he hops and flits through the tan-
gled roots of the fallen giants. His movements are decidedly
mouse-like until he mounts some half-hidden root where,
with his tail standing straight up on his back, he pours forth
his long gurgling song. You stand amazed that such a tiny
creature can sing so long a melody.

The joyous song of the winter wren is sometimes changed
to one of alarm and fear. While hiking up a narrow ravine
with its small stream crossed and crisscrossed by old moss-
and fern-covered logs, I was attracted to a pair of winter
wrens by their rather loud and persistent calls of distress.
At first I suspected it was my presence near their nest that
was causing so much alarm, but as I moved away I noted

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 277

that the two continued to dart about a small log a few feet
from the trail. I quietly retraced my steps and climbed upon
the end of the log to see what was causing so much alarm.
I was startled by the sight of what appeared to be a snake
with a feather headdress, coiled in a small patch of sunshine.
When I stepped near to examine the strange sight I found
it to be a garter snake with a partially swallowed young
wren. Unable to move away with the wing and tail feathers
widely protruding from its mouth, the snake quietly con-
tinued to engulf the bird as I watched. This was tragedy
for the parent wrens and my first impulse was to kill the
snake and liberate the dead bird. Yet I knew that I was
witnessing a part of the normal activities of nature, a part
that few people are privileged to see. I watched for a short
time, filled with the urge to stop this sad event, yet realiz-
ing that whatever I might do would only make a double
tragedy and be a real offense against nature.

While only a few musical songs are heard in the dense
forests, there are a number of calls which serve as the song
of certain birds. Once recognized, they are thoroughly en-
joyed by the bird student for they are like the off-key
whistling of the little boy who saunters down the street.
Such musical ability cannot be compared with that of a Lily
Pons, yet recognizing the cheerful whistle brings as much
joy and happiness as hearing a real artist.

So while the nasal "yank-yank-yank" of the red-breasted
nuthatch is not musical, it brings the same joy to the heart
of the outdoor person as does the bubbling song of the win-
ter wren. A song not heard unless the ear is attuned to bird
notes is the high-pitched call of the pileated woodpecker.

278 THE CASCADES

This handsome black bird with his flaming red crest is ad-
mired by all who are fortunate enough to get a good look
at him, yet few people have ever heard him sing. The "pee-
ist" call of the western flycatcher is repeated monotonously
from some shadowy branch in the forests. When he chooses
to sing, his effort produces four metallic notes that sound as
though they were produced by an insect rather than a bird.
Yet there is something pleasing to this as you watch the little
fellow cheer up his gloomy habitat. High overhead one
often hears the call of the crossbills as they search for food
in the tops of the trees or quickly pass by in flight. Their
song is no more musical than the notes of the chickadees and
kinglets, yet it is a tantalizing song for you never get a good
look at these birds except in more open woods near some
stream or lake where they often come to drink.

Where the forests have been cleared away for roads,
camps, or small farms, and upon rocky slopes where the
forests are thin, the Townsend solitaire pours forth a me-
lodious song from some high tree or snag. This truly west-
ern bird is looked for by almost every bird lover who visits
the mountains, not because of his beauty or his song, but
solely for the deep satisfaction of seeing him. His feeding
habits are so similar to those of the flycatchers that he is
often referred to as a flycatcher.

Fortunately for the bird watcher, the Townsend warbler
prefers to remain in the open forests where he can be seen
more easily. His wheezy song, lisped over and over again
from the treetops, keeps the observer peering through the
openings in the trees in hopes of a glimpse of this striking
bird. Patience is usually rewarded, for this warbler's actions
are somewhat leisurely and when he does come into view

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 279

on some branch tip he remains long enough to present a
good view of his bright yellow and black markings.

Only a part of the Canadian zone of the Cascades remains
blanketed with great forests. Man has moved into the moun-
tains with powerful logging equipment and has stripped
much of the land, leaving behind stumps and scarred earth.
Nature soon covers the scars with a thick growth of fireweed,
willows, alders, maples, and evergreens. In places where
the logging was done many years ago, there is now a large
stand of second-growth forest. Where the logging is more
recent the country is more open. This open brushy country
is the home of many birds that love the shelter of brush
and the bright sun overhead. The songs of these brush-lov-
ing birds are now common.

The warbling vireo's song is heard continuously through-
out the day along the streams and river beds. The joyful
and varied notes of the song sparrow and the high trilled
song of 4 jie towhee are common in the brushy logged-off
land. Both birds gather much of their food from the ground
where they are often seen scratching among the leaves.
Where man has cleared small tracts of land for homes and
small gardens, the towhee is somewhat of a menace to sprout-
ing peas. A pair will go down a row pulling up every seed
just to enjoy the tender sprout.

Warblers enjoy the deciduous trees which quickly take
over logged-off land. During the spring and early summer
the songs of the yellow warbler, lutescent warbler, Audubon
warbler, Macgillivray warbler, and pileolated warbler are
common. Their songs are distinctive enough to provide iden-
tification for each bird.

The "chickadee-dee-dee" of the Oregon chickadee is a

28O THE CASCADES

common song of the lower mountains where second growth
is again making the earth green. This song always invites
me to a little game with the birds. By stepping among the
branches of a bush or tree and whistling the "phoebe" song
of the chickadee I can soon have several of the males ex-
citedly fluttering about my head, scarcely giving me my turn
to whistle the little song. On two occasions they landed on
me. Once one sat on my shoulder and continued to sing his
phoebe call, and another time one clung to the rim of my
hat and looked down and answered my whistle. These little
talks with chickadees during a hike are as refreshing as a
cool drink from a mountain spring.

The loud "what! three cheers" of the olive-sided fly-
catcher is one of the most common songs heard on the open
mountainsides. From his favorite perch high atop some tall
tree or old snag he repeats his song during most of the day.
When not loudly whistling his song, this large flycatcher
monotonously utters a soft call of two notes which betrays
his whereabouts to the hiker.

Probably the best friends of our forests are the wood-
peckers. These birds work the year around in the destruc-
tion of insects and larvae which they find in the cracks of
bark, under the bark, and deep in the trees. Nature has pro-
vided the woodpecker with specialized tools for removing
wood-boring beetles, which are said to destroy more trees in
Washington than are destroyed by fire. The woodpecker's
tail feathers are stiff and pointed, so he appears to sit on
his tail while he digs for the insects. His beak is sharp and
chisel-like for digging into either soft or hard wood, and his
tongue is long with a bony, barbed tip for spearing the hid-
den wood borer. Such labor-saving devices materially aid

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 28l

woodpeckers in holding in check the destructive forest
insects.

At least eight woodpeckers are to be seen in the Cascades.
The northwestern flicker is probably the most common, for
this bird quickly moves into an area after the old forests
have been logged and replaced by second growth. The flicker
is also common in the alpine country.

The green and pinkish Lewis woodpecker lives in the
lower sections of logged-off and burned-over foothills, par-
ticularly where red elderberries are common. He varies his
insect diet with different fruits.

The most brilliant of the woodpeckers is the northern red-
breasted sapsucker. These birds love cedars, and the great
series of holes drilled into the bark of the trees is evidence
of their activity. They have not much fear of man and will
permit rather close observation.

The Gairdner woodpecker is a form of the downy, and
is well known to all bird lovers. This little woodpecker
prefers the lower elevations where he can find willows in
which to search for food. His larger cousin, the Harris
woodpecker, is more common. The latter enjoys not the
burned-over areas only, but also the deeper woods, and is
occasionally seen in the alpine firs of the Hudsonian zone.

As was mentioned earlier, we usually find the pileated
woodpecker in the deep forests. This is the largest wood-
pecker in the mountains 5 it is a flashy black bird with a bril-
liant red crest. Another species common to the forests is the
Alaskan three-toed woodpecker. He is not so devoted to the
large trees as the pileated, and so may be encountered in
the trees in the alpine meadows.

Wide river valleys reach back in the Cascades until they

282 THE CASCADES

become narrow gorges with rushing tumbling white water.
Where the rivers flow lazily in wide valleys between distant
peaks the evening twilight comes early. While the upper
part of the mountains still glows in the setting sun, the
russet-backed thrush begins its evening song. Picnickers and
campers whose ears are never tuned to the robin's song,
stop and listen to the twilight song of the russet-back as
he sings from some dense thicket. To become personally
acquainted with this thrush requires patience and a little
know-how, for the bird is so shy that he seldom comes into
the open. The most common note of the bird is a low "whit"
which is easily imitated. I have stepped into a large bush
and whistled this note when russet-backs were singing near-
by. In just a few seconds the note was answered, first by
one bird then by another. Gradually the birds moved about,
getting closer and closer, until I had a quick glimpse of
them as they flitted from branch to branch. Once the thrushes
see the source of the strange whistle they stop their calling
and quietly disappear. However, there is an exhilarating
thrill in the fleeting glimpse one gets of the birds as they
cautiously move through the bushes.

It comes as a surprise to many mountain visitors to see
ducks on the rivers and lakes. Apparently most people never
associate waterfowl with the mountains. Yet probably the
most beautiful, and certainly the most striking, of all ducks
are seen in the mountains.

Flocks of the American merganser are often encountered
where the rivers are deep and not too swift. Higher in the
mountains where the rivers have narrowed, the smaller and
more distinctive hooded merganser is seen. This bird prefers
some lake hidden in the woods, however, and makes its

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 283

home there as soon as the ice and snow melt away. It nests
in a hollow of some nearby tree and is most difficult to find.
Authorities claim that its eggshell is harder and tougher
than that of any other native North American bird.

The harlequin duck is the most gaudily marked of the
waterfowl. Hikers who are fortunate enough to get a good
look at a group of harlequins ask many questions about this
species of the first %ird man" they meet The bizarre and
fantastic spots and patches on the head and body make the
bird one to be remembered. Harlequins love swift and tur-
bulent waters where they swim and dive with the ease of
grebes. They usually nest on some small island in a river or
stream. After the family is reared they move down the
rivers to the salt water where they spend the winter.

Visitors to mountains, rivers, and streams also get a sur-
prising shock when they first see the water ouzel calmly
walk off a flat rock and disappear under the water. It looks
as though the bird were trying to drown itself. But in just
a few seconds the ouzel walks out of the water onto another
rock and bobs its body up and down several times. The
ouzel, probably better known as the dipper, is a true song-
bird with no aquatic characteristics, yet it is as much at home
in the water as is a duck. The ouzel will plunge into swiftly
running water where you would expect to find it dashed to
pieces, search for food in this strange environment, then
suddenly appear upon another rock to continue its bobbing
and dipping.

The dipper is an accomplished songster, his song being
similar to that of the winter wren. An attractive moss nest
is usually built so near water that it is dripping wet from
spray most of the time. Severe winters do not drive this

284 THE CASCADES

bird from the mountains. He merely moves to lower eleva-
tions where he finds sufficient food in the icy rivers.

The many mountain lakes dotting the Cascades from the
Canadian border to the Columbia River offer a home and
resting place to a good many waterfowl. Barrow's golden-
eye, unlike the American golden-eye which migrates north
to breed, moves up into the mountain lakes to make its
summer home. Here the birds find ample food and excellent
nesting sites in hollow trees. During the autumn, mallards,
pintails, and green- winged teal may be seen on many of the
mountain lakes. These migrating birds find a welcome sanc-
tuary on these small isolated bodies of water during their
fall flight. With the ducks may be seen the western grebe
and the pied-billed grebe. Loons, which once were common
on many lakes, have now become rare summer visitors, pos-
sibly due to potshots often taken at them by unthinking
hunters.

Bird trips to the mountain lakes in the fall will usually
result in the finding of such shore birds as the semi-palmated
sandpiper, killdeer, western solitary sandpiper, Wilson's
snipe, and the spotted sandpiper. Many of the latter are
mountain birds for they build their nests in the high alpine
meadows or when possible on a sandy shore near water.
Summer campers on mountain lakes often hear the "peet-
weet" call of this bird as it flies out over the water.

Another fall visitor to the mountain lakes is the blue
heron. To the person whose heart is not filled with prejudice
against all creatures that take fish, the blue heron is as much
a part of our lakes as are the reeds and half-sunken logs
about the water's edge. The heron gives life to the lake and
makes it a living part of the wilderness.

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 285

Many of the mountain lakes are shining jewels in a set-
ting of evergreen trees. The bird watcher sees and hears
the many birds that make this majestic setting their home.
Late one afternoon as I sat resting on the shore of one of
these beauty spots, a flock of evening grosbeaks dropped
almost at my feet from the trees above. They hopped about
the narrow beach for a few moments, satisfied their curiosity
as to what I was, then, softly whistling their chirp and high
trill, flew back into the trees. Since they are seen all during
the summer in the high timbered sections, they undoubtedly
breed in the Cascades.

On another occasion a flock of crossbills drank and bathed
within a few feet of where I was sitting on a half-sunken
log. After they had gone it was hard to realize that I had
been watching crossbills without the use of glasses and with-
out acquiring a stiff neck from looking upward.

No mountain bird demands and gets the attention of
hikers and picnickers as does the Oregon jay or camp robber.
Like a genie this bird appears as soon as lunch sacks are
opened, whether it be in deep forests or in alpine meadows.
Lacking the fear which most wild creatures have for man,
the camp robbers soar down from the trees to within a few
feet of the picnickers, then hop up and take food from the
hand. This show of confidence has earned the birds many
full meals, for most people are more than generous with
such friendly birds. Campers often find the jays a nuisance
after the first day or two. The fun of feeding them disap-
pears when every piece of unguarded food is carried away.
I have watched the birds fly off with food from a camper's
plate while he was tending to the fire or getting hot coffee.
Camp robbers are a real joy to the hundreds of people who

286 THE CASCADES

spend a part of their summer in a mountain cabin. They
are certain to form a reception committee within a few min-
utes after the cabin is opened and to come flying up to the
porch with a whistled greeting. From then on the birds may
be expected at any time for their handout of food.

One summer a pair regularly entered our cabin at meal-
time and ate from the table. Our hospitality caused the
death of one of the birds. It was necessary to keep a number
of mousetraps set on the cupboard to keep down the number
of deer mice that made our nights sleepless by rustling
through paper sacks and food boxes. One morning just as
it was getting light I was awakened by the snap of one of
the traps and by considerable noise as the trap was banged
about on the floor. I investigated, to find that one of the jays
had entered through the window and had been caught in the
trap. We were careful after that to hide the traps where
only mice could get at them.

I might say that we always felt regretful about catching
the mice, for they were dainty creatures with their large
eyes and ears. Many evenings we sat quietly and watched
one of the mice come in through the window, run across the
table, jump to the cupboard, and then snoop into every
sack. However after a hard day in the field there is nothing
more irritating than the sound of a mouse rattling cello-
phane and paper sacks in search of food. Regardless of how
cute the little fellows look in the glare of a flashlight, it
becomes necessary to control their numbers if you are to eat
and sleep.

The attractive Steller's jay is found from sea level to
timber line. Though not as common as the Oregon jay, this
black-headed fellow with the deep-blue body is to be seen

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 287

on almost every trip to the mountains. His saucy habits and
warning notes given when hunters are stalking game, to-
gether with the fact that he does steal the eggs from a few
nests, have placed him on the predatory list. While it is
true that he will occasionally pilfer other birds' nests, there
is very little evidence to show that any great harm is done.
The joy and pleasure he gives with his beauty and interest-
ing habits more than pay for the slight damage he may do.

Numbers of bird voices heard by hikers and campers are
voices of mystery, for they are so unbird-like that they are
often associated with other creatures. People unused to the
woods and mountains often allow their imaginations to run
wild when they encounter sights and sounds to which they
are unaccustomed. I once met a group of boys on a mountain
trail who excitedly told me of the "cougar" that had
awakened them the night before with its screaming. After
listening to their story I was convinced that what they had
heard was simply the call of some owl. Another time a man
and his family excitedly told me of hearing a bear grunt
and growl at them as they walked along a trail. After get-
ting them to repeat the noise as closely as they could, I
knew they had been frightened by the hooting of a sooty
grouse.

Several owls are to be seen and heard in the Cascades.
The Kennicott screech owl enjoys the fir woods about the
base of the mountains, where his diet consists of small ro-
dents, birds, insects, amphibians, fish, and worms. His song
if such it may be called is not a screech, as his name
would indicate, but more a series of whistled "wooV A
somewhat smaller owl which may be encountered in almost
any place in the mountains is the saw-whet owl. He gives

288 THE CASCADES

a number of calls, one sound being enough like the filing
of a saw to give him his name.

For about ten days during August a pair of northern
spotted owls hooted back and forth across a canyon at about
three o'clock every morning. The song was most irritating
to my companion for it invariably awakened us, yet to me
there was something pleasant in hearing these strange birds
calling to one another in the night. The dusky horned owl
is also a resident of the Cascades, where, like the other owls,
he carries on a valuable service in holding the many rodents
in check.

Summer is short in the Hudsonian zone. The heavy snows
melt slowly at this altitude, so that many of the alpine
meadows are under snow through the first week of July.
The flowering season is therefore rapid 5 one week the fields
are white with snow, the next they are white with avalanche
lilies, western anemones, and marsh marigolds. The next
week these white flowers are almost gone and the lupine,
red paintbrush, giant hellebore, and many other brightly
colored flowers have taken their place.

During June, while the snow is still several feet deep,
the singing of birds becomes common over the open moun-
tain slopes. The urge to nest is so great that many of the
birds raise their first families in what must look to the young
like a world of white.

It is in this zone of flower-covered meadows and clear
exhilarating panoramas that some of the most beautiful bird
songs are to be heard, Bird enthusiasts often make special
trips to the alpine country for the sheer joy and pleasure
of hearing the songs of these avian mountaineers.

Two sparrow vocalists that are enjoyed by all who take

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 289

a few moments to listen are the slate-colored fox sparrow
and the smaller Lincoln sparrow. The fox sparrow arrives
quite early and sings his full rich song all during June and
the first of July. Though often heard, the fox sparrow is
not so often seen, for he enjoys seclusion in the thick alpine
firs. The sly and elusive Lincoln sparrow darts and creeps
about the underbrush so that only glimpses can be had of
this retiring bird. When the male sings, however, he pours
his soul into his beautiful bubbling joyous song.

Two other sparrows that make their homes in the moun-
tains are the chipping sparrow and the Shufeldt junco. Both
birds enjoy a wide range, being found from the foothills to
the tree line. The song of these two birds is so similar that
it is often confused, for it consists of a single high trill.

If a prize could be awarded the family of birds whose
songs have the greatest appeal to the public, the thrush
family would win hands down. The robin's cheerful, rollick-
ing song welcomes in the day just as light is breaking. The
weird song of the varied thrush in the forest gloom is mel-
ancholic yet appealing. With the setting of the sun the
charming song of the russet-back in the valley strikes a pen-
sive chord with a tinge of sadness. It is the evening song
of the hermit thrush, however, as he sings from the rim of
the canyon, that makes one stand quietly, with hat removed,
as though a prayer were being said. The song is inspiring
and reverent. The notes are so pure you hesitate to speak
above a whisper while the hermit chorus sings. The Sierra
hermit thrush reaches the high altitudes during May, while
winter still rules. The bird is so shy and retiring that most
mountaineers never see him, but his flute-like song which

29O THE CASCADES

makes the mountains seem sacred is payment enough for the
hike to high country.

The most beautiful bird of the thrush family to be seen
in the Cascades is the mountain bluebird. Dr. D. L. Serventy,
noted ornithologist of Australia, considered this bird the
most beautiful in the United States. It ranges eastward from
the Cascades 5 very rarely does one wander down the west
side to Puget Sound. The bright azure-blue back of the
male shades to a light bluish gray on the breast. The female
is a bluish gray with the lower back a light blue.

That the mountain bluebird is a singer does not seem to
be generally known, even by those authorities who have
spent some time studying the bird. My first experience with
its song came at six o'clock on the morning of March 25,
1934, in Montana. It was still quite dark, but I soon found
the bird on the roof of a house. After singing for five min-
utes it flew away, passing so near me that I could make a
positive identification. From that morning on I watched and
listened for the bird, and often heard the song early in the
morning twilight. The singing habits of the mountain blue-
birds that spend their summers in the Cascades are similar
to those of Montana. Their song is usually a flight song
given while it is still quite dark, although on two different
occasions I have heard the mountain bluebirds sing from
an alpine fir in the middle of the morning. The song is com-
paratively simple, consisting chiefly of descending warbles
which invariably begin on the same pitch. One song follows
another so closely that it is difficult to determine when one
stops and another begins. I found the voice of the bluebird
impossible to imitate and almost impossible to describe. It is
low in comparison with other bird voices and carries several

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 291

undertones which make it extremely difficult to find the
exact pitch.

Cavities in old snags and dead trees are used as nesting
sites by the bluebirds. After the families are reared and the
birds are ready to migrate they have the peculiar custom of
migrating with Audubon warblers. Mixed groups of the two
birds are often observed during the fall.

The western bluebird is attractive, with his deep-blue
back and chestnut or reddish breast. He fails to excite the
admiration that the mountain bluebird doesj however, this
may be due partially to the fact that the western bluebird
is seen in the lower foothills with a deep evergreen back-
ground, while the mountain bluebird is observed in the
bright sunshine of the high meadows.

The most amusing bird of the Hudsonian zone is the
Clark's nutcracker or Clark's crow. First recorded in the jour-
nals of Lewis and Clark and named after Clark, the bird
has interested and entertained mountain visitors ever since.
Daring, saucy, boisterous, this gray crow begs and steals
what food he can, while at the same time driving off
the chipmunks and ground squirrels that come for their
handout. He is often mistaken for the camp robber by peo-
ple who are not too well acquainted with the mountain
birds. He is much larger in size, is gray except for the black
wings and black central tail feathers, and his voice is loud
and raucous.

The cone of the white-bark pine is hard, and to extract the
seed requires much work. Yet this cone is a choice item of
food for the nutcrackers. They will spend considerable time
pecking and prying to get to the kernel. One summer one
of the nutcrackers had the misfortune to poke his lower

292 THE CASCADES

mandible into a hollow chicken bone some picnickers had
thrown away. I watched this bird during the summer as he
attempted to remove the bone by hammering it against tree
trunks and the roof of the cabin. This seemed only to drive
it on more firmly. By turning his head sideways he was able
to pick up enough food from the ground to survive the
summer. Several attempts were made to catch the bird and
remove the bone but he could not be lured into a trap. The
following summer he was not seen with the bone, so he had
either rid himself of the cruel handicap or had died of starva-
tion during the winter.

Nutcrackers nest while the mountains are still in the grip
of winter, building their nests in the sheltering evergreen
trees. The young are dependent upon the parents for a long
period after they leave the nest. I have watched adults feed-
ing their young by regurgitation during July when the young
were fully as large as the adults.

Cassin's purple finch, like the mountain bluebird, is an
eastern Washington bird which moves as far west as the
crest of the Cascades. During the summer months, sunshine
or fog, its clear warbled song is often heard from the alpine
firs. So few of the mountain birds have more than a patch
of red on them that it is a delight to watch this finch with
his crimson-red head, pink throat, and reddish-brown back.

Singing from the same trees with the purple finch is some-
times heard the Grinnell chickadee. His "chickadee-dee-dee"
song is like that of the Oregon chickadee but his phoebe call
is quite different. It is whistled at a higher pitch and usually
consists of four instead of three notes. For some unknown
reason the birds have shown only a mild interest when I

Mountain bluebird

\

- 1 -*,

White-tailed ptarmigan

Cooper's hawk

Townsend solitaire
Western irrebe

Eagle Creek Punch Bowl
Granite Falls in Stillaguamish River

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 293

have whistled to them, never coming as do the Oregon
chickadees.

To my knowledge the chestnut-backed chickadee found in
the wooded sections of the mountains never gives a phoebe
call 5 its only song is the one common to all chickadees. When
I have whistled to them they have shown no interest.

Above the tree line lies a land of rocks and snow. The
few plants that can live in this environment are small and
scattered. It is little wonder that few birds choose this habitat
in which to raise their families.

One of my most pleasant bird experiences occurred in this
Arctic-Alpine zone. During the first week in August I was
hiking along a high ridge when a soft chirping, like that of
a baby chick, attracted my attention. I thought it might be
a young ptarmigan so I began looking about. I could find
nothing and was about to give up when it occurred to me
that possibly the mother was nearby and might come if I
whistled the distress notes of a little chicken. After about
the third chirp I heard a soft cluck to one side and saw an
adult white-tailed ptarmigan slowly moving toward me.
When she was within a few feet she stopped, then began to
circle me slowly. When she moved I could see her plainly,
but when she stopped her mottled coloring was so much like
the ground that she almost disappeared. In a few minutes
she quieted down, began clucking, and walked away. To my
surprise six little ptarmigans came hurrying to her from
among the stones. They had been so perfectly marked that
I hadn't seen one of them, although they were all in plain
view. This species of ptarmigan has little fear of man. Many
times groups of people have walked within a few feet of the

294 THE CASCADES

bird without anyone's seeing it until it began to walk slowly
away. The bird depends upon its coloring rather than upon
flight for escaping any possible harm.

In the fall, first the under parts, then the upper parts
turn white, so that during the winter when the mountains
are covered with snow the ptarmigan again is invisible
against its white background. During the winter the bird
feeds upon the buds of willow, alder, and other deciduous
plants that are not buried under the snow.

A bird that must truly love snow, cold, and storms is Hep-
burn's rosy finch. During the winter these birds are seen in
eastern Washington where the winters are often severe 5
early in the spring they migrate up to the mountain's bare
rocky cliffs where storms are common. Here they build their
nests in cracks in the rocks. The buds and seeds of heather
and other alpine vegetation, as well as insects that are found
on the snow, make up their food. Fog seems to be the only
element which can drive them down to open meadows during
the summer.

The pipit is not such a rugged individualist that he chooses
the bare rock cliffs for his summers. As the snow recedes
and the ground becomes bare, the pipit builds his cup nest in
the shelter of heather or under a small shelf of earth. The
male sings a sweet song, often giving it while in flight.

The high mountain country also attracts the pallid horned
lark. Its behavior is similar to that of the pipit, but the bird
is easily identified by its larger, plumper body and the strik-
ing markings on its head and body.

For the person who enjoys an air circus the mountains
have a special appeal, for here a number of birds can be
witnessed putting on thrilling air maneuvers and air battles.

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 295

Close-formation flying, daring dives, and air-current glid-
ings are all featured in the show.

During the fall migration many hawks take advantage of
the Cascade air currents which aid them in their southern
flight. Dozens may pass by in an afternoon, giving the
watcher an excellent opportunity to study their flight char-
acteristics. Occasionally one will seem to start from far below
in the canyon and then be swiftly catapulted into view over
the edge of a cliff. Few of the hawks ever seem in a hurry j
they apparently prefer a slow easy soaring to a more rapid
energetic flight. The western red-tailed and Swainson hawks
are experts at taking advantage of every current of air which
sweeps up the mountains. When hungry, they leave the mi-
gration route and soar in large circles over meadows from
which they gather mice, ground squirrels, and small
marmots.

The golden eagle with his large broad wings uses the
upward movement of air for sailing. Although often accused
of killing fawns and the kids of mountain goats, such kill-
ings are very rare. Rodents make up the bulk of this bird's
diet. Our national bird, the southern bald eagle, follows the
spawning salmon into the mountains where he is often seen
soaring slowly up some river canyon. Being a fish eater, he
seldom travels far from the waters which furnish him his
food.

The three accipiters, the goshawk, Cooper's hawk, and
sharp-shinned hawk, often amuse and entertain mountain
visitors with their swift darting flight. The first two breed in
the Cascades and are to be seen during the spring, summer,
and fall. Both are sufficiently large that most birds fear

296 THE CASCADES

them. When one comes into view a hush settles over the
area as all the birds seek shelter in the trees and bushes.

The smaller sharp-shinned hawk migrates through the
mountains during the late summer and fall. It is then that
exciting aerial battles occur between these small hawks and
the nutcrackers. Several nutcrackers will "gang up" on a
passing sharp-shinned and attack him from all sides while
simultaneously shrieking loudly at him. When the sharp-
shinned turns to attack one of the nutcrackers, that bird
streaks for the nearest tree while the other birds try to divert
the hawk's attention by screaming even more loudly and at-
tacking more viciously. Although I have witnessed a num-
ber of these battles, I have never seen the hawk catch a
nutcracker. It almost appears to be a game with the birds as
they dart about a passing hawk.

The kingfisher is a perfectionist in dive-bombing, for the
amount of food he eats depends upon his accuracy in hitting
the mark. Along most of the rivers and lakes this beautiful
bird, with his peculiar rattling call, searches for his slippery
prey. Two methods are used in locating the fish. One is to
fly over the water until a likely fish is spotted, then hover
a second or two lining up his sights, and finally dive swiftly
into the water to spear his fish. The other method is to sit
patiently on some branch or snag which overhangs the water,
watching for any movement below. When a fish comes within
range, the kingfisher plummets into the water and usually
emerges with his prey in his beak. Fish culturalists tell us
that while the kingfisher will take any fish he can catch, the
coarse scrap fish make up the most of his diet. By thus re-
moving the competitive fish, more food and shelter remain
for the game fish. This attractive bird which is so much a

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 297

part of our waterways thus becomes an aid to the fisherman
a fact which is too seldom appreciated.

One of the most amazing aerial displays to be seen in the
mountains is exhibited by the rufous hummingbird. The fe-
male will sit indifferently on the branch of a small bush or
will sip nectar from a flower while the male flies in front
of her in a great arc. He darts up twenty or thirty feet like
a small jet rocket, then heads straight for the earth, levels
off and zooms by the little lady, "buzzing" her as he passes,
again to flash straight into the sky. Back and forth the male
swings while the female calmly preens her feathers or gathers
her food. While this aerial show thrills human eyes, the
female hummingbird appears most indifferent.

The many acres of flowering meadows attract great num-
bers of hummingbirds to the mountains. The rufous is by far
the most common although the calliope hummingbird can
often be seen on the eastern slopes of the Cascades. This is
the tiniest of all the birds to be seen in the Northwest.

Swallows are the ballerinas among the birds, for their
every movement is one of ease and grace. They dart, whirl,
sail, and dive over the lakes and alpine meadows. Violet-
green swallows are the most common. They enjoy the pres-
ence of man, possibly because flying insects are common near
human habitations. The tree swallow is so similar to the vio-
let-green that close observation is necessary to make a positive
identification. Both have pure white breasts and shiny green
backs, and their beautiful soaring flight is a delight to the eye.

The northern pine siskin skillfully demonstrates the art
of close-formation flying. With hundreds of birds massed
so closely together that they appear to be almost wing tip
to wing tip, the flock wheels and turns in the air as though

298 THE CASCADES

governed by but one mind. With never a collision, the
massed birds swirl through the air, continually changing
their relative positions in the flock. Man has tried in many
ways to explain this wonderful communal flight of the siskin.

It is both exciting and laughable to watch a family of
ravens go through their aerial acrobatics. They play tag, fol-
low-the-leader, and cops and robbers with as much enthusi-
asm as a small group of children. During July and August
family groups of four and five are often seen together, the
young fully as large as the parents but often still being fed
by the old birds. They dive and chase and soar about the cliffs
and over the canyons apparently with thought only for the
enjoyment they are having.

It is deplorable that the state game departments place a
price on the head of this interesting bird and encourage every
man and boy with a gun to shoot him. Ravens are so few in
number that they can do no appreciable harm to the game
birds of the state.

The birds of the Cascades have given many happy hours
to thousands of people who have visited the mountains. Dur-
ing the winter the Clark's nutcrackers, Oregon jays, and
chickadees entertain and cheer the skiers. The pure white
ptarmigan is sometimes found on the snow fields by the skier
who ventures away from the well-beaten trails. Such a find
is as thrilling as the long ski run down a mountain slope.

The spring and summer birds become a part of the moun-
tains when the warm summer sun melts away the winter's ac-
cumulation of snow. The green forests, logged-over and
burned-over areas, the colorful flower fields, and even the
bare rocky peaks are gladdened by the cheerful song of birds.
Birds are as much a part of the Cascades as are the emerald

THE BIRDS OF THE CASCADES 299

lakes, rushing rivers, and glistening glaciers. They do not
quietly wait to be observed, however, but demand attention
with their merry songs, bright colors, and aerial displays. The
weary hiker may fail to see the beauty of the jagged rocky
peak, but he seldom fails to enjoy the sweet evening song
of the hermit thrush. The camper may take the giant firs for
granted, failing to note the grandeur of the stately trees,
yet he invariably jumps to his feet when a pileated wood-
pecker swoops from one tree to another. The appeal of the
mountain birds is so great, indeed, that bird hikes are taken
into the Cascades by many city dwellers.

The Cascades would be incomplete without the large
variety of birds which find food and shelter on the moun-
tain slopes and in the deep valleys. Without the birds, the
mountains would lose a great deal of their fascination and
charm.

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN

by Herbert Lundy

o,

'n the afternoon of the third day they came down the
steep trail from Long and Quinn lakes, digging in their heels
and grumbling. It was a mile down to the roaring North
Fork of the Willamette., and two miles up to the Taylor
Burn guard station where they had left the car twenty
miles, fourteen lakes, and fifty million mosquitoes ago.

The food was gone and they were hungry. Mountain
pterodactyls with turbojet engines, contemptuous of the
Army's vaunted insect repellant, had raised long welts on
their hands, necks, and faces. They had lost their way twice
and had cut across lava beds, down canyons, up ridges, out
of the pines and into the fir forest, through swamps tracked
by elk.

They had rested on a high ridge, watching the trout rise
on a lake a quarter-mile below, too weary to accept the chal-
lenge. They had frozen by night and cooked by day. Two of
them, in their forties and office-fat, had watched the sixteen-
year-old boy now fording the North Fork and romping
ahead up the last perhaps fatal grade, wipe their eyes
with a three-pounder at Rigdon Lake.

They were tired, gasping for breath, five pounds lighter,

303

304 THE CASCADES

sweating, dirty, hungry. They were extravagantly happy.

The back-packers had not seen a fisherman, nor anyone
else, in three days. In the cool folds of their down sleeping
bags were twenty rainbow, averaging a pound or thereabouts.
And they had watched one evening, but hadn't caught, a
great-grandfather of a trout a yard long and almost as
deep boiling the placid surface of Lower Eddeleo.

The last two-mile climb was murder. Alternately, they
condemned to eternal fire the man of questionable ancestry
who had tipped them off to the marvels of this little swing
around the backbone of the Cascades, and laid plans to re-
turn the following summer by helicopter or at least by a
shorter route and catch that monster fish on a dry fly. The
car looked like a heavenly chariot, despite running boards
bashed by rocks on the climb up the ribs of the Cascades
to Taylor Burn. They paused to tell the ranger that they
had put out a smoldering fire at Wahanna Lake, and that
the black bears had pulled down half the trail signs and
broken them into bits a favorite bruin sport.

On the drive out to Redmond they passed Irish Lake,
Taylor Lake, Little Cultus Lake, the Lava Lakes, Elk Lake,
Sparks Lake and a half-dozen others, stopping the car to
watch the evening rise, wondering why in the world they
hadn't fished some of these instead of half killing themselves
and knowing very well why they hadn't.

When they got back to the summer cabin on the Metolius
River that ever clear and constant stream which rushes out
of the subterranean vault of Black Butte the first thing they
saw was the mess of trout in the kitchen sink. The finicky
Metolius rainbow, whose indifference had urged them to the
lakes, had chosen that evening to feed on the surface. The

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 3O5

women had done almost as well as the men, and even
the younger children had taken rainbow on dry flies.

The women hadn't got the feel of the wilderness the fifty
thousand square miles of it, back from the highways and forest
roads that guards the incomparable lake basins of the Sno-
qualmie, Deschutes, and Willamette National Forests of
Washington and Oregon. But they had caught fish.

There is fishing for everyone in the great mountain range
of the Pacific slope; no need, really, to tote into the high
country to take rainbow, steelhead, eastern brook, European
brown, cutthroat and Mackinaw trout, or the heavy, migrant
Chinook fresh from the sea. Actually, the stream fishing is
better in the lower, accessible reaches.

In much of this fishermen's empire, from the Canadian
border to the Klamath River in California, the dry fly is
queen and its subjects the most fortunate of anglers. But
the purists have no monopoly, for big and little fish are
caught with every kind of bait and lure produced by nature
and devised by man.

Let no false impression arise. Success on Cascade lakes
and streams is measured, as it always is, by the skill of the
angler and the feeding whims of the trout. That is why those
who like to spend a week or longer on waters they have
learned to know, by chapter and verse even though these
be next to a paved highway may catch more and bigger
fish than those restless ones forever seeking strange pools
and spending much of their time in travel.

It is the escape into solitude, as well as the hope of better
fishing, that drives some into the wild country. There are
many others who like company.

306

THE CASCADES

THE SULLEN, WONDERFUL DESCHUTES

In all of America there is no trout river like the Des-
chutes that bleak and treacherous flow which heads in the
lakes of Deschutes and Klamath counties, plunges over rims
of lava and ambles glassily between broad and swampy
meadows, then drives with relentless power through nearly
one hundred miles of central Oregon canyons to join the
Columbia River above The Dalles.

From Madras to its mouth, the Deschutes races between
great painted cliffs and canyon slopes choked with barn-
sized rock fragments fallen from the stratified walls. It is
a sullen journey. Except for occasional rapids and the falls
at Sherars Bridge, the angry, even downsurge of water
rushes unbroken for miles.

The railroad to Bend and Klamath Falls clings to one
embankment, crowded between the grasping river and the
canyon walls, until it climbs out of the gorge to skirt Madras
and slash across the central Oregon plateau. On the opposite
shore is the abandoned roadbed of another line, the loser
in the hell-roaring race between Hill and Harriman to lay
the first rails into a rich livestock and timber country which,
in 1908, had only wagon tracks through the sage to serve
as roads.

Few anglers reach the river by rail. Passenger travel on
parlor cars hitched to the tails of freight trains is time wast-
ing and badly scheduled. For many miles no automobile
roads descend into the canyon. The abandoned Harriman
grade is choked with sage and thorn, many of its tunnels are
blocked, great chunks of roadbed washed away by cloudburst
torrents but withal it is a handy pathway for fishermen,

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 307

and in minor stretches it has been converted to auto travel.

The main stem of the Deschutes flows in a southerly di-
rection out of the Lava Lakes at 4,700 feet elevation on the
east slope of the Cascades, is impounded for irrigation by
Crane Prairie and Wickiup reservoirs, rounds the turn
through ponderosa pine forests and across bare black beds of
lava to flow north through the city of Bend, where it is re-
strained again to form Mirror Lake in Bend's beautiful
municipal park.

The irrigators have taken such toll that the Deschutes for
miles below Bend is sorely depleted but it is still a clear
and powerful stream. It regains its strength and becomes a
different river when it plunges into the canyon and is swelled
by the clear Metolius, the rampaging, flooding Crooked
River, and the Indians' Warm Springs River.

This is a harsh and forbidding canyon, burned by the
midsummer sun and swept by cold winds in spring and fall.
For miles the banks of the stream are lined with poison oak
thickets growing taller than a fisherman's head, through
which he must thrust to work the rock shores where the big
fish lie. Valley quail and Hungarian partridges fly out ahead.
Rattlesnakes give their timely warnings. Scorpions hide be-
neath the rocks and small gray lizards whisk across the

i

brown earth. Ticks are there in hordes in the spring, but are
seldom encountered after midsummer. There has not yet
been a case of Rocky Mountain spotted fever traced to the
Deschutes, though many some fatal to the Crooked River
country and other streams to the east. (But wise anglers take
their tick shots faithfully each spring.) The vegetation,
chiefly sage sumac, and juniper, is as harsh as the land.
An angler accustomed to the forest-bordered streams of

THE CASCADES

the mountains or coast, or the gentle brooks of the flat coun-
try, will not forget his first sight of the Deschutes. Here are
few gravel bars and no mild pools, no fords, few shaded
runs. The broad, deep, growling river sweeps through rock
banks without slackening its pace.

The treacherous Deschutes has claimed many lives. Its
diabolic currents tug gently, at first, at the feet of the un-
wary, urging him insistently toward midstream. But out a
little from shore, his ankles may be seized with an iron grip
that pulls him relentlessly into fast and fatal waters which
sweep outward and suck downward. Some of the luckier ones
have regained the shore a quarter-mile downstream.

This is the river named by the Indians Towonehiooks,
and by Lewis and Clark, who discovered it on October 22,
1805, Clark's River. The name that stuck was put on it by
the French-Canadian voyageurs in the fur trade Riviere
des Chutes, River of the Falls, either in reference to the falls
in the Deschutes at Sherars Bridge or because it flows into
the mighty Columbia near the Chutes, or The Dalles.

The great native trout of the Deschutes are the Pacific
steelhead and their sisters the rainbow, identical in form but
of different habits. The steelhead come up from the sea to
spawn in the protected gravel beds of the main stream and
tributaries. Unlike the Pacific salmon, most survive the
spawning ordeal and return to the sea. They are followed in
time by the fingerlings, though some may remain for their
life span in a river that is rich in food. But the vast majority
of the Deschutes River rainbow are resident, as are most of
their progeny, and some of these grow almost as great as
the silvered wanderers from the ocean.

Steelhead from six to twenty pounds are taken on wet flies,

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 309

as they are in the Rogue and Umpqua rivers, and with spin-
ners, plugs, and bait close to the mouth of the Deschutes
and for sixty miles upstream. A record twenty-eight-pounder
was beached in 1946. But dry fly fishing for resident rainbow
is the sport that has made the Deschutes one of the most
popular trout streams of the West, despite its forbidding ter-
rain, its snakes, ticks, and poisonous shrubs, and its moody
behavior.

There are times when the big fish rise in the Deschutes
in ravenous abandon, and unskilled anglers make fabulous
catches. These periods of intense activity usually are in aft-
ernoon or evening, though often there is a good morning
rise in the heat of summer. The Deschutes is not always pre-
dictable and has broken the hearts of fishermen who have
not learned its ways. Sometimes the best of anglers, old-
timers on the river, will not raise a fish all day, though con-
ditions seem favorable.

The Deschutes is at its magnificent peak in years when
the snow runoff in the mountains is normal and the Crooked
River behaves itself, from early in May until the end of
June. The hellgrammites of the big salmon fly crawl out
from under their submerged stones and onto the alder and
willow branches, and, warmed by the sun, soar off in uncer-
tain flight. Some fall into the stream in pairs. Then the rain-
bow lie close in to shore, under the overhang of brush and
occasional trees, sometimes in fast water so shallow that their
dorsal fins show above the surface. A smart angler will work
cagily upstream, making use of what cover is available, and
always casting first as close to the edge of the water as he
can without fouling his fly, thereafter working outward until

3IO THE CASCADES

he has covered the run to the edge of heavy water. Often he
will see a great trout rise lazily to the surface to gulp a drift-
ing salmon fly. He will give that trout a minute or two or
longer, then duplicate the fall and drift of the natural insect
with a high-floating bucktail caddis. The strike sometimes is
casual, sometimes vicious, but always the fight is terrific, for
these rainbow of the Deschutes are heavy and as powerful
and lively as the river itself. They are great aerialists.

The common fault of fishermen not familiar with the
feeding habits of the Deschutes rainbow or the peculiar na-
ture of the stream, is to overcast feeding trout. They clamber
down the rocky shore to the edge of the stream, driving the
fish into the depths, and cast far out on the profitless current.
No great ability as a caster is required on the Deschutes, ex-
cept in the department of placing the fly gently on the water
and permitting it to drift naturally on the surface. Women
and children who know this primary principle often are as
successful as more experienced male companions.

July and August are dead months on the Deschutes for
the dry fly fisherman, though there are magnificent excep-
tions. September is tricky, but often the fish rise hungrily,
smashing at tiny, light-patterned flies with more power and
seeming anger than in the spring, and fighting harder and
longer. In September the rainbow are at the peak of condi-
tion. There are no spawners, those dark fish which one some-
times catches and releases early in the season. The trout
have fattened on insects in the summer and their flavor is
superior.

September, besides, is a grand month in which to fish the
canyon. There is a touch of fall in the air. The nights are
cool and the warming sun of midday is welcome. Poison oak

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 311

is less infectious, the ticks are in hibernation, and snakes are
not so commonly encountered.

Bait and spinner fishermen do well on the Deschutes when
cold weather nips the bug hatches, or Crooked River goes on
a rampage after an Ochoco forest rain and dirties the main
river. (Someone should get the government to build a mud-
control project on the pestiferous Crooked River, which has
ruined many a Deschutes trip.) Sometimes nymphs and wet
flies are effective as in May and June of 1948, when an
unusually big runoff of snow contributed a share to the
Columbia River flood which wiped out Vanport City. But
season for season, the dry fly will take more trout and bigger
fish if reasonably well handled.

There is a stranger in the Deschutes the brown trout of
Europe, the same that brought back angling in many an
eastern stream after the native brook trout were depleted.
The brown is not so highly regarded in Oregon and Wash-
ington as the rainbow, steelhead, and cutthroat, but none-
theless, he is a formidable opponent. His rapid rate of
growth, willingness to hit a fly or anything else, for that
matter and fighting heart have earned him a place in cer-
tain lakes and streams of the Cascades. The Oregon Game
Commission made a mistake, however, when it introduced
the brown to the Deschutes.

Original plantings of brown trout were in quiet waters
above Bend, but the adaptable migrant has moved down-
stream and up. Some persons think he will in time take over
the entire river. If his raiding habits destroy the rainbow,
Oregon will have lost an irreplaceable asset. No other stream
of the Cascades has so much natural food, nor so much water
providing trout havens which cannot be reached by fisher-

312 THE CASCADES

men, as the Deschutes. Fishing from boats has been banned
below Bend, but the brown trout may be as destructive as
anglers afloat.

STEELHEAD IN THE SUNSHINE

The world-wide fame of the Rogue and Umpqua rivers
of southern Oregon., as greenly inviting in their mountain
and valley borders as the Deschutes is grim and forbidding,
has been built on the steelhead. To many, this is the trout
supreme, and in those rivers he rises to the skillfully placed
wet fly with all the power and savagery acquired in his
battle for survival in the perilous Pacific.

There is never-ending campfire argument over the reason
a steelhead hits a fly, but frequent agreement that it is not
usually because of his hunger during his purposeful ascent
from the sea to the gravel beds high in the Cascades where
the spawning mission is completed. Movement of the fly and
testiness of the giant trout have something to do with it.

There are variations in technique, but the usual and most
profitable method of taking steelhead on a fly is to quarter
the cast out and downstream and to bring the fly across and
around to the near shore, and retrieve for another cast
through the same water; then to move downstream two or
three steps, and repeat. Frequently, the terrific strike will
come when the submerged fly has reached the limit of its
downstream sweep ; sometimes, when the fly is dragging
across the current toward the near shore. It is wise to retrieve
in fox-trot rhythm, with adequate pauses to intrigue a wary
fish that may have followed the fly from midstream.

There are long runs on the Eel and Klamath rivers of
northern California and the Rogue and Umpqua of southern

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 313

Oregon in which a line of anglers will pace down through a
run, keeping their places and moving along like so many
robots. It is a kind of fishing so alien to the delicate placing
of a dry fly over feeding rainbow that some sensitive souls
cannot support it. But there is no greater thrill than that
derived from the smashing strike of a steelhead and the
strength and courage of his fight

A reasonably experienced angler can handle Rogue and
Umpqua steelhead (which range in weight from two pounds
to twenty-two pounds) with a 6-ounce, 9- or 9% -foot fly rod
that has plenty of backbone, rigged with a heavy double-
taper or torpedo line of standard thirty yards length, plus
one hundred yards of backing line, and a leader tested for
four pounds and upward (depending on how clear the water
may be). That is, he can handle some of them, if he remem-
bers to give his monster plenty of the butt making the fish
fight the entire rod and if the steelhead can be persuaded
not to return to the Pacific.

Sometimes it is necessary to follow a big one downstream
for hundreds of yards, if the terrain permits it, fighting to
turn him at every pool. An agile angler has an advantage,
and this is no sport for a man with a bad heart.

Big flies, tied on size-six and size-four hooks, in bright
patterns over silver and gold bodies, are the steelhead kill-
ers. Every veteran has his favorites. Some of the best have
been worked out by those who live along the steelhead rivers,
or who have made a career of fishing them. Streamers and
bucktails are popular, and jungle cock feathers are particu-
larly enticing to the Pacific rainbow. The fish are partial to
gray, green, and brown patterns when the May flies are
hatching. At other times the Royal Coachman, Professor,

314 THE CASCADES

Jock Scott, and such old favorites will hold their own with
the local developments like the red-bodied, red-and-white
hair-winged Umpqua Special.

The Rogue and Umpqua, in which steelhead may be
caught roughly from July through October on artificial flies,
are easily accessible by highway, train, and plane for much
of their distances. The angling pressure is severe. Some of
the best stretches have in effect been closed to general angling
by the purchase of adjoining property by wealthy sports-
men and others. But National Forest lands are open. Writers
enamored of the steelhead have been prone to grow lyri-
cal about these streams. Game Commission studies, how-
ever, reveal serious depletion of the steelhead runs, attrib-
utable to overfishing and in the Rogue to unscreened turbines
and irrigation ditches. The Oregon Game Commission now
operates its own screen manufacturing plant in Jackson
County and is making progress in stopping the waste of fish
on agricultural lands a loss that once canceled the gains
in production from sixteen hatcheries.

Tremendous war and postwar increases in population on
the West Coast have more than doubled the angling and
hunting demands. Both the Oregon and Washington Com-
missions face a tremendous struggle, with inadequate financ-
ing from license revenues, even to maintain the present
resources in fish and game.

The West has been profligate with its wildlife, and only
recently has there been growing among the bulk of anglers
and hunters the understanding that big bags are history. The
great game fish of the Pacific, the steelhead, is a trophy not
to be killed in numbers. But the difficulty in taking one or
two of these fish, the real test of angling skill and patience,

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 315

has so enhanced the steelhead's importance among the fra-
ternity that more and more fishermen seek his capture.

One should think of the steelhead as an individual oppo-
nent, a trophy of great worthy as a hunter thinks of a bull
elk or mule deer.

The French gave the Rogue its name, "La Riviere aux
Coquins," because of the nasty dispositions of the Indians
who lived on its shores, and the Umpqua took its name from
another Indian tribe. The forks of the Rogue rise high in the
Cascades, the middle finger in Boundary Springs near the
border of Crater Lake National Park. In the forks above
Cascade Gorge, into which the river plunges with spectacular
abandon, the resident rainbow trout are partial to the dry
fly. Below the gorge and for 150 miles to the Pacific, the sea-
going rainbow and cutthroat trout and the Chinook and
silverside salmon make their pilgrimages. The cutthroat are
not there in the numbers of old, but there are lunkers to be
had when conditions are favorable. Sometimes a single egg
in a deep eddy will produce surprising results. The salmon
are particularly susceptible to spinner, wobbler, and plug.

A fifty-mile boat trip through the canyon wilderness of
the lower Rogue, starting below Grants Pass and ending at
Gold Beach or thereabouts, when the steelhead and salmon
are running, is likely to set taciturn fishermen to babbling
like a four-year-old with his first trout. There are no roads,
no habitations to speak of. There are virgin forests and deer
on the ridges. There are no lines of robot anglers, elbowing
one another, hence one has leisure to fish as one wills. It is a
trip many save for, and few complete. But a tip to the
stranger: Be sure of your boatman.

316 THE CASCADES

The Umpqua, springing from the snow meadows south of
fabulous Diamond Lake, traverses wilderness in its upper
reaches. There are giant native rainbow for many miles in
canyon pools accessible only by trails suitable to hikers and
riders. The guardian cliffs enclose the river, so that a fisher-
man too often must climb laboriously hundreds of feet to
open up another stretch of a hundred yards of rarely visited
water. The Umpqua National Forest enfolds all, and the
curious deer pass through camp to reach the river.

Great falls block the upward migration of the anadromous
fish, and for miles below they are spent but busy at their
spawning. When one comes out of this charming land by
horseback at the Perry Wright ranch, above Steamboat
Creek, he is back in steelhead waters, and as he passes down-
stream by highway the salmon fishing gets better.

Much of the attraction of the Umpqua and Rogue lies
in the variety of fishing, the length of seasons, and the re-
markably fine weather of summer, fall, and winter. Farther
to the north, steelhead fishermen work the streams running
into the Pacific from the Coast Range with gobs of salmon
eggs and spinners, in rain and sleet and snow; in southern
Oregon, lightly clad anglers cast for steelhead with flies in
the sunshine. But the northern winter fish are heavier and
stronger, on the average, and they too can be taken on a fly
rod, if seldom with a fly.

A FAMILY RIVER

The greatest stream of the Oregon Cascades, and the larg-
est river wholly within Oregon, is the Willamette. Its mid-
dle fork comes out of Summit Lake and runs down through
pine timber past Oakridge, to border the Southern Pacific's

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 317

main Portland-San Francisco line and the trans-Cascade
highway linking Eugene and Klamath Falls.

It picks up numerous creeks and rivers, including fishable
Salt and Salmon creeks, the North Fork of the Willamette
which follows tortuous canyons out of Waldo Lake, the Coast
Fork above Springfield, and the famed McKenzie below
Springfield. In the hundred-mile flow north through the
fertile Willamette Valley to a junction with the great river
of the West, the Columbia, ten miles north of Portland, the
Willamette is joined by other Cascade mountain rivers
swelled by glacial discharges from towering Mount Jeffer-
son, the Three Sisters, and Mount Hood: the North and
South Santiam, the Clackamas, Molalla, Pudding, and their
tributaries.

The Willamette is a family river, from its parent lakes
to the Portland city limits where thousands of skiffs, cruisers,
and yachts patrol the channels in March, April, and May,
trolling for the giant spring Chinook, finest of the Pacific
salmon. In its lower reaches, children and adult newcomers
from the South and Middle West dangle for catfish, perch,
and crappies, and cast for large-mouth bass.

Above Eugene, the rainbow take over. The Middle Fork
of the Willamette, above Oakridge, is bordered by the green
pines and firs of the Willamette National Forest. Forest
camps, some with shelters, provide handy family camp sites.
There are mountain meadows choked with wild flowers and
sweet wild strawberries. The trout are heavy and active, and
rise to the fly from May through September, with varying
degrees of enthusiasm. At the approach of fall, big rainbow
as fat as lake trout and much more lively show their interest
in a stone fly, fished wet, both above and below Oakridge.

318 THE CASCADES

The McKenzie is another story. This is the habitat of the
famous McKenzie river "redside," a compact and active rain-
bow particular in his feeding habits, difficult to fool, and
marvelous to eat. The river is hard to fish afoot. Its best runs
are protected by brush and trees. The clear water is a handi-
cap to inexpert casters.

Fishing from boats is permitted in water almost inaccessi-
ble to wading anglers. Members of the McKenzie River
Guides' Association sponsor of a "white water parade" of
boats each spring before opening of the trout season will
take the responsibility, for a fair price, of getting anglers
through Martin Rapids and other tempestuous stretches of
the twenty-mile run from Redsides to Leaburg Reservoir.
The guides have developed a rough-water boat distinctive
in the McKenzie, high prowed and high sterned, which is
the safest means of transportation on that fast and rugged
stream.

The McKenzie guides will not take "meat fishermen"
the users of salmon eggs and other bait and have such a
low opinion of hardware fishermen that they will consent to
the use of spinners with the greatest reluctance, if at all.
This is a splendid river for the dry fly, and the guides hope to
keep it that way. The stream is restocked from hatcheries
using native trout. A boat trip through the McKenzie rapids
is an experience in itself. The fighting redsides make it so
much fun that it must be sinful.

Other major streams flowing west from the Cascades to
join the Willamette provide fair fishing, at intervals, but in
no way compare with the McKenzie and upper Willamette.
There are several reasons. One is overfishing, for they are
nearer the Portland metropolitan area. Another is obstruc-

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 319

tions: the power company dams with inadequate fish ways and
open turbines on the Clackamas once a great salmon, steel-
head, and cutthroat stream and the new government dams
building on the North and South Santiam rivers. A third is
the heavy runoff of snow water which scours the river bot-
toms of marine life, limiting the number of resident trout
Rainbow planted in the Clackamas go out to sea, to return,
if they can hurdle the dams, as steelhead. A fourth is pollu-
tion of the lower Willamette a desecration to be corrected
by new sewage-disposal systems in Portland and other cities
which has taken as great toll as the dams of the anadromous
fingerlings seeking the Pacific.

The Sandy River, a Columbia tributary at Portland's
eastern doorstep, and the Cowlitz River across the Columbia
in Washington, are the food meccas for dipnetters when the
smelt come in from the sea on the spring freshets. Once the
Sandy was a good trout and salmon stream, and progress has
been made toward bringing it back. But recovery is slight,
and each year more fishermen come.

FROM MOUNTAINS TO SOUND

The state of Washington, like Oregon, is blessed with
tremendous angling resources in Cascade lakes and rivers. It
has, besides, its vast food basket, Puget Sound, the front yard
of Olympia, Tacoma, Seattle, Everett, and Bellingham, and
the great seabound wilderness area of the Olympic peninsula
with its superlative trout and salmon streams: the Quinault,
Queets, Clearwater, Hoh, Soleduck, Bogachiel, Elwha,
Hamahama and others with names equally fascinating.

The Sound itself is so great an attraction to trollers and
spinning reel casters that for many years the streams which

32O THE CASCADES

flow out of the Cascades were fished but lightly. Washington
anglers turned first to the Sound or to the mighty Columbia
or to the lower reaches of the tributary rivers where great
schools of king salmon (the northern Chinook), silversides,
steelhead, and cutthroat once fought upstream to the spawn-
ing beds. Times there have changed, too. Road builders
have opened mountain streams and lakes. Trails have been
improved into the wild back country. The population has
spurted. And the angling pressure is on, everywhere. The
white-capped Cascades beckon the fisherman into the green
foothills where the native and imported trout lie in shaded
pools.

At Packwood, on the Cowlitz, one can hire horses to leave
the Pacific highway which borders the lower river for miles,
for a trip into the solitude of its upper reaches. There, the
big cutthroat idle, with resident rainbow, before returning
to the sea the orange slashes which give them their name
brightened to flame, and the spots showing dark and bold.
This large river flows west and south to join the Colum-
bia at Longview, Like the Willamette, it has a run of great
spring Chinook. Anglers are reported to have taken them up
to seventy pounds, and the average is about twenty-five
pounds. There is year-round fishing for steelhead, fall Chi-
nooks and silvers, and big cutthroat.

Some of these Washington tributaries of the Columbia
have excellent runs of summer steelhead. Among the best are
the Kalama and Wind rivers. In the Kalama, paralleled
upstream from the Pacific highway for seventeen miles by
a good road, summer steelhead sometimes will strike a wet
fly as readily as those in the Rogue, and they are bigger fish.
The best fly fishing for steelhead is in July and August, and

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 321

for cutthroat and rainbow trout from July to September.
Boat fishing on the lower river is excellent from the end of
February to June, and again in September and October.

Wind River crosses the north bank highway at Carson,
fifty-five miles east of Vancouver. Fly fishing for summer
steelhead starts in June and lasts through the season, when
roily water does not make it necessary to resort to spinners
and roe. There are rainbow, cutthroat, and eastern brook in
the upper reaches and tributaries.

A road which climbs out of the Wind River canyon ten
miles from Carson traverses lava beds and passes such lakes
as Goose, Forlorn, Blue, and Indian Heaven. A fork of this
road opens another lake basin which includes Steamboat Lake
and extends to the north fork of the Lewis River, while the
Guler Fork reaches the White Salmon River and returns to
the north-bank highway. It is surprising and delightful coun-
try, well worth a few days of leisurely exploration.

There is similarly a good balance between the anadromous
and the resident fish in the Klickitat and the Little Klickitat,
the Washougal, the Lewis, and other mountain-fed streams
entering the great river of the West. There is a reason for
the fine runs of sea trout and salmon on the Washington
shore. In 1935 the traps, seines, and fish wheels which had
been indiscriminately scooping out brood trout, steelhead,
and salmon since the beginnings of the commercial fishery in
1853, were banned from the Washington side of the Colum-
bia's channel by vote of the people. Stream fishing improved,
despite an increase in anglers, in the years that followed.
Oregon voted out the destructive fish wheels in 1927, but
not until 1948 did the people banish traps and seines. Better
escapement of the spawners from the Pacific may be expected

THE CASCADES

if these measures shall be followed, as conservationists insist,
by careful enforcement of gill net mesh laws and seasonal
restrictions.

Washington has no such river as Oregon's Willamette,
flowing from south to north across half the state, to intercept
the Cascade streams rushing toward the sunset. The Coast
Range which forces the Willamette northward to the Colum-
bia extends in Washington to the wilderness mountains, the
Olympics. When these Cascade rivers have cut through the
narrow coastal plain to the salty tidelands, Puget Sound re-
ceives them in the region between the city of Olympia and
the mighty Fraser River of British Columbia.

But the Snoqualmie and Skykomish rivers, close to popu-
lous Seattle and Everett, make the most of their brief jour-
neys from mountains to Sound, joining near Monroe, after
tumultuous beginnings in many forks, to become the placid
Snohomish.

These are Jekyll and Hyde rivers whose personalities
change with the seasons, and in an hour's drive. There is
year-round fishing from boats in the sluggish Snohomish,
for sea-run cutthroats, steelhead, and salmon. Then for a
strip of thirty miles, made accessible by roads and the Sunset
Highway, the turbulent, tough main Snoqualmie rises. Be-
low Snoqualmie Falls there is excellent fishing for winter
steelhead in January and February, and for cutthroat and
rainbow after the river clears somewhat in mid- July. Just
east of the town of Snoqualmie, the main river forks to
North, Middle, and South snow-fed mountain streams in
which the fly fisherman comes into his own when the cool
nights of August and September check the melt. In the North
Fork are many rainbow, with a few large ones taken each

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 323

year 5 in the Middle Fork, many cutthroat and some rainbow 5
in the South Fork, smaller rainbow, cutthroat, and eastern
brook. In these rivers one can almost name his own time,
tackle, and fish.

The other leg of the Snohomish, the Skykomish, as well as
its North and South Forks, are in the Snoqualmie's pattern.
The South Fork and its tributary Beckler and Rapid rivers
are most popular in July, August, and September. They are
well stocked with rainbow, from eight to ten inches in length,
and a family of fishermen will approach them equipped with
flies, eggs, and spinners. A ten-inch rainbow on light tackle
in a mountain stream is not to be regarded lightly.

There is a river north of Everett which has gained in-
creasing fame of late for its steelhead. These are summer-run
fish and the Washington Game Department has wisely re-
stricted the stream to users of artificial flies. There are rivers
enough where the "goofer" fisherman can operate, and few
where the "purist" has elbow room. Besides, Washington
saw what was happening to Oregon's Rogue and Umpqua
rivers.

This river is the North Fork of the Stillaguamish, and the
time to be there is between June 15 and September 15. The
best fishing is below Oso. Large bucktail flies in bright pat-
terns are the killers.

Dimming trails of the gold hunters follow the northward
reaching Skagit River toward the British Columbia border.
The city of Seattle has pre-empted much of the upper river
for hydroelectric developments. There are long closures
above Ross Dam, but one should make the trip, by City
Light's railroad, if only to see the tropical forest and gardens
that the late James D. Ross left blooming among the glaciers.

324 THE CASCADES

There remains good fishing for rainbow, cutthroat, Dolly
Varden, whitefish, and summer steelhead in the main Skagit
below Ross Dam, and in the Sauk and Suiattle rivers after
the first few cool nights in September. A large run of winter
steelhead enters the lower Skagit from January to May, and
the lower Sauk is noted for steelhead at the tail ends of
freshets in January and February. The glacial Suiattle usu-
ally is muddy, but it is famed for large rainbow and cut-
throat, as well as runs of Chinook and silver salmon.

EASTWARD TO THE COLUMBIA

On the east side of the Washington Cascades there is a
land shaped in character both by the bearded mountains and
the broad Columbia, as great in opportunity for the angler
as for the fruit men who have enriched its valleys and the
wheat men who have burnished its plateaus. Beyond the Big
Bend of the Columbia, to the north, lies Okanogan County.
Okanogan means "rendezvous" in the language of the tribes
that gathered for potlatch at Osoyoos Lake on the British
Columbia border. Fishermen and big-game hunters rendez-
vous still in Okanogan and Chelan counties.

Okanogan River, splitting the county from Osoyoos Lake
to the Columbia, is not highly regarded by fishermen. It is
sluggish, and its principal inhabitants are the spiny rays. But
west and south of the Okanogan is the Methow, a large
Columbia tributary with many forks and creeks arising in the
high mountains. Rainbow in the Methow average longer
than ten inches, and there are big Montana spotted cutthroat
and sulking Dolly Varden. Some people fish for steelhead
and salmon there, but the Methow is too far from the sea
for the fish to be in good condition. They should be left alone

Fishing in Mount Rainier National Park

Rappeling off cliff on

Mount Shuksan. Mount

Baker is seen in distant

clouds.

Climber protecting party
below with a shoulder be

piton driven into rock
crack behind.

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 325

to spawn. The Methow, easily accessible by road, clears after
the spring runoff. The West Fork above Winthrop has sev-
eral good tributaries Wolf, Goat, Early Winters, Robin-
son, and Rattlesnake creeks. Chewack River (the north fork)
is almost as good.

The fisherman prospecting southward enters Chelan
County, and has wasted his trip if he does not take a launch
through the cliff-bound scenic finger of water that thrusts for
ninety miles into the heart of the Cascades Lake Chelan.

This mile-wide, blue-stained scenic nugget, protected by
mountains rising to elevations of seven or eight thousand
feet, gives one an idea of the relentless power of glacial ac-
tion. There are cutthroat, rainbow, and silver trout (land-
locked blueback salmon) in its depths. Tumultuous Stehekin
River, which plunges into the upper end of the lake, attracts
many fishermen. In August and September, when the milk
has cleared from the stream, there are large rainbow and
cutthroat waiting in the main river, and good fishing also
in Rainbow, Company, Agnes, and Bridge creeks which may
be reached by forest trails. Lake Chelan and the Stehekin
fortunately combine their scenic appeal with excellent fish-
ing. There are many such places in the Cascades.

Rainbow and eastern brook in the Entiat River, and rain-
bow and cutthroat in the usually clear Chiwawa River, aver-
age between eight and ten inches and are not, as a rule,
particular whether one offers them flies, single eggs, worms,
or spinners with bait. Roads and trails lead to good tribu-
taries and lakes.

The Little Wenatchee River forms near the summit of
the range, is trapped by beaver dams, and enters Wenatchee
Lake. After August I one can take both rainbow and cut-

326 THE CASCADES

throat on flies in the river. The six-mile lake harbors cut-
throat, rainbow, eastern brook, and silvers (landlocked
blueback salmon). The main Wenatchee River, which heads
in the lake and flows sixty miles to enter the Columbia, is
a piscatorial laboratory stocked with cutthroat, rainbow, east-
ern brook, steelhead, Chinook salmon, Dolly Varden, and
even the famed Kamloops trout from the Fraser River
watershed which have grown to world's record size thirty-
seven pounds in Idaho's Pend Oreille Lake but have not
done so well in streams such as the Wenatchee.

Rainbow are the best fish in the Yakima and Naches
rivers, farther south, with some large ones to be expected in
the day's bag. There is a severe drain on the Yakima for
irrigation water for the thirsty orchards of the valley, and
the river is at its best toward the end of the irrigating sea-
son, when there is a decrease in the discharge from the
reservoirs. Both streams are fished heavily, since roads paral-
lel their banks.

LAKES FOR THE FUTURE

How can one who has sold his soul to the river sprites,
who is hopelessly fascinated by the lilting ride of a dry fly
in fast water, do justice to the priceless lakes of the Cas-
cades?

Yet these are fulfillment for thousands of anglers today,
as well as the shining promise of the future. Hundreds of
them are in primitive areas of the National Forests, to be
reached only by trail. Many of the greatest producers are
accessible by automobile, with varying degrees of ease. In
their green and blue depths no dams for power, irrigation,
and flood control obstruct the movements of the fish, and

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 327

pollution from city sewers and factories is barred forever.
Food is abundant, and native rainbow, cutthroat, eastern
brook, German brown, Kamloops, Mackinaw, and the lively
landlocked blueback salmon, variously called the kokanee,
yank, or silver trout, sulk in the depths or, while feeding,
dapple the surface with a thousand concentric patterns.

The stranger scarcely can credit the information that only
a few years ago most of these volcanic lakes were as barren
of fish as the glaciers and snow fields that feed them from
springs and rills. The origin of many lakes was so recent,
geologically speaking, and outlets so obstructed, that fish
life neither developed in their waters nor infiltrated from
the rivers that flow to the sea. The explosions of Mount
Multnomah, thought to have been a mile higher than the
Three Sisters, and of Mount Mazama, together with lesser
volcanic action perhaps no longer than three centuries ago,
were responsible for the creation of hundreds of lakes. Water
gathered in craters of extinct volcanoes, valleys blocked by
lava flows, and depressions gouged by glaciers. Some of the
mountain lakes have outlets which plunge over precipices
too high for fish to clear. Others have no visible outlets.
Some have no inlets, no spawning gravel, and are dependent
on subterranean springs.

In the great lake wonderland on the eastern slope of the
Cascades in Oregon, much of it accessible in summer and
early fall via the famed Century Drive from Bend, a fisher-
man can pass scores of lakes in a day's drive, and can reach
hundreds of others by trails. The comparable area in Wash-
ington is the Snoqualmie Lake country. Down the backbone
of the range run the Cascade Crest Trail in Washington

228 THE CASCADES

531 miles from the Canadian border, through five National
Forests, to the Columbia River and the Skyline Trail in
Oregon 400 miles through five forests to the California
line. Throughout their length these crest trails are fed by
tributary trails from east and west, and beside them lie the
lakes, cradled in fir and pine forests and black lava. How
many lakes are there? Probably 1,400 at least, though forest
service and state agencies seem not to agree on the number.

From a fishing standpoint, Oregon's Diamond Lake
should be known as the mother of Cascade lakes, for it was
one of the earliest to be stocked and for years has been a
major producer of rainbow eggs from which hundreds of
other lakes have been planted with the Prime Minister of
Cascade trout.

Diamond Lake lies at the eastern end of Douglas County,
at an elevation just under one mile, and its 3,ooo-acre sur-
face extends 3^2 miles on the long axis and i% miles across.
The maximum depth is S^ 1 /^ feet and the lake is generally
shallow. Its outlet forms the North Umpqua River. On all
sides rise majestic mountains clothed in deep forest.

The first recorded planting of rainbow fry in Diamond
Lake was in 1910. Insect and marine life in abundance, the
early-day difficulties of reaching the lake over poor roads,
and the short fishing season between snows, encouraged the
growth of trout to mammoth size. By the early 1920*3 Dia-
mond's fame had spread afar. Trout of six and eight pounds
were run of the mine, and there is one record of a 27^-
pounder. Despite increased fishing pressure after the open-
ing of a paved highway from the east and the improvement
of the Diamond Lake extension of the Crater Lake high-
way from Medford, giant trout still prowl the depths in

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 329

numbers. A 21%-pound rainbow was taken by an angler in
1941.

The Oregon Game Commission has operated one of its
most successful hatcheries on Diamond Lake for many years,
and has maintained a fairly constant stocking policy since
1938. More than 2,000,000 trout fry have been liberated
in Diamond each year, except in 1939 an ^ I 943? an d the
brood trout of Diamond have contributed their offspring to
many another Cascade lake. Restocking and control meas-
ures, including a five-fish daily bag, legal size limits, season
regulations, and restricted areas, have not, however, pre-
vented Diamond from declining in angling rewards and
consequently in popularity.

Diamond was low in creel average among four Oregon
lakes intensively watched by the Game Commission in the
summer of 1948, with 24,693 anglers and 27,872 trout
checked. These four lakes Diamond, East, Paulina, and
South Twin gave up forty-five tons of trout to 67,000
anglers in the one season. In each there was a five-fish daily
limit.

There are two ways to look at all this. One can stay at
home and mourn the old days, when the United States
Forest Service was advertising summer homesites on fifteen-
year leases at $10 and $15 a year with glowing accounts of
fishing, camping, and hunting: "The legal day's catch is
fifty trout or thirty-five pounds." Or one can say, as does
one old-timer who has not lost interest, "Things ain't what
they used to be, and never was."

It helps to remember that most of the Cascade lakes were
barren until stocking operations began. Many of them have
no suitable spawning beds and must depend upon man's as-

330 THE CASCADES

sistance for maintenance of good fish populations. For a
decade or two after fish were introduced into these unin-
habited lakes, they prospered marvelously. There were few
fishermen and few roads. By the late 1 940*5 the fishing de-
mand more than doubled. But biologists of the state and
federal agencies are learning a great deal about fish that
was not known before. The lakes have been their finest
laboratories.

Scores of lakes have been ruined by fishermen's careless-
ness. Live bait often is irresistible to big trout. For many
years anglers carried buckets of minnows to Cascade lakes.
When the day's fishing ended, they dumped the live, un-
used little roach, chubs, and suckers overside. The survival
ability of the reprieved minnows proved greater than that of
the trout for which they were intended, and lake after lake
became so infested with scrap fish that the competitor trout
dwindled in numbers.

South Twin Lake, 130 acres in size, was one of the worst
of the scrap fish lakes until 1941 when the Game Commis-
sion poisoned all fish in its waters. Between 1941 and 1948
the Commission liberated 11,116 pounds of trout of various
sizes in South Twin. Anglers took 32,200 pounds of trout
in three seasons after the lake was reopened in 1945. There
is no natural reproduction in South Twin, but careful man-
agement made it possible for 6,027 anglers to catch 12,525
trout weighing 8,961 pounds in the summer of 1948.

The state of Washington is experimenting with a man-
aged lake program, costly to administer but one promising
excellent results. It would involve the periodic poisoning of
all fish life trout with the scrap fish in selected lakes 5
closure, restocking, and maintenance of proper fish balances-

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 33!

Oregon has not gone so far, chiefly because of lack of funds,
but the state has achieved some excellent results in selected
lakes such as South Twin.

There are lakes hidden in the National Forests of the
high Cascades in which perhaps a dozen huge, bottom-feed-
ing rainbow or eastern brook are the sole inhabitants. They
do not reproduce their kind, because of the absence of grav-
eled inlets and running water, and they are most difficult
to catch. When trout fry are introduced, the grandfather
trout have a banquet. From the point of view of the public,
these lakes would offer more if the few lunkers were de-
stroyed and a new trout population introduced.

Certain shallow and accessible lakes ideally suited to an-
gling with artificial flies have been restricted to that lure,
both in Oregon and Washington. In them it is easier to
control the roach by seining, or to keep trash fish out en-
tirely after poisoning. There are so many lakes in the two
states that no reasonable objection can be raised to reserving
a few of them to those anglers who find their greatest enjoy-
ment in fly fishing.

Two famous lakes in the Deschutes country of central
Oregon are Paulina and East lakes, nestled in Newberry
Crater east of Lapine. Thousands of limit catches are taken
from these waters each season: eastern brook, rainbow, and
brown trout. Tr oilers and still fishermen have unusually
good luck, but when the big trout are feeding on the surface
in the late summer there is superlative fly fishing. There are
giant Mackinaw trout in the depths. When Game Commis-
sion employees find them in the shallows they net them
and transport them alive to the Deschutes River, for the
Mackinaw raise hob with fingerlings.

332 THE CASCADES

Paulina and East lakes were barren until a party of cen-
tral Oregon sportsmen packed in fish fry on their backs
many years ago. The natural food and chemical content of
the water proved to be ideal for the growth of trout of all
kinds, and the state soon came to recognize the value of
such a fishery. In 1939, only 1,612 anglers were checked
at Paulina. In 1948, there were 14,168 anglers. If one ac-
cepts the Fish and Wildlife Service's figure of the value of
trout caught $5 a pound the 65,700 trout taken in the
summer of 1948 from Paulina and East lakes, averaging
about one pound, were worth $328,500.

In the lake country of Washington's Snoqualmie National
Forest, in an area encompassed largely by contiguous King,
Chelan, and Kittitas counties, there are 700 fishable lakes of
all sizes and shapes, some accessible by good roads from
Stevens Pass and Snoqualmie Pass, others by trails.

Many of these Washington lakes, more recently stocked
than central and southern Oregon waters, have been man-
aged with care and are excellent producers. The Snoqualmie
lake country extends roughly from Trout Lake in the north
to Keechelus, Kachess, and Cle Elum reservoirs in the south,
and for thirty miles east and west. Keechelus is typical of
the larger waters. There is a run of silvers starting about
May 15, with the best fishing in June and July. Cutthroat,
rainbow, eastern brook, and Montana black-spotted trout
offer the angler good variety in a day's bag.

Cascade lakes in the high country, far from highways and
forest roads, originally were stocked from back packs or mule
trains. Both Oregon and Washington have been using air-
planes in recent years for some of this high lake planting.
A small plane equipped with a belly tank of fingerlings dips

WHERE THE DRY FLY IS QUEEN 333

down to an opening in the forest, skims over the lake, pulls
up sharply as the release is made, and circles for altitude as
the young fish pelt the surface. The survival audited by
field men has been high.

These are the lakes, the rivers, the creeks of the great
Cascades, protected by the National Forests and assured a
limitless supply of water from the glaciers and snow fields
so long as the forests themselves are protected.

The thin, far cries of coyotes defying the dawning day
came from the sage lands over the eastward hills. A canyon
bat, out all night and obviously in a vile mood, beat directly
across the shining river and plunged into a thicket. Salmon
flies stirred sluggishly on the lower branches of the willows.
Smoke from the campfire drifted lazily in acrid unity with
the odor of boiling coffee.

Not one of the three, gulping the hot cakes and eggs,
missed the deep "kachunk" from the eddy above the camp.
They stood quietly, backs to the fire in the chill dawn, and
watched. The trout rose again, this time rolling on the sur-
face. It looked like a rainbow, a sixteen-incher or better.
The men turned, for this was a ritual, and each drew from
his pocket a two-bit piece. Wordlessly, they matched. The
head had it.

The winner tied a soaked leader on the tapered line strung
the night before on the nine-foot rod, attached a fly and
greased it with Mucilin. As the others watched, munching
reflectively, he waded carefully into the icy water and cast
upstream into the eddy.

MOUNTAINEERING

by Grant McConnell

w,

'hen, in the fall of 1845, Joel Palmer arrived at The
Dalles on his way westward, he found he was a latecomer.
Many settlers' wagons were before him, and the little fron-
tier community was crowded with families waiting for a
chance to go down through the Columbia River Gorge.
Oxen could draw their heavy loads no farther along the
route of the great river. The first of the Cascade foothills
rose just a short distance ahead, and beyond it there was a
succession of cliffs and rockslides descending into the river.
The boats, which were the only means of finishing the last
tantalizing stretch of the westward journey, were too few
for the needs of the caravans which were arriving in rapidly
growing numbers. The boat operators were taking advantage
of the situation by charging exorbitant prices for their serv-
ices. The most dismaying thing to Palmer, however, was
the prospect of a long wait when the season was already late.
He soon learned that another party just ahead of him
had decided to break a new wagon route through the moun-
tains and was then on its way westward around the south
side of Mount Hood. Persuading a few families to follow
him, Palmer set out on the tracks of this party. The route
he followed was not entirely new. There were an Indian

337

338 THE CASCADES

trail and a stock trail in the general area. No wagons, though,
had ever attempted the crossing. Within a week Palmer
caught up with the advance party where it was at work cut-
ting a road through the dense forest.

The advance party's leader, Samuel Barlow, whose story
has already been told, had no real knowledge of the route
he was attempting, yet he was sure there was a pass some-
where ahead. Joel Palmer and two other men therefore
decided to make a scouting trip on the upper slopes of
Mount Hood. Leaving the others, they went up the wide
boulder-strewn canyon of the White River, a turbid gla-
cial stream. They reached timber line and then crossed the
broad southern face of the mountain. They met a group
which had been sent ahead with the cattle, but as there was
no indication of a route possible for wagons, Palmer and his
two companions decided to go higher up the mountain for a
better view.

They soon encountered snow, and the men with Palmer
became discouraged and stopped. Palmer, however, was
more determined and continued up the strange slope. Several
times he had difficulty with deep crevasses, so it is likely
that he had ventured onto the Zigzag Glacier which lies on
the southwest side of the mountain. This glacier is neither
very steep nor badly broken, but for a man wearing moc-
casins and with no experience of the high mountains, it
could not have been easy to cross. Palmer by his own story
went about a third of the distance from timber line to the
summit. From his high point he looked down and saw the
pass which he and Barlow had hoped to find. Looking up
toward the peak, he reached the sound (but then not too
well accepted) conclusion that it could be climbed.

MOUNTAINEERING 339

Joel Palmer's reconnaissance from the side of Mount
Hood was one of the most remarkable features of the estab-
lishment of the Barlow Road. It was one of the earliest trips
by white men to the high regions of the Cascades. Even to-
day when mountaineering is a popular activity, there are
many people who find something fearful and mysterious
about snow that lasts the year around. In Palmer's day little
was known about the high mountains of America, and he,
moreover, was a farmer from the flat lands of Indiana. Yet
he managed to go well up the side of Mount Hood and to
come away with an astonishingly accurate idea of the scale
of the mountain. He estimated the distance from timber
line to the summit as three miles, and the height of the
topmost cliffs as several thousand feet. Both estimates were
close to the truth.

PATHS TO GLORY

Although Joel Palmer did go high on the mountain, he
was, after all, on a mission not an adventure. Mount Hood
was for him only a view point r ^m which to discover the
pass for his wagons. By contrast-, meet Thomas J. Dryer,
owner and editor of the Weekly Cregonian and mountaineer
extraordinary. An exponent of the rugged type of frontier
journalism so well described by Mark Twain, he issued
thundering editorials from his little office in Portland and
held forth on the splendors of the region of which the big
volcanoes on the horizon were conspicuous examples. In
August, 1853, he set out with a party to make the conquest
of Mount Saint Helens. His party succeeded in reaching the
summit and he brought back this harrowing account:

"The higher we ascended the more difficult our progress.

34O THE CASCADES

Suffice it to say that, by constant and persevering effort, we
were enabled to reach the highest pinnacle of the mountain
soon after meridian. The atmosphere produced a singular
affect [sic] upon all the party, each face looked pale and
sallow, and all complained of a strange ringing in the ears.
It appeared as if there were hundreds of fine-toned bells
jingling all around us. Blood started from our noses and all
of us found respiration difficult."

While Dryer's climb of Mount Saint Helens is generally
accepted as a valid first ascent, the story of the climb has
some interesting features. Saint Helens has nothing either
on its sides or on its summit that could fairly be described
as a "pinnacle." The topmost point is only a rounded area
slightly above the rest of the long curving rim of the glacier-
filled crater. As for the trouble in breathing, it is clear that
the members of the party were bothered by a touch of moun-
tain sickness, a common phenomenon to climbers who are
either in poor condition or who try to go too fast. The usual
symptoms are nausea and giddiness. The fine-toned bells
which the party heard on Saint Helens were either the wind
or the art of Dryer's journalistic style. The bleeding which
occurred on the expedition was probably suffered more in
retrospect than at the time. Early accounts of mountain ex-
ploration in the Alps are filled with stories of nosebleeds
and similar sufferings. It may be that Dryer felt obliged to
add this detail to make his climb convincing. Certainly Dryer
was fortunate in being no more familiar with the stories of
the Alps than he was, for he might have encountered cousins
of the dragons which early writers found in Switzerland.

In the year following his ascent of Mount Saint Helens,
Dryer climbed Mount Hood. Ignoring the easy slopes of

MOUNTAINEERING 341

the mountain's south face, he went up the much steeper
ridge to the east of White River Glacier. For a long time
after Dryer's climb no one followed this route, and many
climbers believed it to be impossible. This belief, in fact, was
the basis for some of the doubt that has been thrown upon
Dryer's story. Today, however, there is an established route
up this ridge and it is used frequently. On the climb, the
rarefied air again played havoc with Dryer's party. Three
of the six climbers were compelled to stop. It was apparently
the steepness of the climb that was too much for one of them.
Dryer said that the slope had a pitch of 70.5 degrees. This
would have been a veritable cliff, since most slopes of more
than forty-five degrees appear to be vertical. A fourth mem-
ber of the party, an Indian guide, was stopped at the head
of the big slope by a whiff of the fumes from the sulphur
vents there. Dryer and a companion named Wells Lake
went on to the summit.

At the top Dryer conducted observations with which he
calculated that Mount Hood was 18,361 feet high. His
figures are not available, but he did report that the data he
used included the latitude and the average thickness of snow
on volcanic peaks in different seasons at various elevations.
He invoked the name of Humboldt to certify the method.
At any rate he arrived at something other than a round
number.

Owing perhaps to the nature of his personality and the
accident of a rivalry with his business successor, Dryer has
not generally been given credit for the first ascent of Mount
Hood. Henry L. Pittock, who acquired Dryer's paper un-
der circumstances which suggest the possibility of ill feeling,
led a party to the top in August, 1857. From the details of

THE CASCADES

Pittock's account, there can be little doubt that his group
did reach the top. He noted the narrow ridge-like quality
of the summit, the awesome drop on the north side, and
the magnificent view of Rainier, Saint Helens, and Adams,
all features which are familiar to the thousands who have
since followed Pittock's route. Pittock, however, claimed to
doubt that Dryer had ever reached the summit. Although
Pittock deserves credit for an original climb on the moun-
tain, he scarcely had grounds for denying Dryer's claim to
the first ascent.

Mount Hood was the scene of a really horrendous adven-
ture in this same period. A party led by a certain Belden
made an assault on the mountain. This is the account of the
climb: "They ascended as high as they could travel, first
with snow shoes, then with ice-hooks and spikes. When they
had reached some 18,000 feet high, respiration became very
difficult, owing to the rarity of the atmosphere. At length,
the blood began to ooze through the pores of the skin like
drops of sweat, their eyes began to bleed, the blood rushed
from their ears." There is nothing in all the annals of Hima-
layan mountaineering to compare with this gory ascent, and
it is astonishing that Belden found Mount Hood to be only
19,400 feet high.

TKfc altitude of Hood was brought down to 11,225 feet
by the report of a surveying party in 1867. There may or
may not be any significance in the fact that this was also the
year in which the mountain was first climbed by women.

THE TOP OF THE RANGE

The fifties also saw the first mountaineering activity in
other parts of the range. Mount Shasta was climbed bv E.

MOUNTAINEERING 343

A. Pearce in 1854, the same year that Mount Adams was
first climbed. There was a serious attempt to climb Rainier
during this decade. An army officer, Lieutenant A. V. Kautz,
felt the challenge of the great mountain as he looked across
the gravelly prairies near his post at Fort Steilacoom. In the
summer of 1857 he persuaded the camp doctor to join him
in a climb. Kautz apparently had some idea of the problem
facing him, for he took considerable pains with his equip-
ment:

"I made preparations after the best authorities I could
find, from reading accounts of the ascent of Mont Blanc and
other snowy mountains. We made for each member of the
party an alpenstock of dry ash with iron point. We sewed
upon our shoes an extra sole, through which were driven
four-penny nails with the points broken off and the heads
inside. We took with us a rope about fifty feet long, a
hatchet, a thermometer, plenty of hard biscuit and dried
beef such as the Indians prepare."

On July 8, Kautz and his party set out. They followed
the valley of the Nisqually and went through miles of dense
timber and luxuriant undergrowth. Frequently there were
areas where the fallen timber reduced their pace to a literal
crawl. The Indian guides were reluctant to approach the
mountain, for in common with many primitive people they
were afraid of mountains, which they thought to be peopled
with spirits. However, Kautz and his companions succeeded
in reaching the southwestern side of the mountain.

"Our camp was at the foot of a mountain spur several
thousand feet high, and the river close at hand. The gloomy
forest, the wild mountain scenery, the roaring of the river,
and the dark overhanging clouds, with the peculiar melan-

344 THE CASCADES

choly sighing which the wind makes through a fir forest gave
to our camp at this point an awful grandeur."

There are few areas more deceptive to the inexperienced
eye than the high mountains. The scale of distance and
height, the strange landscape of snow and ice, the absence
of trees, and above all the extraordinary clarity of the air,
give false impressions of the magnitude of the big peaks.
There is a story of a tourist who was taken to a hilltop above
Paradise Valley for a view of Mount Rainier. When the
mountain suddenly came into view in all its magnificence,
the tourist glanced at it and kept on walking. His disap-
pointed host asked where he was going. "I thought I'd go
on to that snow-covered point over there," was the answer.
His objective was the summit of Rainier itself, eight thou-
sand feet above. Kautz made the same kind of error, for he
was certain that from his final camp near the last stunted
pines he could reach the top in three hours.

Kautz did not get to the summit, though he was himself
satisfied with his attempt. He confessed that there were
higher points above him, but from his turning point
". . . the mountain spread out comparatively flat." Cer-
tainly Kautz should be given credit for a splendid try. The
mountain was just a lot bigger than he thought.

The recognized first ascent of Mount Rainier was made
in 1870 by Hazard Stevens and P. V. Van Trump. With
them on their approach to the mountain were an English-
man, Edward T. Coleman, and a guide. The latter, a
Yakima Indian named Sluiskin, was thoroughly skeptical
about the venture. However, for the sake of the pay and
perhaps for a good laugh he took the climbers over the
finest obstacle course he could devise. He warned his clients

MOUNTAINEERING 345

about the folly of their intention, pointing out that the
mountain was the home of evil and that they could never
hope to return if they went onto its slopes. However, the
climbers were persistent, and Sluiskin led them in and out,
up and down and around the rugged heights of the little
Tatoosh Range. Coleman, the only experienced mountaineer
in the party, played out under the treatment. Stevens and
Van Trump at last arrived at the head of Mazama Ridge,
a small spur that joins the body of the mountain. Here, at
last, Sluiskin saw that they were in earnest and tried elo-
quently to dissuade them from throwing their lives away.
Recalling Sluiskin's harangue in later years, Stevens wrote
out a free translation which suggests that the climbers must
have been shaken by it. However, their purpose held, and
leaving the already mourning Sluiskin to wait a promised
three days before reporting their deaths in the lowlands,
they went onto the mountain.

The route followed by Stevens and Van Trump was one
which for some perverse reason became the principal trail
up the mountain during the next seven decades. It led up
over simple glacial slopes to the base of the great cliff now
known as Gibraltar Rock. There are many mountaineers to-
day who can remember the passage that came next. It was
on a ledge that angled across the face of the rock. The ledge
was certainly wide enough for walking, but on the left there
was an exhilarating drop of many hundred feet to the
broken surface of the Nisqually Glacier. There was nothing
difficult about the passage ; you just walked along it. How-
ever, the whole of Gibraltar Rock was rotten 5 seldom has
a feature of any mountain been so poorly named. At any
moment cascades of rocks ranging from the size of a pea to

346 THE CASCADES

that of a piano could come crashing down on the ledge, and
there was no refuge anywhere along its length. Local ac-
counts later said that the cliff was held together only by
the ice that clung to its face. Natives warned newcomers to
time their trip so that the descent past Gibraltar should be
made before eleven in the morning, since later in the day
the sun would play on the cliff and thaw the ice. Although
many parties went up this way, few succeeded in getting
down before morning was past. Since Gibraltar continued
its bombardment day and night, the warning served only to
cause some very early risings and to spoil enjoyment of the
view from the summit.

At the end of the ledge there was a short ice "chimney"
which gave access to the last long slopes of the upper moun-
tain. From here on, the problem became one of endurance
and persistence in threading the maze of big crevasses that
seemed to circle the summit. There are crevasses in this
gable part of Rainier that are as large as any in the world.
Some are wide V-shaped canyons which could swallow whole
villages. Others are narrow little slits in the ice ; you step
across them easily, but as you do so you see beneath you a
great dark pit that seems to expand on either side and to
be bottomless. Still others are only faintly visible shadows
in a smooth snow expanse. These are the blind crevasses 5
new snow has covered them with a thin insubstantial carpet.
They can often be detected more easily from a distance than
from nearby. One of the arts of mountaineering lies in the
ability to sense these blind crevasses.

Such was the route of the first ascent. The crevasses are
to be encountered in any approach, but the promenade
around Gibraltar was a very special hazard. Stevens and

MOUNTAINEERING 347

Van Trump arrived at the summit at five o'clock in the eve-
ning. Wisely deciding not to try to go down that day, they
took refuge in one of the steam-heated ice-caves of the
summit crater. These caves are formed by fumaroles and
have saved the lives of benighted climbers on several other
occasions. On their way down the next day, Stevens and
Van Trump had difficulty with the ice chimney just before
Gibraltar: "At the steepest and most perilous point in de-
scending the steep gutter where we had been forced to cut
steps in the ice, we fastened one end of the rope as securely
as possible to a projecting rock and lowered ourselves down
by it as far as it reached and thereby passed the place with
comparative safety. We were forced to abandon the rope
here, having no means of unfastening it from the rock
above." This primitive rappel (or roping down) underlines
the wisdom of having an adequately long rope when climb-
ing any big mountain. With more rope, the two explorers
could have doubled it for their descent of the chimney, and
recovered it by pulling on one end. Fortunately there was
no great need of the rope on the balance of the trip.

The ledge around Gibraltar has now fallen to the surface
of the lower Nisqually Glacier and the route is no longer
used. This is without doubt the most fortunate change that
has occurred on the mountain. Generations of climbers suc-
ceeded Stevens and Van Trump on that ledge, and almost
every party had some hairbreadth escape from falling rock.
Mountaineers make a distinction between danger and diffi-
culty. There may be difficulty without danger and danger
without difficulty. The Gibraltar passage was dangerous, yet
it offered no challenge to skill. There is now a variety of
routes up the mountain, and it is interesting that one of the

348 THE CASCADES

most popular is approximately that taken by Kautz on his
early attempt.

While the ascent of Mount Rainier was accomplished
with little of the boasting that accompanied the first at-
tempts on Mount Hood, the claim was stoutly made for a
long time that Rainier was the highest point in the nation.
Later, however, surveys that were indisputable put Mount
Whitney in the Sierra eighty-seven feet higher. Then
Mount Elbert and Mount Massive in Colorado were meas-
ured and were found to be twenty-three and ten feet higher,
respectively. The National Park Service lists Rainier as
fourth highest, but now even that claim must be revised
since the Coloradans have entered Mount Harvard's eleva-
tion as just nine feet higher than Rainier's. Sometimes local
enthusiasts simply ignore the claims of other mountains 5
only recently the statement was made in print that Rainier
is "higher than any peak in the Rocky Mountains and the
third highest in North America." In the summer of 1948,
however, one group decided not only to face facts but to
amend them by building a tower on Rainier's summit that
would top Whitney. To the disappointment of this party,
Park rangers forbade the undertaking.

CRAFT AND TOOLS

One of the curious facts about the early period of climb-
ing and exploration in the Cascades is that it coincided with
a similar period in the Alps, During the middle of the nine-
teenth century the Alps were invaded by a new type of
tourist. He came equipped with rope, rucksack, ice ax, and
heavy nailed boots. He set forth with native chamois hunters
as guides and climbed nearly all of the big peaks. The Mat-

MOUNTAINEERING 349

terhorn, last of the giants, was climbed in 1865. Slowly the
superstitions of the mountain inhabitants gave way before
the familiarity acquired in company with the tourists. The
climbers themselves learned much: how to use the rope, how
to pick a route on high peaks, when snow will avalanche,
and so on. At first the objective of climbing mountains was
scientific. Men wanted to know the air pressure at high
altitudes, and how glaciers moved. Then gradually the scien-
tific measurements began to be mere excuses for climbing.
Mountaineering developed as an art with its own techniques
and its own codes.

For the most part, the first climbs made in the Cascades
were the result of an independent impulse 5 there was little
direct contact between American mountaineers and those of
Europe. Yet, whether from coincidence or some nebulous
element in the cultural atmosphere, the first ventures onto
the peaks of the Cascades took place during the time of the
golden age of climbing in the Alps. If Lieutenant Kautz'
preparatory reading is excepted, the one instance of Euro-
pean influence on early climbing in the Cascades was the
ascent of Mount Baker. Edward T. Coleman, who later
joined Stevens and Van Trump in the approach to Rainier,
attempted in three different years to reach the summit of
Mount Baker. He was an Englishman then living in British
Columbia. When Coleman finally succeeded in 1868, he paid
deference to the touchy nationalism of the Americans by
unfurling the Stars and Stripes on the top of Baker.

Coleman came equipped with rope and ice ax, the two
symbols of Alpine mountaineering. It is safe to guess that
his ice ax was the first to appear in the Cascades. For many
years the development of mountaineering in the western

35O THE CASCADES

United States went its own course, with climbers learning
for themselves the dangers of the mountains and the ways
to avoid them. The primary tool was long the alpenstock
more often than not homemade from a broken rake or
shovel. Only comparatively recently have Northwest climb-
ers taken to the ice ax, and one may still see parties going
up large peaks of the range equipped with (or perhaps
impeded by) alpenstocks.

From a technical standpoint, the skills of the western
mountaineers lagged behind those of the Europeans. The
use of the rope was poorly understood. Often it was either
not used at all, or too many climbers were joined together
on a short length. At least one fatal accident was the result
of the latter mistake. As time went on, the mountaineering
desire of many people who lived within sight of the great
volcanoes of the range was met by the organization of large
parties. These parties, composed of individuals of diverse
capacities of endurance, would set forth in the dark hours of
early morning and then would slowly and haltingly plod
their way upward. Groups of a hundred became common.
One on Mount Hood contained over four hundred in a
single line. To lead such a mass pilgrimage required as much
military as mountaineering skill. There was danger in these
large parties. Each additional climber increased the danger
of falling rock and ice. Moreover, the large groups went
slowly, and a good pace is frequently an essential to safety
in the mountains.

Despite the slow development of mountaineering tech-
niques, the peaks continued to be climbed. Although the
volcanoes for the most part are not difficult ascents, the
accomplishments of the early climbers should not be under-

MOUNTAINEERING 351

rated. Just getting to any of the big mountains was a sizable
task. Few roads existed, and it took a long time to go through
the jungle-like forests of the western slopes. Climbs which
were daring adventures then are today simple, with the use
of crampons, heavy spike-studded iron frames which are
strapped to the shoes. There are many long steep ice slopes
on the glaciers of the volcanic peaks. With modern equip-
ment these slopes are sometimes easy, but often they rank
with good ice climbs in the Alps. To go up them, jabbing
steps with the point of an alpenstock, could not have been
simple.

NEW ROUTES

By the end of the nineteenth century nearly all of the big
volcanoes of the Cascades had been climbed at least once.
Mount Jefferson was first climbed in 1888 and Glacier Peak
in 1898. The only important volcanic peak unclimbed was
the North Sister, which remained so until 1910. While Jef-
ferson and the North Sister are more difficult than most of
the volcanoes, the reason for the late climbing of all three
peaks was their inaccessibility. Even today it is necessary to
pack into these mountains by trail.

The advent of the mountaineering clubs brought people
into the mountains in large numbers. Climbers were largely
limited for many years, however, to visiting the most acces-
sible mountain areas. The forests had few trails, and the
existing roads were poor. Just to get to Paradise Valley on
Rainier or to Government Camp on Hood places reached
today by hard-surface highways necessitated something re-
sembling an expedition.

The great prize of mountaineering is always a first ascent.

THE CASCADES

Until a difficult looking peak is climbed there are usually
some doubts that it can be climbed. Though the second and
third ascents may be over the same route as the first, they
never seem so difficult. There is a psychological hazard in
the first attempt that is not present later. Generally the later
climbers also have the advantage of knowing something
about the successful route. With most of the big volcanoes
already climbed, there remained for the new generations of
mountaineers only the achievement of taking new routes if
they wished the flavor of pioneering. During the early part
of the twentieth century this became the objective of lead-
ing climbers of the region. New and difficult routes were
blazed to the summits of practically all of the volcanic peaks.
On Rainier, it is true, an easier and more sensible route than
the one past Gibraltar was found on the northeast side.
However, the mountain was attacked from all sides, and
routes were taken from nearly every direction. There were
even climbs on the loose rock of the great Willis Wall.

One of the finest of the new climbs was that of the east
face of Mount Adams. C. E. Rusk, who had grown up on
a pioneer ranch at the foot of the mountain, organized a
party for the attempt in 1921. The east face had always
been regarded as the impossible side of the mountain, and
probably for this reason, as much as for the deep impression
the sight of it had made on him as a child, Rusk was deter-
mined to make the climb. The dominant feature of this side
of Adams is the Castle, a towering formation of lava which
rises out of the broken surface of the Rusk Glacier. The
foot of the Castle is separated from the glacier by a berg-
schrund a great crevasse whose upper lip overhangs its
lower. With difficulty Rusk led his party along the edge

MOUNTAINEERING 353

of the bergschrund until he came to the rock buttress at the
edge of the glacier. Then Rusk took to the steep and rotten
rock.

"Telling Coursen to see that I had plenty of rope, as I
had to go in a hurry when I started, I made a dash up the
first point of rock. I gained some slight advantage from my
momentum., and my rapid climbing lessened the danger of
the handholds and footholds giving way beneath my weight.
I was thus able to get far enough up to grasp the upper
projections and draw myself to the top, where I clung, for
a time, panting for breath . . . The intermediate steps
were passed without great difficulty 5 but when the last one
was reached, a narrow chimney was seen leading up. As
there appeared to be considerable danger from loose stones,
I cautioned those below to stand well to one side, sheltered
as much as possible by projecting points of the cliff. As I
climbed up through the chimney, I had to pass directly over
the boulder which had lodged in the cleft. When I was
fairly on top of it, the rock suddenly gave way. I braced
myself desperately from wall to wall across the chasm. The
rock went out from under me. Fortunately, it did not catch
the rope, and as the rest of the party was sheltered to one
side behind the bluff, it crashed harmlessly on to the ice
below."

Soon the party was just under the last cliff of the Castle,
but it was more than a thousand feet high and composed
of loosely cemented rock. First Rusk tried to pass around
the south side of the great crag. It would not "go"; the
party turned back toward the north across a steep slope of
ice and snow. The northern face, however, was as bad as
the south. The only thing remaining was a broad chimney

354 THE CASCADES

about which Rusk had great misgivings. Nevertheless, the
party went up it. Fortunately the climbers were on the side
of the gully, for during their ascent they heard the clatter
of numerous rockfalls in the main chute. The gully was the
key to the Castle.

Twelve hours had been consumed in the climb of the
Castle, and the summit of Adams was far above. The climb-
ers decided to bivouac in the high col between the Castle
and the body of the mountain. A storm came up, but the next
day was luckily fair and the summit was reached. The "im-
possible" climb had been made. Several parties have since
repeated it.

BASALT

Thus far most of the climbs in the Cascades had been
made on snow and ice. Volcanic rock is exceedingly poor and
untrustworthy. Solid looking projections that seem to offer
excellent handholds pull out readily, and there is a continual
fall of debris from the cliffs. Snow and ice are more reliable,
and the early climbers quickly learned the wisdom of avoid-
ing the crumbling cliffs of the volcanoes. Where new routes
were made which required rock work, such as that of the east
face of Adams, an element of risk was always present. Thus as
skill with the ice ax and later with crampons was acquired by
the mountaineers of the Northwest, ice climbs of increasing
difficulty were made. Sunshine Trail on Mount Hood and
the eastern ice wall of Mount Jefferson, both climbs of con-
siderable severity, became almost popular.

This was the big distinction between climbing in the Cas-
cades and in the other ranges of the country between ice
climbing and rock climbing. Most of the other ranges were

MOUNTAINEERING 355

deficient in ice 5 the Cascades were seemingly deficient in
good rock. In some parts of the country the new sport of
rock climbing was beginning to gain popularity. In the East,
climbers practiced on the Palisades along the Hudson and
in the granite quarries of New England. Later the sport
spread to California, where some remarkable ascents were
made on the sheer walls and spires of Yosemite Valley.
Paradoxically, many of these climbers came to prefer rock
climbing to mountaineering. What had started as a form of
training became an end in itself. In the eyes of some, it was
as though a musician had come to prefer the playing of scales
and finger exercises to the playing of sonatas and quartets.

Those who climbed in the Cascades developed their tech-
niques on ice, which at any rate had the virtue of taking
them into the high zones of the real mountains 5 but they
were not immune to the contagious lure of rock climbing.
In 1923 a group of boys from the town of Bend startled
climbers of the region by announcing the ascents of two dan-
gerous looking volcanic spires, Three Fingered Jack and
Mount Washington. These peaks are the most spectacular
features of the lake country of the central Oregon Cascades.
Many people had admired their slender profiles but few had
ever dreamed of trying to climb them. The rock was known
to be very poor, and the probable hazard was thought un-
justifiable. Nevertheless when the spires had once been
climbed, other parties came to repeat the ascents and even
to find new and more difficult routes. The rock was poor but
not so bad as had been thought, although one experienced
mountaineer had a bad fall from the top of the high chimney
on Three Fingered Jack.

Along the sides of the Columbia River not many miles

356 THE CASCADES

from Portland there are great cliffs of basalt. Basalt is a vol-
canic rock of considerable hardness but it is seamed with
many fine lines, and pieces of it will come out at the slight-
est touch. Moreover, its surfaces between the cracks are
smooth and slippery. In distant geologic times a vast area
near the Columbia was spread over by successive flows of this
molten rock. These continued until a deposit three thousand
feet deep was reached. From the banks of the river the en-
tire depth of this basalt can be seen in cross section on the
cliffs above. At several places towers of sheer rock stand out
from the cliffs. Once they were connected to the walls of
the cliffs but the connections have weathered away. Now
and then climbers stopped to inspect these towers, but the
appearance of the cliffs was forbidding and the rock proved
as unpleasant as it looked. For a long time any attempt to
climb on basalt was dismissed as foolhardy and out of the
question.

The attempts were made, however. Ray Conway, one of
the foremost mountaineers of the region, tried one of the
lowest of the towers, Rooster Rock. He found a long slant-
ing fissure in the rock of the southern face which led directly
to the summit. Strangely, the slanting route did not require
vertical climbing and in fact the climb was not unduly diffi-
cult. On other spires, however, convenient transverse chim-
neys were not available. Rooster Rock was regarded as the
only tower whose summit was accessible. Wistfully, climb-
ers looked over the different cliffs for possible routes and
then gave up.

The most imposing of the basalt spires is Saint Peter's
Dome near Bonneville Dam. Its riverside face rises two
thousand feet, half of that height being cliff. The easily ap-

Rappel party on Nisqually Glacier, Mount Rainier

Skiing on Mount Rainier
Sunset on Mount Baker seen from Table Mountain

MOUNTAINEERING 357

preached saddle on the opposite side is closer to the summit,
but there the cliffs are not only sheer but overhanging. One
of the bands of rock of which the tower is formed is harder
than those beneath, and there is a perceptible lean outward.
Repeatedly, climbers came to the foot of the Dome or to the
saddle, took one despairing look, and departed. There was
speculation as to what kind of an enterprise would be needed
to put somebody on the top. Projects involving blimps and
harpoon guns were put forward, but never seriously. One
engineer did invent a sectional ladder which he proposed to
bolt to the surface of the rock. On attempting it, however,
he found that his drills succeeded only in tearing loose great
masses of rock.

By 1940, Northwest climbers had learned something
about the use of pitons iron pins that could be driven into
cracks in the rock. Pitons had been the key to the difficult
Yosemite climbs. When pitons were put into the basalt
cracks, however, they had the same effect as the bolts of the
ladder-building engineer. Nevertheless, a small determined
group of climbers decided to persevere. On four successive
week ends this group camped at the saddle and worked on
the exposed faces of the Dome. At first they went out onto
the awesome west face. Their equipment included "... a
great assortment of pitons of every type and description,
piton hammers, extra heavy sledges for knocking out loose
rock, expansion bolts, several hundred feet of rope, padded
pants and shoulder protection and plenty of will to suc-
ceed." The going was very difficult but one thing was
learned a very short thin piton would stay in basalt with-
out prying off masses of rock. On the first day an advance
of forty feet was made. Two men who later served with the

258 THE CASCADES

Army's mountain troops, Joe Leuthold and Eidon Metzger,
alternated in leading the attempt to force the passage. They
came back on the following week end and returned to the
west face. This time a total progress of fifteen feet was
made. Metzger succeeded in advancing over an overhang
to a ledge several inches wide. However the ledge merged
into the cliff directly beneath a large overhang. The next
week end was spent in tearing down many tons of threat-
ening loose rock from the overhang, but there was still noth-
ing solid to be found and the effort was useless.

Meanwhile, members of the supporting party had been
studying the walls of the Dome for some new line of attack.
There was one hopeful sign. Above the saddle there were
indications of firm rock, though it was made inaccessible by
an overhang beneath it. Hopefully, the party assembled un-
der the overhang. Metzger climbed to the shoulders of a
companion, and while others held him against the bulging
wall with ropes from either side, he began to climb. Al-
though the hour was late he managed to go thirty-five feet,
putting in two parallel lines of pitons as he went.

On the fourth week end Leuthold started up via the pitons
Metzger had left. He went twenty feet farther and was
past the worst of the rotten rock. Occasionally a piton would
not hold, but all were tested and progress was made safely.
Leuthold and Metzger took turns j each advanced the line
of pitons until he was exhausted and then roped down to the
bottom. After a last climb of an hour and a half on the ex-
posed face, Leuthold succeeded in reaching the top of the
first basalt layer. He was on a roomy ledge fully three feet
wide. He set an anchor bolt in the ledge, and the others
came up readily. The ledge went around the Dome to the

MOUNTAINEERING 359

base of another cliff of good rock. After the first long pitch
this was simple. Beyond, there was a steep grassy slope and
then a group of large trees. Using the only available hand-
holds, the grass, Jim Mount went up to the trees and the
summit was won. It was a triumph of skill, daring, and
co-operation.

THE NORTHERN PEAKS

The ideal mountain of a mountaineer possesses slopes of
ice and snow as well as steep rock. Certainly it is not capped
with a grove of trees, however well protected its summit
by overhanging cliffs, and it is not dominated by higher
slopes of parent hills alongside. Saint Peter's Dome was
without doubt one of the most difficult climbs made in the
Cascades, but it was scarcely a mountain. Throughout the
United States there are relatively few mountains that meet
the qualifications of having both good rock and ice, and
climbers have tended to become specialists according to the
characteristics of their vicinities. In the Cascades the spe-
cialty had been ice climbing, since most climbing was done
on the volcanic peaks. All the time, however, there was a
large area of unexplored and unclimbed peaks in the Cas-
cades which possessed to a high degree the diverse qualities
of the ideal mountains. These were in the tangled ranges
of the northern system.

It is difficult to account for the many years of neglect of
these peaks by mountaineers. Climbers from other parts of
the country passed by on their way to other ranges without
seeing what lay near their route. This at least was under-
standable. Local climbers themselves knew little of the
northern system. As late as 1935 one of the climbing clubs

360 THE CASCADES

formulated a list of "major" peaks of the Northwest. It in-
cluded only one of the big mountains of the northern sys-
tem., and that one not the greatest. Later a second was added
but the list was still ridiculous, as perhaps any list based on
such a distinction must be.

Although there is no conclusive record of the early ascents
of the northern peaks. Mount Stuart was apparently one of
the first to be climbed. A stick bearing the name Angus Mc-
Pherson and the date 1873 is said to have been found on its
summit. Stuart lies well to the side of the main chain and
is rather isolated from the great constellation of the north-
ern system. Mount Shuksan, the close neighbor and rival
of Mount Baker, was climbed by Asahel Curtis and W. M.
Price in 1906. For many years Stuart and Shuksan were the
only popular big climbs in the northern system. New routes
were found on both mountains. The Mountaineers of Seattle
built a lodge at Snoqualmie Pass and from this base made
innumerable climbs on the rugged peaks nearby. These
peaks, though small, provided an excellent training ground
for some of the later climbs made by the Mountaineers. The
sharp spires above the little town of Index, a short distance
from Puget Sound, attracted some attention ; a cash prize
was offered for the ascent of one of them. Several outings
of the Mountaineers and the Mazamas were held in the
heart of the northern system, but few climbs were made
since too much time was spent in travel over the difficult
terrain. This was very nearly the extent of climbing in the
northern system until the thirties.

In the summer of 1931 Bill Degenhardt and H. V.
Strandberg ventured into one of the wildest parts of the
Cascades, the serrated ridges above the headwaters of the

MOUNTAINEERING 361

Skagit. They encountered a serious problem as soon as they
left the valley trails. The hillsides of the region are covered
with a dense growth of brush which is almost as discourag-
ing as the cliffs above. The two climbers clawed and fought
their way to the timber-line zone. In every direction was a
bewildering number of peaks rising from expanses of gla-
ciers. Degenhardt and Strandberg remained on the high
ridges instead of descending after each climb to the luxuries
of valley camps. They were rewarded with eight first ascents,
some on Colonial Ridge and the others in the well-named
Picket Range.

The following year saw for the first time one of the most
enthusiastic of the new pioneers in the region, Hermann F.
Ulrichs. Ulrichs, a musician and an individualist, traveled
and climbed extensively through the lonely area of the
northern system, sometimes with companions and sometimes
by himself. During the thirties he set something of a record:
twenty-one first ascents, many of them difficult. The prize
which he most sought, however, Mount Goode, eluded him.
After several attempts, including one harrowing climb
when he was pinioned to the terrible wall of the mountain,
he left the range. Ulrichs learned more of the region than
any other person and his are the best articles on the moun-
tains of the northern system.

Through the middle thirties there was a rapid succession
of first ascents in the system. In 1936 there was a remark-
able list of climbs which included Mount Agnes, Challenger,
Dome, and Goode. Each of these was technically more diffi-
cult than any of the volcanoes. The quick order in which
they were climbed is a measure of the spread of new moun-
taineering skills. Almost all of the difficult peaks of the

362 THE CASCADES

northern system were found to require pitons for safety if
not for direct aid.

Bonanza Peak, the greatest of the northern peaks, was
by an odd chance the last big mountain of the range to be
climbed. The maps of the entire northern system are seamed
with inaccuracies. Through one of the errors of the current
maps, a bench mark is shown on the summit of Bonanza.
Since few people had been to the remote points from which
the height of the mountain is visible, the climb was assumed
to be simple and to have been made by mapping parties.
However, Everett Darr, an ardent mountaineer of Port-
land, explored the area near the mountain and was struck
with the grandeur of the peak and with the obvious diffi-
culty of climbing it. He later examined an early map of the
region and learned that the names of two mountains,
Bonanza and North Star, had been transposed in reprintings
of the map. The big peak had once been called North Star.
There was a bench mark, but on the mountain now bearing
the latter name. Climbers had concentrated on Mount
Goode, believing it to be the highest unclimbed summit of
the Cascades, while the greater peak a few miles to the south
was still untried.

Darr spent a total of several months during different
years in examining the sides of Bonanza. He found it a
mountain with defenses almost unparalleled in the range. On
the west side gentle slopes led fairly high on the mountain,
but from there on a vertical tower barred the way, and even
with this tower won (as it eventually was) there remained a
long distance of jagged ridge. On the northeast side a large
broken glacier seemed to offer access to several points on the
summit ridge, but these points were a long way from the

MOUNTAINEERING 363

top, and again the ridge could not be traversed. The situa-
tion seemed the same on the other sides.

In 1937 a strong party camped at Holden Lake beneath
the Mary Green Glacier. In between bursts of a June bliz-
zard the route up the northeast glacier was attempted. After
a long hard climb the party reached the summit ridge, with
the top in sight but impossibly remote across a deep chasm.
The route was abandoned. There remained a direct attack
of the face above the Mary Green Glacier. Starting at two
o'clock in the morning, Curtis Ijames, Joe Leuthold, and
Barrie James headed toward the forbidding wall. Leuthold
led up the steep rock. The face was so smooth that belays
were often a hundred feet apart with no fissures available
for pitons. These was an unpleasant element of danger, too,
in that the cliff was swept by avalanches. Three times the
climbers narrowly missed being hit. There seemed to be no
hope of reaching the summit, but under the steady leader-
ship of Leuthold the rope went slowly upward. Eight and
one-half hours were spent on the cliff, and finally the party
was at the summit ridge. Ijames has compared this ridge to
a comb with loose teeth. Leuthold crossed it, knocking out
as much of the loose rock as he could, and then stopped. The
others asked why he did not go on and learned that he was
on the summit. The descent lasted well into the night, and
camp was not found until twenty-three hours after the start
of the climb.

There are still unclimbed mountains in the Cascades'
northern system. Some will prove to be easy, some difficult.
Whether a first ascent is made or not, a far greater expe-
rience awaits the newcomer discovery for himself of a land
of innumerable glaciers, serrated ridges, and great mountains.

SKIS ON THE CASCADES

by Charles D. Hes$ey > Jr.

"rr\

JL he time will come when more people will go to Mount
Hood in winter for sport than now go in summer."

The astute outdoorsman responsible for that statement
wrote the words in 1903. Today Mount Hood ranks first in
point of attendance of any ski area in North America, and
it is doubtful if even perfect conviction could ever prop-
erly have prepared the prophet for current reality. For in
1903 the Pacific Northwest was raw and sparsely populated.
Fewer people then set foot upon the mountain in an entire
season than now ski there in one day. The prophecy con-
tains no mention of speeding ropes, notes no clanking line of
mechanical chairs lifting bundled skiers a mile above the
timber line. Neither, apparently, did the vision encompass
the snow-crawler which carries skiers higher still.

Given a bird's-eye preview of the actuality forty-five
years after his prediction, our prophet would surely have
exclaimed, "Every skier in the West is here today !" Then
in the interests of accuracy we could reply, "Far from it,
friend. Mount Hood draws only a small percentage of ski-
ing Westerners 5 in fact, only a small part of those who
utilize the Cascade Range for their winter sport attend

367

368 THE CASCADES

Mount Hood. From fiery Lassen Peak to icy Mount Baker
the Cascade peaks have their centers where thousands ski.
What you foresaw for Mount Hood has happened every-
where."

To assign any special merit to the Cascade Range merely
because of the terrific mushrooming of the ski sport on its
slopes in the past several years would be to fail in objec-
tivity. Skiing has exploded all over the land. Given snow
and an incline, people will ski. To the great majority of
them it makes small difference whether the snow be on a
cultivated hillside, on a sagebrush slope, or on a glacier-
cloaked giant. Chair-lift, T-bar, or rope tow give them up-
hill transportation and the public will ski in a pasture.

Nevertheless, as it is almost impossible to ski in the Cas-
cades remote from the influence of at least one majestic
mountain, even the packed-slope skier who rarely wanders
off the rutted runs has come to see himself as blessed with
respect to scenery and terrain. The big volcanoes jut into
the Arctic-Alpine zone for thousands of feet, and so are
timber free. On their open slopes fall such quantities of snow
that summer's sharp ridges melt into winter's flowing
contours.

"Where else," asks our skier who has suddenly discov-
ered the range, "can you drive to your skiing in October
and in July?" Then his face lights with this further realiza-
tion as he adds, "Where else in the U.S.A. can you ski
within short walking distance of your car the full twelve
months?" If there are such places he does not know of them,
and he is happy in the knowledge that the Cascades offer
numerous such places, even if he, Mr. Average Skier, has
never taken advantage of the fact.

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 369

NOT SO LONG AGO

In reading the small amount 'of literature available on
the activities of the region's first skiers-for-sport, it becomes
embarrassingly evident that he, Mr. Average Skier, has lit-
tle in common with the hardy gentlemen who first dared
the heights in their big snow season. Today he must have the
best of hickory skis, the finest in handmade boots, the most
rigid type of binding. Clothing must be light, roomy, yet
warm, and tailored to the tolerance of the Society Editor's
camera. A continual ululation, mournful and demanding,
rises from the centers for more and longer uphill devices,
preferably the type most likely to put a shine on the seat of
"Pro-model" downhill pants. Better accommodations and
food at lower prices, better snow clearance, more accurate
weather forecasting, lighted slopes for night skiing, con-
veniently located hospital paraphernalia to minimize the
penalties of folly these are but a few of the things which
today's skier considers necessary to the proper enjoyment of
his sport. Contrast all this with the equipment available at
the turn of the century, when skis were hand-hewn from a
fir log, bindings made of rawhide were anything but rigid,
and the entire personal wardrobe was summer's outdoor cos-
tume converted to winter use by multiplication. It seems
that everything was inferior then; everything, that is, but
spirit. The mountains flung down their challenge. A few
men heard, and accepted.

The earliest mention of skiing in Mazama records (the
Mazama Club is Portland's oldest climbing organization)
was in February, 1897. At that time a party of three men
made its way to Cloud Cap Inn on the northeastern side of

37O THE CASCADES

Mount Hood. Each man used one long pole for balance,
progress, and brake. The progress was achieved by "climb-
ing" the pole, braking by riding it hard. How crude their
system seems when compared to today's perfected tech-
niques! And yet before we crawl too far out on the thin and
brittle limb of condescension, let us review the facts: in mid-
winter of 1897 these men successfully completed a trip to
Cloud Cap Inn at timber line on Mount Hood. At the time,
it was many, many miles, and many thousands of feet in
elevation from the nearest snow-free road. Even today, with
all the vast increase in the skiing brotherhood, and with all
the wonderful improvement in winter outdoor equipment,
there are only a handful of persons sufficiently ardent to
make trips of comparable difficulty.

It was only natural that by far the greater number of
pioneer skiers were new Americans from the Scandinavian
countries. They had found, particularly in the Pacific North-
west, a landscape and a climate similar to that of the Euro-
pean homeland. It was also natural that the first magnets to
draw them were the volcanic giants, one or more of which
dominated the horizon from all the centers of population.
And yet it was not until 1914 that we find skiing mentioned
in the publications of the Seattle Mountaineers. Norwegians
were testing Cascade snows. Their enthusiasm was so con-
tagious that within two short years the Mountaineers' winter
outing at Paradise Valley on Mount Rainier was an annual
event. Not all who attended were skiers, it is true, and the
few who used the long awkward boards on that initial trip
carried them clumsily across the body while climbing the
trail on snowshoes. As ducks take to water, though, so do
folk who love the mountains take to skiing; it is, indeed, the

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 37!

key which opens for them the full year's treasure of their
favorite landscape. The winter outings at Paradise were
continued until 1930, and since that date the Club has main-
tained facilities for its members at several of the skiing
centers.

Improvements in technique and equipment stimulated
imagination, and the years 1927 and 1928 saw the first at-
tempts to scale Mount Rainier on ski. The route chosen was
the only one feasible for skiers ; early one April morning
the party left Starbo Camp and started climbing Intergla-
cier in six inches of fresh powder snow. At 9,500 feet, still
a vertical mile below the summit, the lack of sufficient time
became obvious and the four climbers turned their tips
downward to enjoy the long descent under ideal conditions.

A second effort was made in May. This failed because of
a great wind which assailed the climbers at 13,000 feet.
Skiers can find a comfort in failure which summer climbers
lack. The reward in this instance was 7,000 vertical feet of
beautiful running.

Sigurd Hall, who later lost his life racing on another side
of this same mountain, made the first successful ski ascent.
The first night was spent at Steamboat Prow, where the
Emmons and Winthrop Glaciers part company at 9,700
feet. In the morning the peak was sheathed in glare ice. He
persevered, often forced to stamp several times until steel
edges had enough purchase on the glazed surface. On the
descent, skiing above 12,000 feet was out of the question,
and skis had to be carried until that level was reached.
There the snow had softened sufficiently to allow control,
and progress thereafter was achieved in a manner more in
harmony with the basic purpose of arduous ski climbs.

372 THE CASCADES

Here and there throughout the area, local museums dis-
play crude boards scarcely recognizable by modern stand-
ards as skis, which were used in delivering mail in the early
days. With a pedestrian history such as that, it is difficult to
disagree with those who know the Cascades well when they
say that, insofar as skiing is concerned, its most exciting his-
tory lies ahead.

THE LAY OF THE LAND

That typical bit of western optimism is standing on two
strong legs. One of those legs is the rapidly increasing popu-
lation., the other is the available terrain. Any Cascades skier
who gets around in his mountains will look you right in the
eye and tell you that no mountains in the world offer finer
terrain for skiing than do the Cascades.

"There is no argument/ 7 he avers with supreme self-con-
fidence. "What, for instance, does a skier want in slopes?
Well, that depends upon how good he is, or upon what he
is used to skiing. Most skiers prefer long timber-free runs
when they can get them. Just as an example, take a look at
Mount Shasta. Massive, and 6,000 feet above timber line.*

"Let's say he has a taste for the bizarre along with fine
terrain and who hasn't? At Mount Lassen he can ski on
fifteen feet of snow alongside boiling mud and sulphur
springs. Or at Crater Lake he can run the slopes above the
bluest lake on earth, on a mountain that fell in upon itself.

"Does he prefer open-woods running? The eastern slope
of the Cascades with its brush-free yellow pine forests is

* "Timber line" is a term used freely by Mr. Hessey. He refers to the
limit of free skiing. To the botanist the timber line is the last tree, at about
9,500 feet, on the north side of Mount Shasta. (Editor.)

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 373

made to order for him. Or, at higher elevations, the scat-
tered alpines in the parks near timber line make picturesque
and exciting natural slaloms.

"Perhaps he's from the East, and feels lost outside the
confines of a trail slashed through thick forest. Where is
there a more luxuriant growth of big evergreens than on the
ocean side of the Cascades? He will find trails cut to his lik-
ing at Stevens Pass, Snoqualmie Pass, and at Mount Hood.

"He likes the excitement of glacier skiing? Let him come
and climb Mount Baker.

"Finally, if he's a hickory-shod Daniel Boone, and wants
to pioneer, there are scores of exciting peaks and skiable
glaciers up to three miles long which have never known
those distinctive parallel grooves."

The volcanic origin of much of the range is responsible
for the type of country which most skiers know best. The
penetration of the towering cones into arctic climatic condi-
tions and their ready accessibility to heavily populated areas
have made them the logical focal points of winter sports
activity. Ancient volcanism also has been generous to the
skier in supplanting heavy forest with barren lava -beds in
certain sections. Throughout the Cascades the distinguishing
characteristic is the lofty peak, white with snow, suspended
above a blue haze covering miles of surrounding forest. That
is the classical representation of the range. In fact, the word
volcano is so often associated with the Cascade mountains
that even today it surprises many Westerners to learn that
the range also contains, in a granite wilderness in north-
central Washington, what the Forest Service calls "the most
rugged ranger district in the United States." The skier
blesses the volcanoes, for in their solitary immensity they

374 THE CASCADES

provide him with runs which are among the world's finest.
Nevertheless, he is glad to hear that his range also includes
the other kind of peak, massed in chaotic profusion, frothed
with living ice, and not lacking in that superior angularity
of sculpture which distinguishes granite forms. These are
the North Cascades. They extend from the crags of the
Stuart Range, in mid-state, north to the Canadian boundary.
No simple chain is this, but a complex of ranges one hundred
miles wide, much of which is only now being thoroughly
mapped.

Figures on the number of glacier-bearing peaks cannot
be accurate until the maps are published, yet it is safe to say
that well over one hundred such summits gleam in that
wilderness of forest, stream, and rock. This is significant to
the skier in denoting heavy snowfall, great walled cirques
far above timber line, and a mountain landscape as exciting
in its potentialities as any in America. Everywhere the main
valley floors are low, well under 2,000 feet in elevation, yet
even there the snowfall is heavy. The peaks average about
8,000 feet, with many reaching more than 1,000 feet higher,
so runs of impressive length and fall are to be found. While
much of the country is far too rugged to attack on ski, there
is much more than enough superlative terrain to last out the
winters of a man's life.

Perhaps the finest midwinter sport is obtained on the east-
ern slopes. Along the main axis of the range, absolute tim-
ber line occurs at lower elevations as one travels north. For
example, at Mount Shasta it is found at about 9,500 feet,
while at Mount Rainier only a few isolated alpines grow
near the 7,ooo-foot contour. This trend is reversed as one
goes east in the mountains. Alpine larch and white-bark pine

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 375

find foothold above 8,000 feet in the eastern section of the
North Cascades. Since the clouds have been raked by the
peaks to the west, snowfall is lighter, the air is drier and
colder, and the occurrence of forests at high elevations pro-
vides shelter in the zone of deepest snow and consistently
freezing temperatures. To anyone who has groped his way
downhill through a typical Cascade snowstorm, the advan-
tages of midwinter skiing in the eastern section are obvious.

FORECAST: SNOW

Everyone who has listened to conversations among big-
game hunters knows that there are only three sizes of bear:
a cub, a yearling cub, and "the biggest bear I ever saw in my
life!" Man's natural propensity for exaggeration also oper-
ates fully when describing snow depth, the standard esti-
mates being: a trace, six inches, three feet, and "at least
twenty feet of snow!" Undoubtedly the greatest snowfall
in the United States occurs on Mount Olympus in the Olym-
pic Mountains, where most of the approximate annual two
hundred and fifty inches of moisture falls in crystal form.
The Cascades, too, are abundantly blessed, the common
criticism leveled against them by skiers being, "Too much
snow." It would be difficult, in the average year, for an
honest advocate to plead innocent to that charge. Men in-
terested financially in ski resorts might advertise "Twenty-
foot snow depths, and lots of winter sunshine," but skiers
know how often and how hard the storms must strike to
build up snow packs of such dimensions.

Mild in temperature, severe in storm that is Cascade
weather in capsule form. From Lassen to Baker, in those
few places where precipitation records are kept in the deep-

376 THE CASCADES

snow country, the fabulous twenty-foot depth is a common
occurrence. Owing to the activities of snow-survey crews and
easier access to areas of heaviest precipitation, information on
relative snowfall at different elevations is most nearly com-
plete in the southern portion of the range. The snows of
Lassen Peak provide water for power and irrigation. Gov-
ernment agencies, planning ahead, measure snow for water
content each spring, and the snow is sampled as high as
8,500 feet. The deepest snow at Lassen has been found
near 8,000 feet in the Lake Helen basin. At the Sulphur
Works, less than 2,000 feet lower, snow depth has measured
at times almost ten feet less.

At 8,000 feet on Mount Shasta, the snow stick near Shasta
Alpine Lodge has registered over 330 inches of snow. This,
too, is considerably in excess of depths recorded at lower
elevations on the same mountain. Measurements taken at
the rim of Crater Lake, over 8,000 feet above sea level,
again demonstrate increasing snow depth up to that elevation.

While there are no statistics available in the northern
portion of the range to prove whether the same is true in
that region, confirmatory evidence exists. The development
of the glaciers between 8,000 feet and 10,000 feet on Mount
Rainier and other lofty summits is marked. Measurements
taken at Rainier at two places on the same side of the moun-
tain offer an interesting comparison. At Longmire, 2,761
feet, annual precipitation is about 75 inches, while at Para-
dise Valley, 5,550 feet, it is 100 inches. An average of 600
inches of snow is measured annually at the latter spot. The
greatest amount noted was in the winter of 1916-17 when,
although the record was begun after the snow season was
under way, 790 inches of snow were recorded. Unhappily,

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 377

during the winter of 1945-46, heaviest snowfall year on
record in some sections of Oregon and Washington, no one
was stationed at Paradise Valley.

One wonders most about snow depth on Mount Baker.
In April, 1946, twenty-five feet of snow covered the Lodge
area. The Lodge is situated at only 4,200 feet, and is, more-
over, located at least partially in Mount Baker's "storm
shadow." The peak lies well to the west. With such depths
at so low an elevation, and with increasing depths to 8,OOO
feet fairly well established, it seems that the annual accumu-
lation of snow on the flanks of Mount Baker itself must be
prodigious. Indeed, its well-developed glaciers indicate that
this is so. Snow surveys are not made here, as virtually no
irrigating is done, and power dams across Baker's streams
can depend on melting ice if snow should fail.

Temperatures throughout the range are moderate, tem-
pered by storms moving in from the Pacific. Average win-
ter readings at all the ski areas range above 20 degrees. An
occasional cold wave coming from the north or east may
push the mercury below zero, but such waves are usually
of short duration and serve to remind the skier, tenderly
thawing the white spot on his nose with the palm of his
hand, how lucky he is that his mountains seldom punish
him in this way. And if the frequency of storm has its dis-
advantages, there are words to say for it, too. Seldom does
a skier in the Cascades use yesterday's surface for his swing-
ing, and the art of deep-snow skiing is still practiced.

The phenomenon which meteorologists call an "inver-
sion" is one of those things that the Far- Western skier hopes
will occur, if it must occur, in the middle of the week rather
than on Saturday, when the friend from Denver is here to

378 THE CASCADES

try out Cascade snows. The type of inversion which brings
a thawing blanket of air to the high passes, it must be noted.,
will probably not happen more than three times during the
season, and almost certainly not at all after mid-January.
The friend from Denver would understand a chinook wind,
a breeze which warms as it descends from the mountains,
melting all the snow at lower elevations. But what would
he say if, after skiing all day in sunshine at an ideal 24
degrees, nightfall should find the thermometer registering
33 degrees, as warm air from the western slope poured over
the divide with a breath as soft as spring? Strangely enough,
there is a remedy for this apparently hopeless situation. Or-
dinarily, to find better snow a skier climbs higher- but in
the case of the inversion he clamps his skis to the carrier and
in the morning drives down into the valleys of the eastern
slope. Soon frost is forming on the car windows. Trees are
still laden with snow, and frost feathers glisten in the little
glades. The cold air lies in the valley bottoms like a lake
of lesser density. The inversion is usually of short duration,
rarely lasting over two days, but during this time the east-
side skier has the better conditions.

What is the best time of year for skiing in the Cascades?
There will be arguments over this, but if I had a month's
vacation and wanted to spend it skiing somewhere in these
mountains I would choose mid-March to mid-April. Dur-
ing that period the snow has reached its greatest depth, days
are longer, morning sunshine is common, and the morning
surface is quite likely to be from two to six inches of fluffy
snow on a firm base the skier's fondest hope. Restricted to
a seven-day choice, I would select the first week in April.
Seven winters spent in mountain cabins above 4,500 feet

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 379

taught me that this week provides, for the skier who doesn't
mind early rising, the most uniformly excellent conditions
of the year.

These dates and conditions, I repeat, are for those who
do not mind early rising skiers who like to cruise around.
If the vacationist wishes to visit one of the centers and to
ski beside the lifts, it makes small difference what time of
year he chooses, unless he is a camera fan. If he is, he'll take
my dates. The chances of powder snow plus sunshine are
better then.

THE CENTERS, NOW AND TO BE

So fast is the sport of skiing outgrowing present facilities,
and so insistent is the demand for more developments, that
any description of ski areas must in all wisdom be kept gen-
eral. Nevertheless, major omissions in this survey are not
likely. For years to come, further developments probably
will take place adjacent to areas now in use. Much of the
ideal terrain along the main crest, as in the Goat Rocks area
of Washington, is held by the Forest Service under Primi-
tive Area designation and cannot be developed. Also in
Washington are the great North Cascade Primitive Area
and the Glacier Peaks Recreation Area, both closed to com-
mercialization. Much blame has been heaped upon the Na-
tional Park Service for its attitude toward the modern trend
to mechanized skiing 5 in Washington, at least, the Forest
Service is withholding even more terrain from exploitation,
and between the two departments a very sizable section of
the most exciting mountain country in the nation has been
removed from possible resort development.

The skier sees this as good or bad, depending largely upon

THE CASCADES

just what phase of his complex sport most appeals to him.
In all fairness, however, and as a note of caution to those
who thoughtlessly advocate discarding the National Park
idea in favor of building a huge skiing "plant," it must be
stated that no thorough survey of potential ski areas has
been made, and that every center along the range has a
wealth of excellent mountain country to choose from, ex-
clusive of National Parks and Primitive Areas. A few such
spots are widely known j a few are famous locally. As we
begin this tour of Cascade skiing centers, present and "per-
haps," I promise to introduce to you some of those little-
known places. Wax up, everybody!

We are going to start at Lassen Peak, 10,453 f eet > near
the southern terminus of the Cascade Range, and work our
way north to the Canadian border. Lassen Peak is a long
journey south from Mount Baker, but gliding silently
among alpine hemlock en route to the Lake Helen basin on
a February morning the skier might not guess it. An average
depth of twenty-four feet of snow has been measured in this
area, and depths of eighteen feet are not at all uncommon. At
the Sulphur Works, 6,700 feet, an area is kept open and oper-
ated by the National Park Service throughout the winter,
with tows, restaurant, and warming hut available. This is
the usual starting point for winter touring parties, but when
the Park highways are open in late spring it is possible to drive
to 8,500 feet between snowbanks more than twice the height
of your car. The climb of Lassen itself is safer and more pleas-
ant then, with a good probability of fine corn snow for your
descent. Lassen Volcanic National Park is rich in contrasts,
with deep snows and boiling springs, and summer snow fields
shining above valleys of subtropical warmth. As in so many

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 381

areas of superlative terrain in the Cascades, the absence of
large population centers nearby is merely postponing the day
when Lassen Peak is as famous for its skiing as for its recent
volcanism.

The ski fields of Mount Shasta, 14,161 feet, are on a scale
that is difficult to comprehend fully. The mountain is one of
the giants of the range, and its tremendous bulk towers high
above its base. There is rumor of a big development here, with
a funicular all the way to the summit. This seems likely to
materialize.

Winter climbers of the white massif have enjoyed down-
hill runs approaching 10,000 feet in vertical distance. The
center of skiing activity, however, has been in the vicinity of
the Sierra Club's lodge at 8,000 feet, above which the slopes
rise in unbroken ermine fields to the summit rocks. Absolute
timber line is somewhere over 9,000 feet, but most of the
matted storm-twisted growth at that elevation is buried un-
der the phenomenal winter snows, and skiers at the lodge
level consider themselves at timber line. The summit climb,
of course, is not for everyone. However, when the day comes
that mechanical means for reaching the upper slopes are
available, Mount Shasta skiers will be blessed, for skiing is
done on the north side of this peak, a fact which pays divi-
dends in snow quality.

From two lovely California peaks, each with a person-
ality all its own, we now move into Oregon to a spot dis-
tinctly different. Crater Lake is the basis for one of our
National Parks, and "the bluest water in the world" loses
none of its exciting beauty in a winter setting. There are no
winter facilities here, and most skiing is done close to the
rim. The opportunities for touring, however, are superla-

382 THE CASCADES

tive, with enchanting views of that incredibly colored water
the reward for keeping high. To the graduate skier, the one
who has learned that there is far more to skiing than merely
sliding repetitiously down a grooved run, a winter tour in
this region will be a bright memory long after the mind has
lost the flavor of any one day of skiing with crowds on a lift.

Central in Oregon's Cascades, and just west of Bend and
south of McKenzie Pass, is a fine group of volcanic peaks
over 10,000 feet high called the Three Sisters. The North
Sister does not attract as a skiing mountain, but the South
Sister looks made to order. Perhaps the Collier Glacier on
the Middle Sister will best reward the spring skier. One
morning late in May I found myself up there without skis,
and have been regretting the oversight ever since. At that
time of year the glacier is a smooth ribbon of perfect corn
snow, not steep enough except near the summit to be ere-
vassed to a dangerous extent. It is one of those runs which
allow perfect relaxation. The skier just stands on his skis
and lets the ground unroll, or, if he chooses, he may sway in
lazy rhythm as he links his sweeping swings.

There is a wealth of excellent terrain on both sides of the
McKenzie River Highway at McKenzie Pass. In summer
the lava flows look like black glaciers j few trees have gained
foothold, so most of the area is open slope. The Sisters and
Mount Washington provide the striking scenic background
which Westerners take for granted with their skiing.

While there is no development for skiers at McKenzie
Pass, a popular area has recently come into being to the
north near Santiam Pass. The Hoodoo Bowl boasts excellent
open slopes, ski tows, and shelter, just forty-three miles
from Bend. While the Bowl itself is situated on a butte un-

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 383

pretentious in dimension or form, the area borrows grandeur
from nearby Three Fingered Jack, a solitary soaring spire
surrounded by treeless and semi-open country.

There are comforts provided at Hoodoo Bowl, but to
reach 1 0,495-foot Mount Jefferson, twenty miles to the
north, the skier must make serve what his back will support.
Many consider the Mount Jefferson area Oregon's finest
scenery. The mountain itself is a very steep cone, less per-
fectly adapted to mass skiing than Hood, yet offering the
adventurous a wealth of exciting slopes. To the few who
have done it, the tour from Mount Hood south along the
Oregon Skyline Trail to Mount Jefferson stands out as the
skiing experience of a lifetime.

To give statistics on the number of skiers who use the
Mount Hood region is useless, for each succeeding year
finds increasing thousands availing themselves of this, the
largest development on the Pacific Coast. There are chair-
lifts, rope tows, lodgings to suit each purse, places to eat,
and places in which to purchase or rent complete skiing out-
fits. The slopes rising above Timberline Lodge are immense
and are well suited to skiers of every ability $ when storm
takes over the mountain the numerous trails through timber
provide sheltered running. On nearby Multorpor Moun-
tain there is a jump and plenty of practice terrain. Tom,
Dick, and Harry Bowl is a cleared north slope ideally
adapted to slalom racing.

It is said that an average of fifteen hundred people climb
Mount Hood each year. Those who do it on ski are re-
warded with one of the classic runs of the West, with a loss
in altitude of some 7,000 feet in a distance of about seven
miles.

384 THE CASCADES

Around on the northeast side of the mountain, Cloud
Cap Inn overlooks the Eliot Glacier, where summer skiers
keep residual snows patterned into August. Perhaps some-
day the residents of the Hood River Valley will have their
own development here, where 1 1,225-foot Mount Hood
shows its loveliest profile.

North of Hood the first big break in the Cascades occurs
where the Columbia River rushes through to the Pacific.
This marks the Oregon- Washington boundary, but, politi-
cal demarcations aside, it also denotes a modification in the
character of the range. Look south from the air over the Co-
lumbia. The snow peaks of Oregon extend in a straight line,
each one riding the crest of the chain. Now do an about-
face. In Washington two glacier-garbed giants stand guard
on the same east-west plane and about twenty-five miles
apart. The one to the west, the "sport," is Mount Saint
Helens, 9,671 feet, the most symmetrical of all the volcanic
cones. In addition to its perfection of form there are other
good reasons why this spot will someday take its place with
the major skiing centers. Its only access road touches mir-
roring Spirit Lake at the northern base of the peak, there-
fore, as at Mount Shasta, skiing here is done on north slopes.
Timber line on Saint Helens is very low, at about 4,000 feet.
This leaves over a vertical mile of timber-free skiing, which
compares favorably with that of much loftier summits. Most
of the mountain clubs of the Pacific Northwest plan annual
climbs of this peak for May or June, and take their skis
along. The sides of the cone are steep, and the descent calls
for full utilization of ankles, knees, shoulders, and head. It
must be skied. The full distance to Spirit Lake, involving a
drop of 6,400 feet, is made on ski well into May.

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 385

When the Fourth of July rolls around, most Westerners
think of fishing, swimming, rodeos, or some other seasonal
pastime. You and I, though, being skiers, will think of
Mount Adams and the 6,5OO-foot drop right back to our
car which the mountain offers us while other people are
popping firecrackers. This 1 2,307-foot peak is a massive pile
of igneous rock which in winter and spring offers wonderful
timber-line skiing on all sides to anyone who is willing
to make the long trek in. On only the south side may the
summit be reached on ski, its glaciers having eaten so deeply
into the rest of the peak that skiing is out of the question.
In the average year the road is open to Coldsprings Camp
by July i. The climb takes about seven hours from Cold-
springs ; but when you have seen the sun incarnadine Mount
Hood with its first fiery rays, and then ignite Saint Helens
with the morning flame, when you have watched Mount
Adams' own dawn-shadow race over miles of rolling forest,
then you must count those climbing hours well spent. The
run itself will find you shouting for joy.

Halfway between Mount Adams and Mount Rainier lie
Goat Rocks, a designated Primitive Area of striking beauty.
Several small glaciers still exist on the flanks of Curtiss Gil-
bert Peak, 8,201 feet, Ives Peak, and Old Snowy Moun-
tain. I know of no finer area for high touring than this re-
gion which offers extensive reaches of alpine parks and vast
sheltered timber-free basins. A strong pair of legs is needed
to attain summer skiing here; but I cannot say enough in
praise of Old Snowy's Tieton Glacier.

Mount Rainier, 14,408 feet, largest and most often pic-
tured of the Cascade peaks, needs no introduction. Tens of
thousands use it for winter sport, and this despite the fact

386 THE CASCADES

that only one small section (Paradise Valley) is accessible
during the eight-month "winter" season. There are tows and
overnight accommodations at Paradise. The run back to the
valley from iO,OOQ-foot Camp Muir is one of those beauti-
ful roller-coaster rides, gift of the glaciers which sculptured
it.

Perfect terrain greets the ski mountaineer on every side
of the giant peak. Probably dearest to his heart is the run of
Interglacier on its northeast slope a favorite in June. Ski-
ing in the vicinity of the Park is by no means confined to
the mountain itself. Although closed through the winter,
Chinook Pass, 5,440 feet, on U.S. Highway 410, draws
skiers for October and July skiing. Just outside the eastern
boundary of the Park in the valley of Morse Creek lies the
Gold Hill area, home to a group of Yakima skiers. The popu-
lar answer to the weekly question, "Where shall we ski to-
morrow?" is, "Let's take a trip." The favorite tour is a seven-
mile circle to "Crystal Bowl," a spacious cirque on Crystal
Mountain. The view from the summit encompasses all the
volcanoes from Hood to Baker, with Mount Rainier close
enough to touch. Slopes are open and sheltered. Most
Yakima skiers, however, use the American River 'Ski Bowl,
a cleared north slope which, because of its low elevation, has
a short season of about ten weeks. It offers overnight ac-
commodations and tow service on week ends.

Snoqualmie Pass, 3,010 feet, is probably the most used
area in the state, because of its proximity to Seattle. The
many runs are largely the result of clearing operations, as
the Cascades at that elevation are heavily forested.

The fastest growing center in Washington is at Stevens
Pass, where trails and open slopes are served by several rope

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 387

tows and at least one long T-bar lift. Snow of good quality
is the rule here, where the ferocity of frequent winter storms
is tempered by a wise selection of skiing area. Thinking in
terms of winter wind, the Barrier Ridge is well named.

Miles to the west of the main divide lies the most north-
erly of the old volcanoes in this country, and the most pho-
togenic popular ski area in the United States. Mount Baker,
the graceful glacier-robed cone, and Mount Shuksan, burly
ice-fractured granite massif, cradle between them some of
the most enchanting alpine terrain to be found anywhere.
While the accessible runs are magnificent, and the scenic
background is of such an order as to make anyone an artist
with a camera, improvements have not kept pace. Shelter
and food are available, but the tows serve none of the long
runs. Even so, skiing in such a setting is highly satisfying,
and thousands avail themselves of it. Snow-crawling vehi-
cles are used to help those who care less for the tows to
reach the long untracked runs.

TOURING COUNTRY

Stand at the top of a ski lift and ask the first rider to
escape it this question, "What is a ski mountaineer ? n If,
after a minute of pondering, your answer comes, "It has
two legs," you will have heard the truth, but, praise be, not
all the truth. The ski mountaineer also is the poet of the
skiing world. There are two of him. One is he whose ritual-
istic insistence on reaching the topmost pinnacle brings som-
ber overtones to every outing 5 the other is one whose chief
delight is simply to be in the company of noble peaks. Both
look upon Mr. Average Skier that man who rides the lift
all winter and is content as a voluntarily caged bird whose

388 THE CASCADES

wings do him small good. Both are astonished at the modern
trend in skiing, with all the emphasis upon racing. To them
skiing is an esthetic activity j to' admit into it the element of
Time is as though the Metropolitan were to choose its oper-
atic stars on the basis of vocal speed in place of tonal quality.

"But isn't travel among high mountains in winter dan-
gerous?" people want to know. Like every sort of endeavor,
risky or routine, the activities of a ski mountaineer are ac-
complished one step at a time, and the danger to himself is
proportionate to the careful application of his judgment. It
is a man's carelessness with too familiar things that leads to
most accidents, as in the home and in cars. The danger lurk-
ing in a snow-covered glacier is just as real as that of the
family bathtub, but its very strangeness calls forth the ut-
most in skill and judgment 5 and this, in a sense, makes it
safer.

There is not the space, nor is this the place, to dwell upon
techniques and equipment, to recite the many do's and dont's
of this very comprehensive sport. One of the most stressed
and important of the dont's that against skiing alone I
have violated many times in hundreds of miles of high-
country skiing. To share your trip is always best, both in
joy and safety, but the schedules which rule men's lives are
not always flexible enough to grant concurrent freedom to
skiing friends. I take along my well-developed bump of cau-
tion, a prayer, and some experience, and these have stood
me in good stead. The risk that factor which can never
accurately be calculated is paid for in the sense of un-
bounded freedom which the untracked snows above timber
line beget.

For this is the country in the Cascades, as in other ranges,

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 389

that woos the touring skier most persuasively. If tranquillity
is the charm of the forest, excitement is the motif at timber
line. The skiers trudging up from deep valleys under heavy
packs feel a fine quickening of the pulse, a delicious light-
ening of the load, as they near the snow fields, immaculate
and immeasurable, of the high country. They feel that this
high world is more of heaven than of earth. Its beauty is
the expansive beauty of the morning sky, its brilliance that
of the sun at noon 3 as pure and frosty as the stars of night
are the winds that move across it.

Disappointment and reward are the treasures of a ski
mountaineer. It is impossible to call a high mountain tour
a failure. Jf the objective is not gained, there still will be
gain. The touring skier starts out, hoping for the best and
prepared for the worst, and the worst was my allotment in
the spring of '48. You will recall this as the year of the Pa-
cific Northwest's tragic floods. For twenty-seven days I lived
under the conditions which made those floods inevitable. In
the following brief account of one skier's trip into one small
section of the Cascade Range, I will try to indicate what
that section has to offer, and to produce some intimations as
to why, despite the multiplied frustrations, I have not con-
sidered the trip a failure.

Five of us, intending to repeat the previous year's spring
outing, had supplies taken by pack horse to the Lyman Lake
cabin in September. This is in the Lake Chelan watershed
in north-central Washington. For reasons business or do-
mestic, all four of my companions were forced to cancel their
plans. Two projects decided me on going. One was to com-
plete a Kodachrome record of the Lyman Lake area, the
other to put skis for the first time on the Chickamin Glacier.

390 THE CASCADES

The Lake Chelan launch received me on April 24, sped
me up the winding waterway between towering ranges, and
let me off at the mouth of Railroad Creek, where the
Holden passenger bus was waiting. At Holden, a mining
camp, shortly after my arrival, light rain turned to snow
with flakes nearly the size of dollar bills. This began ac-
cumulating on the two feet of old snow that lay about. Dur-
ing the night, snug in the Holden Boy Scout cabin, I was
awakened by the manifold voices of a stiff blow, and found
myself cabin-bound all the next day by a booming blizzard.
The following morning under perfect skies I started out,
pack laden, toward the walls of massive Bonanza Peak and
the velvet ski fields of North Star Mountain. <

As weather is unpredictable in any mountain country, a
high cabin for a touring base is desirable if not essential.
Lyman Lake is ideal because it combines perfect ski slopes,
unexcelled scenery, and a sturdy log cabin. From the after-
noon of April 26 until the morning of May 17 I was the
sole occupant of that shelter, and on twenty-one of those
twenty-two days, snow fell. At a time of year when normally
the fourteen-foot snow pack would have settled at least
four feet, the depth was maintained throughout my stay. Of
course, my photographic project suffered. Three fair morn-
ings, only one of which was right for color pictures, fell to
me. On the finest of these I climbed the swells of North
Star Park, crossed the buttressing southwest ridge beneath
the west peak, then made long zigzag tracks to the middle
summit, accomplishing the last hundred feet without skis
along a rock-studded wind-swept ridge patterned with ptar-
migan tracks. Many factors contribute to make the view
from North Star a memorable one, contrast being the great-

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 39!

est. Eastward the black and rust-daubed towers of Bonanza
provide a dramatic backdrop for the flawless expanse of the
North Star slope. Slightly to the west of south is Chiwawa
Mountain with its Lyman Glacier, backed by the snow-
plastered wall of Fortress Mountain, continually grumbling
with avalanche thunder. This is a granite landscape 5 but eleven
miles to the southwest, rearing in purity and grace from
an ice field eight miles wide, is the lovely volcanic peak
called Glacier. The deep trench of the Agnes leads north-
ward, and in that direction, too, the peaks extend in multiple
form like waves of a turbulent sea. The blue-white massif of
Dome, upon whose beautiful Chickamin Glacier I had de-
signs, fixed my attention. This was May, yet with a mid-
winter landscape j it was difficult to realize that in the We-
natchee Valley people were celebrating an apple-blossom
festival.

Daily I skied on new powder snow during the corn snow
season, and every day I thought, "Surely the weather will
break tomorrow." On May 17, unable to postpone my de-
parture longer, I left in fog and a light snowfall, crossing
6,5OO-foot Cloudy Pass to start my long journey down the
Agnes.

There are several sharp memories in connection with
those miles. Uncertain of the trail, I made cautious progress.
It was work. In the heavy forest below 4,000 feet the snow
was deeply hollowed and littered with wind-scattered debris
from the trees. I remember the bear I frightened in Agnes
Meadows, and the first trillium blooming under trees beside
seven feet of snow. I remember standing in an avalanche
track at the base of Needle Peak, my attention caught by the

392 THE CASCADES

rushing sound of running snow. In a twisting corridor below
the sharp summit high above me I watched the avalanche
race, running its serpentine channel in at least eight distinct
waves, each wave crashing across a blocking wedge of rock
in thunderous spray and coming to rest on a slope of mod-
erate degree at a safe distance above me.

Pitched over a soft bed of boughs on the snow, my moun-
tain tent that night was a palace in the wilderness. Morning
welcomed me with perfect skies which clouded over soon
after noon. At the junction of the two forks of the Agnes
I was delighted to find large patches of bare ground under
the big trees, and one of these I made my permanent camp,
loving the scent of moist earth after three weeks of snow.
At nightfall the skies were clearing again, and occasional
peeks through the tent opening during the night revealed
an unblemished field of stars. At 3:30 A.M. I was preparing
breakfast under the blue-black canopy, my hopes high for
the day's adventure 3 at 4:00 A.M. the sky was cloudy once
more.

Unwilling to consider the day a total loss, I decided to
scout my trail. One of the big problems of wilderness skiing
is the streams. A log four feet in diameter bridged the South
Fork, but my hope for the West Fork was based upon an
avalanche bridge which, I had decided, must exist at the
foot of Agnes Peak. I therefore crossed the log and started
up the valley of the West Fork, at the head of which, about
eight miles distant, lay the Chickamin and Dana Glaciers.

Every mountain range has sections which make one feel,
"This is the very heart of the range." This attribute attaches
in strong degree to the headwaters of the West Fork of the

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 393

Agnes. Only a very few have ever seen it, and it is probable
that fewer than six men have ever stood at the foot of the
Chickamin. In summer the way is barred by two wearisome
miles of brush. This would be no problem to me, as I could
ski across it. In shortly over an hour I was approaching the
northern base of Agnes Peak and had verified the existence
of my bridging avalanche snow, which I crossed as though
treading on eggs; it would easily have supported a loaded
truck. This put me in the Meadows. Two miles westward
shimmered the West Fork falls, portal to the ice-hung val-
ley I intended visiting. Surging above my snow bridge in
one tremendous aspiration of 5,500 feet, the lovely Agnes
Peak now wore a filmy veil of falling snow. The way before
me looked perfectly open, the only possible difficulty being
potential slide danger at the falls.

A light rain began just as I retired that night, and con-
tinued intermittently until midmorning, following which
the sun came out. It grew very hot, and thunder growled
from the cloud-bundled peaks. The streams started rising
and were off-color j but as soon as Agnes Peak's afternoon
shadow fell across me there was a sudden chill, and I
thought, "This will check the runoff 5 I needn't worry."

It was a beautiful night and a perfect morning. The snow
was crisp. My heart sang as I packed camera and film and
food for lunch and breakfast, which I would eat on the trail
to save time. Shouldering my skis, I walked the few yards
to the stream and to my log. There I stood and stared. In
the middle of the stream the log was lightly awash, but
worse yet, I could no longer even reach the log. This was
the beginning of the flood, and the crowning frustration for

394 THE CASCADES

me. I returned to camp, assembled my pack, and continued
down the Agnes on ski until, on this twenty-first day of
May, at a point under 2,000 feet in elevation, I finally ran
out of snow.

And so, as I write this, the Chickamin Glacier is still a
virgin ski field. Several miles northward the large Inspira-
tion Glacier on Eldorado Peak also is awaiting its first ski
tracks. Perhaps these two will be the most rewarding to
those who finally reach them, yet there are many others of
nearly equal grandeur, nor are the beautiful untried runs
limited to the large glaciers. Scores of summits devoid of
ice offer timber-free running in settings of harmonious
majesty*

There is avalanche danger, of course. The forested slopes
of every valley are scarred with the tracks of great slides,
and the distant booming of crashing snow is common day-
time music in winter and spring. The great timber-crushing
slides are the exception, however. One experience in a heavy
January snowstorm near Cascade Pass taught me why. The
mountains are so steep that the snow starts running as soon
as a few inches accumulate, and during a heavy snowfall the
thunder of slides is a steady roar, a symphony of storm
background music for the ballet of swirling flakes. And if
terror sweeps along on the big slides, beauty can ride with
the small ones. In the high valley of Park Creek, on a
spring day when the east face of Booker Mountain was very
active, a sudden rocket of snow as white as an egret's feather
plummeted 1,500 feet into space. Gone in an instant, the
sudden breath-taking spectacle left an indelible impression.

These, then, are the gifts of the Cascade Range to the
adventurer-on-ski : mountain scenery unsurpassed, and the

SKIS ON THE CASCADES 395

chance to pioneer. Both attributes are priceless to the people
of a nation with a heritage such as ours, and that more Amer-
ican skiers will turn to our range, to the ever-white section
of this ever-green land, is the friendly wish of all of us who
ski the high Cascades.

APPENDIX

by Weldon F. Heald

he following is a list of named Cascade Peaks over 9,000
feet in elevation arranged in order from the south end of
the range to the north. There are several hundred summits
from 7,000 to 9,000 feet high. Numbers in parentheses indi-
cate the eleven great, snow-capped fire-mountains.

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

Brokeoff Mountain
Mount Diller
Lassen Peak

Mount McLoughlin
Mount Thielsen
Bachelor Butte
Broken Top
South Sister (2)

Mount Saint Helens
Mount Adams (8)
Mount Rainier (9)
(Little Tahoma)
Mount Stuart
Glacier Peak (10)
Mount Maude
Mount Fernow

9,232 feet
9,086
10,453

Mount Shasta
(Shastina)

(i)

OREGON

9,493 feet
9,178
9,060
9*165
10,352

Middle Sister (3)
North Sister (4)
Mount Jefferson (5)
Mount Hood (6)

WASHINGTON

(7) 9.67 1 * eet Bonanza Peak

12,307

14,408

11,117

9.470

10,436

9, no

9,100

Mount Buckner
Mount Goode
Mount Logan
Jack Mountain
Mount Baker (n)
Mount Shuksan
Mount Redoubt

14,161 feet
12,433

10,039 f e *t
10,094

io,495
11,225

9,500 feet
9,090
9.300
9,080
9,070
10,750
9,030
9,055

399

4OO THE CASCADES

II

. The twelve National Forests of the Cascade Range, with
location of Forest Supervisor's headquarters, are from south

to north:

NORTHERN CALIFORNIA

Lassen Susanville Shasta Mount Shasta City

OREGON

Rogue River Medford Willamette Eugene

Deschutes Bend Mount Hood Portland

Urapqua Roseburg

WASHINGTON

Columbia Vancouver, Wn. Chelan Okanogan

Snoqualmie Seattle Mount Baker Bellingham

Wenatchee Wenatchee

Information about these National Forests can be obtained
from United States Forest Service Regional Headquarters,
630 Sansome Street, San Francisco II, for the California sec-
tion; and Box 4137, Post Office Building, Portland 8, for
Oregon and Washington. Maps and folders descriptive of
the individual Forests can also be secured from the super-
visor's headquarters in the above listed towns.

in

The nine Forest Service Primitive Areas * with acreage
and the National Forests in which they are located are:

Caribou Peak Lassen N. F., California i4443 acres

Thousand Lakes Valley Lassen N. F., California J 6,335

Mountain Lakes Rogue River N. F., Oregon 23,071

Three Sisters Willamette-Deschutes, Oregon 246,728

Mount Jefferson Willamette-Deschutes-Mount Hood,

Oregon 86,700

Mount Hood Mount Hood N. F., Oregon 14,800

* See footnote, page 112.

APPENDIX 401

Mount Adams Columbia N. F., Washington 42,411

Goat Rocks Columbia-Snoqualmie, Washington 82,600

North Cascade Mount Baker-Chelan, Washington 801,000

IV

The mountain clubs of the Pacific Northwest which center
most of their activities in the Cascade Range are listed be-
low. There are several others, not included, with interests in
the Olympic Mountains, Coast Range, and mountains of the
interior. The two California clubs are primarily Sierra Ne-
vada organizations, but are listed since their interests are
state wide and cover the Lassen and Shasta regions.

CALIFORNIA

California Alpine Club, 917 Pacific Building, San Francisco
Sierra Club, 1050 Mills Tower, 220 Bush Street, San Francisco

OREGON

Chemeketans, 1180 North Winter Street, Salem

Crag Rats, Hood River

Mazamas, 520 S. W. Yamhill Street, Portland

Obsidians, 2181 Washington Street, Eugene

Pathfinders, 534 N. E. Prescott Street, Portland

Skyliners, Bend

Trails Club of Oregon, P.O. Box 243, Portland

Wy'east Climbers, 8823 N. Willamette Boulevard, Portland

Y.M.C.A. Mountaineers, 831 S. W. 6th Avenue, Portland

WASHINGTON

Cascadians, P.O. Box 123, Yakima

Mountaineers, Inc., P.O. Box 122, Seattle (chapters also in Tacoma and

Everett)

Mount Baker Club, P.O. Box 73, Bellingham
Mount Saint Helens Club, P.O. Box 843, Longview
Wanderers, 414 Capitol Way, Olympia
Washington Alpine Club, P.O. Box 353, Seattle

INDEX

Abandoned communities, 23, 28, 30-33,

89. See also Monte Cristo
Abandoned farms, 38-39
Accidents, 36-37, 193
Agnes: Creek, 88, 325, 391 ; Meadows,

39i, 393J Valley Trail, 135. See

also Mt. Agnes
Airplanes: lumber in, 202; used to

plant fish, 332
Albany, 114

Alcan Highway, fir bridges on, 192
Alcohol, from wood, 164
Alder, 90, 141, 186
Allen, Edward Jay, 60, 61-63
Alpine beauty, 236
Alps: ascents of, 348-349; compared

to Cascades, 87
Altitude: effect on farming, 27; of

peaks, 21, 30, 84, 88, 399
American Alpine Club, 15
American Legion, 35
American River Ski Bowl, 386
Anemone, 238, 253, 262; Drummond's,

267, 268

Anian Strait, 68

Appalachian Mountaineers, 25, 50-51
Arabis, 263 ; furcata, 245
Arctic-Alpine zone, 129, 220, 221, 265-

269, 274, 293-294
Arnica, 246, 255
Arrowheads, 28
Asche, Frank, 48
Ash: mountain, 246; Oregon, 186
Ashland, 107
Aspen, trembling, 187

Aster, 218, 249, 256; alpine, 266;

golden, 266

Astor Fur Company, 71
Audubon Society, 17
Austin Pass, 136, 137
Avalanches, 88, 92, 243, 392, 394

Bachelor Butte, in

Bacon, J. M., 57

Baker, Mrs., pioneer, 45

Baker Lake, 136

Baptists, 51

Barber's pole, 233

Barlow: Pass, 119, 132; Road, 58, 339

Barlow, Samuel, 54-55, 58, 338

Barlow, William, 54, 57

Barrier Ridge, 387

Bass, large-mouthed, 317

Beans, 46

Bear, 88, 129, 391

Bear River mountains, 54

Bear-grass, 248

Beardtongue, 241

Beaugarde, ferryman, 40

Beckler River, 323

Bee, 229

Beetle, western pine, 195-196

Beets, 46

Belden, mountaineer, 342

Belknap Crater, 114

Bellingham, 136

Bench Lake, 122

Bend, 30, in, 178, 194, 306, 382

Big Four Inn, 132

Big Jim Turner, 16

403

404

INDEX

Big Lake, 114

Bird Creek Meadows, 121, 122

Birds, 109, 272-299; distribution, 273-
275, 279; fights between hawks and
nutcrackers, 296; songs, 275-280,
287-289. See also Bluebird, Chicka-
dee, Crossbill, Crow, Dipper, Duck,
Eagle, Finch, Flicker, Flycatcher,
Goshawk, Grebe, Grosbeak, Grouse,
Hawk, Heron, Hummingbird, Jay,
Junco 3 Killdeer, Kingfisher, Kinglet,
Lark, Loon, Nighthawk, Nutcracker,
Nuthatch, Ouzel, Owl, Partridge,
Pelican, Pipit, Ptarmigan, Quail,
Raven, Robin, Sandpiper, Sapsucker,
Siskin, Snipe, Solitaire, Sparrow,
Swallow, Swift, Thrush, Towhee,
Vireo, Warbler, Woodpecker, Wren

Bit of Paradise, 16, 218, 254, 256

Black Butte, 304

Blackberry, 46, 229-230

Blackcaps, 228

Blanca Lake, 132

Blazing Stump saloon, 42

Bleeding heart, 224

"Blew its top," origin of phrase, 157

Blewett Pass, 244

Blue: Lake, 321; Mountain, 54, 167,
gold rush, 166

Blue Mountain Ole, prospector, 90

Bluebell, 242

Blueberry, mountain, 259

Bluebird: mountain, 274, 290-291;
western, 291

Boat building, 207

Bogachiel River, 319

Boiling Springs Lake, 103

Bonanza Peak, 390, 391; first ascent,
362-363

Bonneville Dam, 72, 117, 356

Booker Mountain, 394

Boston Glacier, 136

Boston Hooihut, 60, 62

Boulder Peak, 219

Boundary Springs, 315

Bows, of yew, 208

Breitenbush: Hot Springs, 114; River,
114

Bridge Creek, 135, 325; camp, 131

British Columbia, 15, 166

Broken Top, in

Broughton, British naval officer, 69

Brules, hill, 54

Bruseth, Nils, 24-25

Buchanan, Bill, 46

Buchanan, Bob, 45

Buchanan, Susie, 45

Buckbrush, 179

Buckwheat family, 266

Bulldozers, 159, 179

Bull-team, 145-146

Bumpas Hell, 103

Bunkhouse, description of, 148-150

Bunyan, Paul, 143, 155-156

Burney Falls, 104

Burroughs Mountain, 126, 127, 266

Buttercup, 221, 260; mountain, 253

Butter-wort, 242

Cadet Peak, 133

California, 12, 74

Callahan, Kenneth, 14

Callahan, Margaret Bundy, 14

Calypso, 234

Camp Muir, 125, 386

Camp robber, 285-286

Campanula, 64

Camping, 121, 122, 390-394

Campion, moss, 267, 269

Canadian zone, 221, 231, 234, 249, 268,
274

Canadians, French, 50, 308, 315

Candles, pioneer, 41

Caplinger, Mrs., pioneer, 57

Carbon: Glacier, 127; River, 125

Carrots, 46

Carson, 321

Cascade: Crest trail, 24, no, 130, 327;
Divide, 130; Pass, 135; Peaks,
listed, 399; Range barrier to birds,
273, pioneers, 54-59, characteristics,
76-77, 79, 87-89, 99-101, effect on
climate, 75-76, in public domain, 93-
94, location, 12-13, 73-75, origin of
name, 72; Tunnel, 128

Cascadia, 210

Cascara, 51, 185

Castle, 35 2 -354

Catfish, 317

Cattle, 95 ' ' '

Caves, ice, 28

Cayuse Pass, 124

INDEX

405

Ceanothus, 179

Cedar, 205-207; Alaska yellow, 206,

213; California incerue, 205-206;

Port Orford white, 206; western
. red, 141, 206, Indian canoeo, 222
Cement, 167

Central Valley Project, 104
Centralia, 123
Century Drive, in, 327
Chain-of-Lakes, 131
Challenger Ice Fields, 137
Chambers Lake, 259
Chaparral, 179
Chard, 46
Chehalis, 124
Chelan: Glacier, 91; Lake, 13, 31, 81,

134-135, 244, 325, depth, 91; town,

134

Cherokee Indians, 44.

Chester, 103

Chetco River, 189

Chewack River, 325

Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul
Railroad, 128

Chickadee : chestnut-backed, 274, 293 ;
GrinnelPs, 275, 292; Oregon, 279-
280

Chickamin Glacier, 389, 392, 393, 394

Chilliwack Lake, 137

Chinese, 32

Chinidere Mountain, 117

Chinook Pass, 252, 386

Chinquapin, 187

Chiwaukum Mountains, 131

Chiwawa: Mountain, 391; River, 325

Christmas: greens, 203; pioneer, 43

Cinquefoil, 255, 263, 269

Clackamas: River, 317; Valley, 58

Cle Elum: Lake, 130; Reservoir, 332

Clear Lake, 114, 17-,.

Clearwater River, 319

Climate, 26-27, 75, 127-128, 374, 377-
378. See also Temperature

Cloud Cap Inn, 118, 369; skiing cen-
ter, 384

Clouds, 76, 77

Cloudy Pass, 92, 391

Coal, 166, 167

Coeur d'Alene mine, 166

Coldsprings Camp, 385

Coleman, Edward T., *4.-W, *4Q

Collier Glacier, in; skijtig on, 382

Colonial Ridge, first ascent, 361

Columbia: Crest, 125; Glacier, 132;
Peak, 268 ; River, 12, 356 Big Bend
of, 324, Cascades of, 72, 73, flora,
245, Gorge, 71, 72, 76, 337, Great
Falls of, 70, 73, origin of name, 69,
70; River Highway, 116-117

"Columbia," ship, 69

Columbine, 236-237

Company Creek, 325

Conservation, 94-96, 160-165, 189. See
also Fish, conservation

Con way, Ray, 356

Coopers Spur climb, 118

Coos Bay, 143

Copper mine, 166

Coral-root, 234

Corydalis Scouleri, 237-238

Cotton grass, 261

Cottonwood, black, 185-186

Cougar, 88

Council Lake, 122

Cow parsnip, 249

Cowlitz: River, 58, 129, 319; Valley,
124

Coyote, 333

Crampton, Harry, 27-30

Cranberry, 42

Crane Prairie Reservoir, 307

Crappie, 317

Crater Lake; n, 13, 85-86, 107-108,
372; National Park, 93, 108-110,
222, 315; skiing, 381; snowfall, 376;
Village, no

Crescent Lake, no

Crooked River, 307, 311

Crossbill, 285

Crow, Clark's, 246, 291-292

Crystal: Bowl, 386; Mountain, 386

Cultus Lake, Big and Little, no

Currants, 179, 198

Curry, George, 54

Curtis, Asahel, 360

Curtiss Gilbert Peak, 3^5

Cypress, Baker, 213

Dad Baker's Pioneer Auto Park,

camp, 45

Daisy, 221, 266; erigeron, 256
The Dalles, 55, 56, 58, 71 81, 337

406

Dams, 319, 323. See also Bonneville,
Diablo, Gorge, Reservoirs, Ross,
Shasta

Dana Glacier, 392

Dandelion, 255 ; mountain, 267

Darr, Everett, 362

Darrington, 24; Timber Bowl Festi-
val, 49, 132

Davis Lake, no

Davisson, pioneer, 44

Deadwood Lakes, 253

Deer, 88, 187

Degenhardt, Bill, 360-361

Delphinium, 260

Deschutes River, 30, 143, 307-308;
fishing in, 306-312; origin of name,
308

Desert, 28

Detroit, 114

Devastated Area, 103-104

Devils Kitchen, 103

Diablo: Dam, 135; Lake, 135

Diamond: Lake, no, fish hatchery,
328-329; Peak, no

Digger Indians, 199

Digitalis, 221

Dipper, 283

Diseases, 29, 44, 307

Dock, mountain, 250, 255, 258

Dogwood, 186; Canadian, 231, 235

Dolbeer donkey engine, 158

Dorris, 194

Douglas, David, 190

Draba aureola, 268

Drakesbad, 103

Drought, in forests, 173

Dryer, Thomas J., 339-34-2

Duck: golden-eye, 284; harlequin,
283; mallard, 284; merganser, 282;
pintail, 284; teal, 284

Eagle: bald, 295; golden, 295
Eagle Creek Park Recreation Area,

117

Early Winters Creek, 325
East Lake, 329, 331, 332
Edmonds, 34
Eel River, 312
Eightmile Lake, 131
Elderberry, 188, 222; red, 227
Elk Lake, in

INDEX

Elliot, Glacier, 118; skiing on, 384

Elliott, Creek, 132

Elwha River, 319

Emerald Lake, 103

Emmons Glacier, 83, 124, 126, 371

Engles, Harold, 50

Entiat River, 325

Ericsen's saloon, 150-151

Eriogonum pyrolaefolium, 266

Eugene, 317

Everett, 131

Everlasting, pearly, 258

Explorers' Club, 15

Farming, 75

Feather River, 74

Fern: bracken, 230; maidenhair, 64

Fielding, Bud, 37

Fillmore, President, 59

Finch: Cassin's purple, 292; Hep-
burn's rosy, 275, 294-295

Fir: alpine, 92, 204-205, 357; balsam,
176, 177, 201-205; California red,
20, 21 ; competition with hemlock,
oak, 175, 180-182; Douglas, 59, 76,
79, 141, 142, 151, 152, 171, 190-194;
effect of fires on, 175; grand, 190,
204; noble, 201-202; Pacific silver,
204; Shasta red, 203; white, 190,
204

Fireweed, 228-229

Fish: conservation, 321-323, 329, 333;
planting, 311, 318, 328; planting by
airplane, 332; poisoning of scrap
fish, 330; traps, 321; wheels, 321,
See also Bass, Crappies, Salmon,
Smelt, Perch, Trout

Fish Lake, 114

Fishing, 109, 123, 3O3-3335 bait, 311,
3 J 8, 325, 33o; dipnet, 319; dry fly,
309-311, 313, 3iS) 317, 3i8, 323, 331;
from boats, 318, 321, 322; rods, 3x3;
spinning reel casting, 319; trolling,
319, 331; wet fly, 311, 317, 320

Five Mile Creek, 56

Flicker, 281

Floods, 89, 179, 311

Flowers, ^16-270; color, 252, 255-256;
distribution, 252-253, 265; peak of
season, 251; spring, 252-254; State,
227, 236; summer, 254-256. See also

INDEX

Flowers (continued)

Alpine Beauty, Anemone, Arabis,
Arnica, Aster, Barber's pole, Bear-
grass, Beardtongue, Blackberry,
Bleeding heart, Bluebell, Buck-
wheat, Buttercup, Butterwort, Ca-
lypso, Campanula, Campion, Cean-
othus, Cinquefoil, Columbine, Coral-
root, Corydalis Scouleri, Cotton
grass, Cow parsnip, Daisy, Dande-
lion, Delphinium, Digitalis, Dock,
Dogwood, Draba aureola, Ever-
lasting, Fireweed, Foamflower, Fox-
glove, Fringe-cup, Gentian, Goat's
beard, Goldenrod, Harebell, Heath-
er, Hellebore, Indian pipe, Indian
thistle, Jacob's-ladder, Lady's slip-
per, Larkspur, Lewisia, Listera,
Lily, Lousewort, Lupine, Marsh
marigold, Mertensia, Mimulus,
Mock orange, Monkey-flower,
Mountain primrose, Mountain wall-
flower, Mustard, Newberrya con-
gesta, Ocean spray, Orchid, Paint-
brush, Parnassus fimbriata, Pasque-
flower, Penstemon, Phacelia, Phlox,
Pine-sap, Pipsissewa, Potentilla, Py-
rola, Queen's cap, Rhododendron,
Rock cress, Rock gardens, Rubus,
Salal, Salmonberry, Sandwort, Sax-
ifrage, Sedum, Senecio, Shooting
star, Silene, Skunk cabbage, Sme-
lowskia, Snowplant, Solomon's seal,
Sorrel, Spirea, Spring beauty, Star-
flower, Stonecrop, Syringa, Tril-
lium, Twayblade, Twin-flower,
Valerian, Veronica, Violet, Wild
ginger, Willow-weed, Yarrow

Fly, salmon, 309

Flycatcher: olive-sided, 280; western,
278

Flying H ranch, 14-15

Foamflower, 231, 235

Ford, Henry, 143

Forest fires, 96, 159, 174-179; first
warden, 210; plants on burned-over
areas, 228-230; set by hunters, 175-
176; set by lightning, 176, 210; to
clear land, 142

Forestry, 160-165, 193, 196, 210-213;
multiple use, 211; pre-logging, 162

407

Forests, 171-213; coniferous, 190-209;
distribution, 172-180, 190; dry, 22;
effect of moisture on, 172-174, 178-
I 79) *%3) hardwood, 183-191; lava
cast forest, 178 ; rain, 22; succession
in, 175-177, 179-180, 183, 205; sus-
tained yield, 94, 160-165; under-
water, 174; water shed, 205, 209

Forlorn Lake, 321

Fort Hall, 55

Fort Nisqually, 59

Fort Rock Valley, 27-30

Fort Steilacoom, 343

Fort Vancouver, 55, 141

Fort Victoria, 59

Fortress Mountain, 391

Foss River Trail, 130

Foxglove, 221

Fraser River, 74, 137, 166, 322

Fringe-cup, 231

Froe, tool, 41

Frosts, 46

de Fuca, Juan, 68

Fumarol, 81, 82, 347

Fur traders, 166

Gaines, Mrs., pioneer, 57

Gardens, 43, 46 ; alpine, 64

Garfield Peak, 108

Garibaldi Provincial Park, 74

Gentian, 261

Germans, 50

Getchell, 40, 42, 50

Ghost Falls, 117

Gibraltar Rock, 345-347

Gibson, Dr., 44

Glaciation, 83-84; bergschrund, 352;
cirques, 83, 89; crevasses, 346; ice
chimney, 346, 347

Glacier: Basin, 132; Peak, 13, 83, 92,
I 33> 35 1 ? 39 1 ? Recreation Area,
379; Vista, 125

Glaciers, 12, 13, 83, 134, 374, 37$;
number, 83, 89, 91. See also Boston,
Carbon, Chelan, Chickamin, Collier,
Columbia, Dana, Elliot, Emmons,
Inspiration, Interglacier, Lyman,
Mary Green, McAllister, Nisqually,
Paradise, Rusk, Tieton, White
River, Whitney, Winthrop, Zigzag
glaciers

408

INDEX

Goat: Creek, 325; Lake, 133; Moun-
tain, 88, 129

Goat Rocks, 87, 129; Primitive Area,
129, 379. 385

Goafs beard, 221

Gold: Basin, 23; Beach, 315; Hill,
386

Gold rush, 143, 166

Goldenrod, 258

Goose Lake, 122, 321

Gooseberry, 198

Gorge Dam, 135

Goshawk, 295

Government Camp, 120, 351

Granite Falls, 31, 34-37, 40, 41, 42,

43, 48, So

Granite Falls Press, 45
Grants Pass, 315
Grazing, 195

Great Central Valley, 101
Great Northern Railroad, 128
Great Plains, 71

Grebe: pied-billed, 284; western, 284
Green, Julien, 21
Green Gables, 42
Green Mountain, 24
Greenwater River, 60, 61
Grosbeak, evening, 285
Grouse: Oregon ruffed, 274; sooty,

274, 287

Hagen, Harry W., 16

Hagen, Maxine, 2i8ff.

Hall, Sigurd, 371

Hamahama River, 319

Hannegan Pass, 137

Harebell, 263

Harriman, E. H., 155

Hartford, 31, 40, 41

Hartford and Eastern Mining Rail-
road, 132

Hawk: Cooper's, 295; sharp-shinned,
295-296; Swanson's, 295; western
red-tailed, 295

Heald, Weldon F., 14-15

Heather, 92 ; pink, 249, 256 ; white,
256; yellow, 266

Heather Meadows, 137

Helen Lake, 103, 376

Hellebore, 258

Helson, Hels, 156

Hemlock, 92, 137, 199-201; mountain,

92, 201 ; western, 199-201
Heron, blue, 284
Hessey, C. D., Jr., 17-18
Hiking, 88
Hill, James, 155
Hillman, J. W., 85
Hogg Pass, 113
Hoh River, 319
Holden, 390; Lake, 363; Mine, 165-

166
Hood River: 118, 119; city, 117;

Valley, 118, 384
Hoodoo Bowl, 382, 383
Horn, Bunch, 155-158
Horse Heaven Hills, 172
Horseshoe Lake, 03
Horsetail Falls, 117
Howe Sound Company, 165
Huckleberry, 239-240
Hudsonian zone, 217, 221, 249, 274,

288
Hudson's Bay Company, 55, 56, 59, 71,

89, 141

Hummingbird, 275 ; rufous, 297
Hunting, 93
Hunts Cove, 114
Hyatt Lake, 109

Ice fields, 137

Icicle Creek, 131

Ijames, Curtis, 363

Illahee, 158, 163

Index, town, 360

Indian Heaven Lake, 321

Indian pipe, 232-233, 247

Indian thistle, 258

Indians, 24, 44, 52, 53, 71, 175-176,
196, 199, 206, 227, 239-240, 247

Industrial Workers of the World, 144

Insects: enemy of pine, 195-196; lack
of poisonous, 63; plants that eat,
242, 307. See also Bee, Beetle, Mos-
quitoes, Moth

Inspiration Glacier, 136, 394

Interglacier, 371, 386

Inversion, meteorology, 377, 378

The Inverted Mountains, 15

Irrigation, 26, 307, 326

Ives Peak, 385

INDEX

409

Jacob's-ladder, 259, 267

James, Barrie, 363

Jaundice, 44

Jay: Oregon, 274, 285-286; Stellar's,

274, 286-287
Jefferson Park, 112-113, 114; Valley,

86

John Everitt Memorial Highway, 105
Journal of Occurrences, 59
Junco, Shufeldt, 289
Juniper Lake, 103

Kachess: Lake, 130; Reservoir, 332

Kalama River, 320

Katmai, volcano, 80

Kautz, Lt. A. V., 343-344, 348, 349

Keechelus: Lake, 130; Reservoir, 332

Keenan, Henry, 52-53

Kelly, Hall J., 78

Killdeer, 284

Kingfisher, 296

Kinglet, 274

Kings Creek Meadow, 103

Kirtley, Whitefield, 60

Klamath Falls, 109, 194, 306, 317

Klamath: Lake, 109; Plateau, 172;

River, 106, 143, 312
Klickitat River, 321
Knoulton, Kate, 33-34
Krakatao, volcano, 80

Ladies' Auxiliary of the American
Legion, 35

Lady Lions, 35

Lady's slipper, 234

Lake, Wells, 341

Lake of the Woods, 109

Lake Roesiger, village, 50

Lake Stevens, village, 50

Lakes: bird life, 282-285; number,
109, 328; origin, 327; stocking with
fish, 328-330. See also Baker, Blan-
ca, Blue, Boiling Springs, Chain-of-
Lakes, Chambers, Chelan, Chill-
wack, Clear, Council, Crater,
Crescent, Cultus, Davis, Deadwood,
Diablo, Diamond, East, Eia;htmile,
Elk, Emerald, Fish, Forlorn, Goat,
Goose, Holden, Indian Heaven,
Hvatt, Juniper, Kachess, Keechelus,
Klamath Lava, Long, Lower Ed-

deleo, Lyman, Manzanita, Marion,
Mirror, Mono, Mt. Adams, Nada,
Odell, Olallie, Osoyoos, Packwood,
Pamelia, Quinn, Reflection, Shasta,
Snoqualmie, Snow, South Twin,
Sparks, Spirit, Steamboat, Stuart,
Summit, Suttle, Tahoe, Takhlaks,
Trout, Twin, Upper Klamalh, Wa-
hanna, Wahtum, Waldo, Walupt,
Wenatchee

Landslides, 44

Lapine, 331

Larch, 92, 207-208; alpine, 374;
mountain, 207-208 ; western, 207

Larch Mountain, 117, 202

Lark, pallid horned, 275, 294

Larkspur, 129

Lassen Peak, 12, 74, 99, 104, 372;
eruption, 81, 101-102; skiing, 381;
snowfall, 376

Lassen Volcanic National Park, 93,
102-104, 197, 222; skiing in, 380

Latourelie Falls, 117

Laurel: alpine swamp, 261; Califor-
nia, 188-189; poison to stock, 57;
sticky-leaf, 179

Lava, 27, 174

Lava Crest Trail, no

Lava Lakes, 307

Law enforcement, 52-53

Leaburg Reservoir, 318

Leavenworth, 130

Leuthold, Joe, 358, 363

Lewis, Menwether, 244

Lewis River, 321

Lewis and Clark Expedition, 70, 71,
72, 308

Lewisia, 244

Lichen, 235

Lightning. See Forest fires

Lily, 218; avalanche, 129, 249, 252,
260; calochortus, 259; checker, 226;
glacier, 252, 260; of-the-valley, 225-
226; sego, 259; tiger, 226, 250;
Washington, 226

Lions Club, 35

Listera, 234

Little Klickitat River, 321

Little Wenatchee River, 326

Lizard, 307

Loggers, 36-38, 145, 150, 155-158

4io

INDEX

Logging, 34, 38, 141-165; big-wheel,
152-155; boom, 142-143; by-prod-
ucts, 164, 183; dynamite in, 155-
158; economics of, 158-160; felling,
147-148 ; fir, 144-148 ; high-lead,
156-157; pine, 152-155; power in,
148, 157-159, 161; pre-logging, 162;
tree tapping, 156-158. See also Lum-
.ber

Long Lake, 303

Longmire, 125; Lodge, 62; snowfall,
376 t

Longmire, James, 62

Longview, 123, 320

Loon, 284

Lost Cabin Mine, 85

Lost Lake, 113, 118

Lousewort, 250, 256, 258, 261

Lower Eddeleo Lake, 304

Lucerne, 135

Lumber: use of alder, 186; cedar,
206-207; cottonwood, 1 86; fir, 152,
192, 202; hemlock, 200; maple, 184;
oak, 183; pine, 152, 195

Lumber, manufacture, 195. See also
Logging

Lumbering. See Logging

Lumberjacks. See Loggers

Lumley, Ellsworth D., 16

Lundy, Herbert, 17

Lupine, 129, 218, 254-255; LyelPs, 266,
267

Lyman: Glacier, 90, 135, 39*; Lake,
90, 135, 389, 390

Macaulay, Stella, 27

Machias, 50

Madras, 306

Madrone, 184

Magnolia Point, 184

Mahogany, mountain, 174, 186-187

Mail, delivered by ski, 372

Manistee River, 155

Manzanita, 179; Lake, 104, 19,

Maple: bigleaf, 184-185; Douglas,

188; vine, 188
Marblemount, 135
Marion Forks, 114
Marion Lake, 114
Marmot, 88
Marsh marigold, 248, 260, 261

Martin Rapids, 318

Mary Green Glacier, 363

Matthews, Oliver, 212-213

Mazama Ridge, 125, 345

Mazamas, mountaineering club, 121,
123, 360, 369

McAllister Creek Glacier, 136

McArthur-Burney Falls State Park,
104

McCIellan, Capt., 59-60, 62-63

McCloud, 104; River, 104

McConnell, Grant, 14

McCulloch, Walter, 15

MsrKenzie, surveyor, 43

McKenzie: Pass, 174, skiing at, 382;
River, in, 190, fishing in, 317, 318 ;
River Highway, no

McKenzie River Guides' Association,
3i8

McPherson, Angus, 360

Meadows, 250-251, 254, 257, 264

Meares, Capt., 193

Medford, 107, 328

Mertensia, 246

Methow River, 324

Metolius River, in, 304

Metzger, Eldon, 358

Mice, 286; deer, 64

Middle Westerners, 50

Mimulus, 129, 220
Mineral, town, 50, 102

Mines, abandoned, 131, 133

Mining, 46, 90, 131-133, 165-167. See

also Prospecting
Mirror Lake, 307
Mock orange, 222
Molalla River, 317
Monkey, pet, 46
Monkey-flower, 237
Mono Lake, 74
Monroe, 322
Monte Cristo: gold mine, 166; peak,

31; village, 30-34, 131-132, 268
Monte Cristo Mercantile Company, 33
Monte Cristo Mountaineer* 33
Moonshiners, 53
Morse Creek, 386
Mosquitoes, 303
Moth, pandora, 196
Mount, Jim, 359

INDEX

Mt. Adams, 117, 118, 121-122, 341,
352, first ascent, 341, skiing on, 385 ;
Lake, 122; Volcano, 82, 86, 87, 239

Mt. Agnes, 392, 393; first ascent, 361

Mt. Bailey, no

Mt. Baker, 13, 70, 74, 92, 136, 137,
360, 373 ; eruption, 81 ; first ascent,
349J glaciers, 83; Lodge, 136; ski-
ing on, 387; snowfall, 377

Mt. Baker-Harts Pass, 253

Mt. Challenger, first ascent, 361

Mt. Daniel, 130

Mt. Dome, 88 ; first ascent, 361, 391

Mt. Elbert, 348

Mt. Eldorado, 88, 394

Mt. Goode, first ascent, 361, 362

Mt. Harvard, 348

Mt. Higgins, 50

Mt. Hood, ii, 13, 55, 77, 115, 118-120,
121, 367, 370, 383; altitude, 115,
342; eruption, 81 ; first ascents, 338-
342; glaciation, 83, 86, 141, 317;
Loop Highway, 115, 116-120; origin
of name, 69; Recreation Area, 118

Mt. Jefferson, 86, 113, 114, 317; first
ascent, 351; Primitive Area, 112,
114; skiing on, 383

Mt. Massive, 348

Mt. Mazatna, 85, 107, 327

Mt. McLoughlin, 107, 109

Mt. Pilchuck, 14, 23, 39

Mt. Rainier, n, 13, 50, 62, 70, 77, 78,
87, 118, 123-127, 342, 348; altitude,
84; eruption, 81-82; first ascent,
343; first shi ascent, 371; glaciers,
83; National Park, 93, 124-126, 219,
222, 262; skiing on, 385; snowfall,
376; timber line, 374

Mt. Saint Helens, 117, 118, i2 r , 122;
eruption, 80-82, 86, 122; first as-
cent, 339-341; origin of name, 69;
skiing on, 384; timber line, 384

Mt. Shasta, 12, 74, 99, 101, 105-106,
178, 372; altitude, 84; first ascent,
342; skiing, 381; snowfall, 376;
timber line, 374; volcano, 82

Mt. Shasta City, 102, 104, 105

Mt. Shuksan, 74, 137; first ascent,
360; skiing on, 387

Mt. Thielsen, no

411

Mt. Washington, 114; first ascent,

355

Mt Whitney, 348

Mountain climbing: clubs, 11-12, 121,
350, 351, 401; equipment, 343, 348-
349) 357J on basalt, 356; on ice,
355, 358; on other rock, 354-355;
pitons, 357; rappeling, ^47

Mountain primrose, 264

Mountain wallflower, 264

Mountaineers of Seattle, club, 121,
259, 36o, 370, 371

Mountains: altitudes listed, 399; de-
ceptive height, 88 ; unnamed, 91.
See also Barrier Ridge, Bear River,
Blue, Bonanza, Booker, Boulder,
Cadet, Cascade Range, Chinidere,
Chiwaukum, Chiwawa, Colonial
Ridge, Columbia, Crystal, Curtiss
Gilbert, Diamond, GarfLld, Green,
Ives, Mazama, Monte Carlo, Mult-
nomah, Multorpor, Needle, North
Star, Picket, Pinnacle, Sierra Ne-
vada, Silver Tip, Stuart, Tatoosh,
Three Fingered Jack, Three Sis-
ters, Tolmie, Wilman's

Mowich River, 125

Muir, John, 225, 251

Multnomah: Falls, 117; Mountain,

327

Multorpor Mountain, skiing, 383
Muskegon River, 155
Mustard family, 267, 268
Myrtle, 188-189
Mystic Lake, 255

Naches, 17; Highway, 124; Pass, 60,

6 1 ; River, 326
Nada Lake, 131
National Council of State Garden

Clubs, 17
National Forests, 93-96, 211; list,

400 ; recreation, 95 ; "sustained

yield in," 94, 212

National Parks, 93, 211. See also Cra-
ter Lake, Lassen Volcanic, and Mt.

Rainier National Parks
Natron Cutoff, 143
Needle Peak, 391
Negroes, barred by early legislature,

141 ; pioneer, 44

412

INDEX

Newberry Crater, 178, 331

Newberrya congesta, 233

Newspapers, 36. See also Granite
Falls Press, Robe News, Portland
Oregonian, Monte Cristo Moun-
taineer, Weekly Oregonian

Nighthawk, Pacific, 274

Nisqually: Glacier, 125, 345; Valley,

343

Nooksack River, 136, 137
Nootka Sound, 192-193
North Bank Highway, 121
North Cascade Wilderness Area, 136,

374, 379 f
North Santiam: Highway, 114; River,

114

North Sister, first ascent, 351
North Star: Mountain, 390; Park, 390
Northern Pacific Railroad, 128
Northern System, climbing, 359-363
Northwest Fur Company, 71
Nutcracker, Clark's, 275, 291-292
Nuthatch, 274, 277
Nye, Marvin, 210

Oak, 175; California black, 183;
canyon live, 184; huckleberry, 184;
Oregon white, 183

Oakridge, 316, 317

Ocean spray, 222

Odell Lake, no

Ohanapecosh Hot Springs, 124, 125

Okanogan River, 43, 324

Olallie: Butte, 115; Lake, 114; Rec-
reation Area, 114

Old Snowy Mountain, 385

Olympic Peninsula, 319

Omak, 194

Orchards, 26, 38-39

Orchid, 233-234; green bog, 240;
white bog, 240

Oregon City, 57, 142

Oregon Game Commission, 311, 314,

329

Oregon grape, 227
Oregon Pioneer Association, 62
Oregon River, 70
Oregon Skyline Trail, no; skiing,

383

Oregon State College, 15
Oregon Trail, 54

Oso, 323

Osoyoos Lake, 324

Otto, Charles, 40

Otto, Florence, 40

Otto, Julia, 39-44

Otto, Ray, 41

Otto, Robert, 39-44

Our National Parks, 251

Ouzel, water, 283-284

Owl: dusky horned, 288; Kennicott

screech, 287; northern spotted, 288;

saw-whet, 287-288
Oxen, 45, 46. See also Bull team

Pacific Crest Trail, 86-87, no

Pacific Highway, 320

Pack trains, 40, 126, 132, 135

Packwood: Lake, 129; village, 129,
320

Paintbrush, 129, 218, 250, 254

Palmer, Joel, 337-339

Pamelia Lake, 114

Panama Canal, 143

Paradise: Glacier, 125; Inn, n; Val-
ley, 124, 125, 126, 351, 370, 371,
skiing at, 386

Park Creek Pass, 136

Parnassus fimbriata, 240, 260

Partridge, Hungarian, 307

Pasqueflower, 254

Passes, 56, 60, 87, 92. See alsd Aus-
tin, Barlow, Cascade, Cayuse, Chi-
nook, Cloudy, Hannegan, Hogg,
McKenzie, Mt. Baker-Harts,
Naches, Park Creek, Poodledog,
Santiam, Snoqualmie, Stampede,
Stevens, Whatcom, Windigo passes

Paulina Lake, 329, 331, 332

Peabody, Frank A., 31, 33

Pearce, E. A., 343

Pearsall, Joseph, 31

Peas, 46

Pelican, white, 109

Penn Mine, 133

Penstemon, 129, 241, 262, 263, 266

Perch, 317

Phacelia, 267, 268

Phantom Ship, island, 108

Phlox, 218, 249, 258, 263

Picket Range, first ascent, 361

Pilchuck River, 31

INDEX

Pine, 76, 142, 194-199; digger, 199;
Jeffrey, 196-197; knobcone, 199;
limber, 213; lodgepole, 176-177,
180, 198; Nootka, 192; Oregon, 192;
ponderosa, 86, 173, 177, 190, 194-
196, 244; sugar, 152, 190, 197;
western white, 198, 235; white-
bark, 92, 198-199, 374; yellow, 152,

372

Pine-sap, 233

Pinnacle Peak, 220

Pioneers, 38-45, 51, 54-63

Pipit, 275, 294

Pipsissewa, 235-236

Pit River, 104

Pittock, H. L., 341-342

Plants: medicinal, 47, 51, 186, 221;
miniature, 64; moisture-loving, 240,
242, 248, 261; on burned-over
areas, 228-230; poisonous, scarcity
of, 63; saprophytic, 232, 245; wild,
as food, 227, 230, 239. See also
Flowers, Trees.

Pleuricospora fimbriolata, 233

"Plumas brush-buster," 179

Plywood, 192

Pneumonia, 44

Poison oak, 63, 307, 310

Pollution, river, 319

Poodledog Pass, 31, 268

Population, 49-51, 314

Portland, 83, 106, 115, 120

Portland Oregonian, 17

Potentilla, 255, 258

Potlatch, 324

Presidential Range, 78

Price, W. M., 360

Primitive Areas. See Wilderness
Areas

Prince's pine, 235

Prospecting, 31, 89, 167. See also
Mining

Ptarmigan, white-tailed, 275, 293-294

Public domain, 93-94) 211

Pudding River, 317

Puget Sound, 58, 59, 69, 70, 141 J Ash-
ing in, 519; lowland, 12

Pulpwood, 193, 198, 200

Pumice, 82

Pumice Desert, no

Puncheons, 42

413

Pussy's-paws, 266

Pyrola: bracteata, 238; secunda, 238

Quail, California, 274; valley, 307
Queen's cup, 236
Queets River, 319
Quinault River, 319
Quinn Lake, 303

Railroad Creek Trail, 135

Railroads, 32, 44, 142-143 ; abandoned,
306-307

Rainbow Creek, 325

Rainfall, 75 ; amount, 172 ; effect on
vegetation, 172-174, 178-179, 243-
244

Ranching, 28

Rapid River, 323

Raspberry, trailing, 238

Rattlesnake Creek, 325

Raven. 298

Ray, spiny, 324

Real-quill logging, 142, 158

Red Bluff, 102

Red Bridge, 48

Red-bud tree, 184

Redding, 102, 104

Redsides, 318

Redwoods, 191

Reed College, 14

Reflection Lake, 125

Reservoirs, 135, 307, 318, 332

Rheumatism, 44

Rhododendron, 186, 236, 259; white,
247

Richards, Carl R., 123

Rigdon Lake, 303

Rivers: barriers to travel, 89; num-
ber, 73, 89. See also Agnes, Beckler,
Bogachiel, Breitenbush, Bridge,
Carbon, Chetco, Chewack, Chi-
wawa, Clackamas, Clearwater, Co-
lumbia, Company, Cowlitz, Crooked,
Deschutes, Early Winters, Eel, El-
liott, Elwha, Feather, Five Mile,
Goat, Greenwater, Hamahama,
Hoh, Hood, Icicle, Klamath, Klick-
itat, Lewis, Little Wenatchee, Mc-
Allister, McCloud, McKenzie,
Methow, Metolius, Molalla, Morse,
Mowich, Naches, North Santiam,

INDEX

Rivers (continued)

Okanogan, Pilchuck, Pit, Pudding,
Queets, Quinault, Rainbow, Rapid,
Rogue, Sacramento, Salmon, Salt,
Santiam, Sauk, Skagit, Snake,
Snohomish, Snoqualmie, Snow,
Steamboat, Stillaguamish, Suiattle,
Swan, Thunder, Tigh, Umpqua,
Washougal, Wenatchee, White,
White Salmon, Willamette, Wind,
Wolf, Yakima, Zigzag rivers

Roads, 264-265; early, 54, 58, 59, 60-
63, 87, 210. See also Routes, State
Highways, U.S. Highways

Robe, village, 43

Robe, Wirt, 23-24, 42

Robe News, 36

Robertson, Mr., road builder, 59, 60

Robin: Alaska, 276; winter, 276;
song, 289

Robinson Creek, 325

Rock cress, 263

Rock gardens, 262-264

Rockefeller, John D., 132, 166

Rocky Mountains, 54, 71

Rogers, pioneer, 44

Rogue River, 108, 143 ; fishing in,
312-316; origin of name, 315

Roosevelt High School, Seattle, 16

Rooster Rock, 356

Rose, 43

Ross, John D., 323

Ross Dam, 135, 323

Round-the-Mountain Trail, 118

Routes, pioneer, 54-63, 70. See also
Roads, Trails

Rubus, 238

Rusk, C. E., 352-354

Rusk Glacier, 352

Rust, blister, 198

Sacramento River, 104, 105

Sagebrush, 173

Saint Peter's Dome, ascent of, 356-

359

Salal, 227
Salem, 114, 115
Salmon, 117; Chinook, 308, 315, 317,

320, 324, 325 ; landlocked, 326, 327 ;

silverside, 315, 320, 324, 325

Salmon Creek, 317

Salmonberry, 226

Saloons, 42, 44, 150-151

Salt Creek, 317

San Francisco fire, 142

Sand pits, 167

Sandpiper: semi-palmated, 284;

spotted, 284; western solitary, 284
Sandwich Islands, 141
Sandwort, 263
Sandy River, 120, 319
Santiam: Highway, 113; Pass, 15,

*73> *74> 382; River, 114, 317, 319
Sapsucker, northern redbreasted, 281
Sargent, Nelson, 60
Sauk River, 30, 132, 324
"Save-the-myrtle-woods" campaign,

189
Saxifrage, 129, 220, 242, 245, 248-

249, 263; rusty, 241; Tolmie's, 266
Schedin, Albert, 46-49
Schedin, Eric, 46-49
Schools, pioneer, 43-44
Schurman, Clark, quoted, 270
Scorpions, 307
Seasons: spring, 252-254; summer,

254-256, 288; winter, 298
Seattle, 41, 106
Sedum, 241
Senecio, 247, 249, 255
Serventy, Dr. D. L., 290
Serviceberry, 227
Shasta: Alpine Lodge, 376; Dam,

104; Lake, 104. See also Mt. Shasta
Sheep, 95

Sherars Bridge, 306, 308
Shooting star, 220, 245, 248, 260, 261
Sierra Club, 15; Lodge, 105, 106, 381
Sierra Nevada range, 15, 74, 179
Silene, 263 ; Suksdorf's, 267
Silver Lake, 132; Ridge, 31
Silver Tip, 30-31
Silverton, 42, 43, 46-48
Simmons, Michael, 141
Simpson, Gov., 141
Siskin, northern pine, 297-298
Siskiyou Mountains, 107, 151
Skagit: River, 135, 136, 137, 143, fish-
ing on, 323-324; Valley, 135
Ski areas, 367-389

INDEX

Slddroad, 145

Skiing, 12, 88, 95; early skiers, 370;

equipment, 369; ideal time, 378;

summer, 385, 386
Skunk cabbage, 224-225
Skykomish Fiver, fishing in, 322-323
Skyline Trail, 328
Slalom racing, 383
Sluiskin, Indian guide, 344-345
Sluiskin Falls, 125
Smallpox, 44
Smelling-leaves, 231
Smelowskia, 267, 268
Smelt, 319

Snake, 63; garter, 277; rattle, 307
Snake River, 55, 73
Snipe, Wilson, 284

Snohomish River, fishing in, 322-323
Snoqualmie: Highway, 130; Lake,

327; Pass, 128, 129, 173, 332, 360,

373, skiing at, 386; River, 322-323
Snow: beauty of, 84; depth, 13, 83,

375, 376, 390; fields, 82, 92, 136;

line, 13; surveys, 90, 376
Snow: Creek, 131; Lake, 131
Snow plant, 245
Snowbrush, 179
Snowgrass Flats, 259
Soil, 46, 230
Soleduck River, 319
Solitaire, Townsend, 278
Solomon's seal, false, 226
Sorrel, mountain, 267
South Twin Lake, 329
Southern Pacific Railroad, 104, 109,

143, 15*, 3i6
Sparks Lake, in
Sparrow: chipping, 289; Lincoln,

289; slate-colored fox, 289; song,

279

Spinach, 46
Spirea, 222, 259, 261; Alaska, 258,

263

Spirit Lake, 123, 384
Spring beauty, 223
Springfield, 317
Spruce, 92; Engelmann, 176, 180, 208;

Sitka, 192, 202, 208
Squaw-grass, 247-248, 258
Squirrel, 197

415

Stampede Pass, 128

Standberg, H. V., 360-361

Stanley Company, 36; parties, 35-36

Starbo Camp, 371

Star-flower, 224

State flower: Oregon, 227; Washing-
ton, 236

State Highways: #50, 119; #89,
104; #209, 109

Steamboat: Creek, 316; Lake, 321;
Prow, 371

Stehekin: River, 95, 135, 325; town,

14, 135

Stevens, Hazard, 344-347, 349
Stevens, Isaac, 59
Stevens, James, 16
Stevens Pass, 87, 128, 129, 332, 373 ;

skiing at, 386; Highway, 130
Still aguamish River, 23, 31, 32, 46,

48, 132

Stonecrop, 241, 263
Strawberries, wild, 46, 227
Stuart: Lake, 131; Mt, 130-131, first

ascent, 360; Range, 130, 374
"Stump ranches," 144
Sub-Marginal Land Act, 30
Sugar, from wood, 164
Suiattle River, 324
Sulphur Works, 102, 103, 376
Summit Lake, 103, no, 316
Sunset Highway, 322
Suttle Lake, in, 113
Swallow, 297
Swan Creek, 151, 152
"Swede Heaven," 50
Swedes, 50

Sweet-after-death, 231
Swift, chimney, 64
Syringa, 222

Tacoma, 78, 106

Tahoe, Lake, 179

Takhlaks Lake, 122

Tatoosh Range, 345

Taylor Burn, ranger station, 303

Temperature, 28, 29, 46, 75, 376-378

Tennyson, Alfred Lord, quoted, 263

The Dalles, 55, 5*, 5*> 7i, 8x, 337

Theurer, Ella, 43-44

Thimbleberry, 227

INDEX

Three Fingered Jack, 114; first as-
cent, 355; skiing, 383

Three Sisters: Peaks, 86, in, 317;
Primitive Area, 112; skiing, 382

Thrush: hermit, 275, 289; russet-
backed, 282, 289; varied, 274, 275-
276, 289

Thumb Rock, 106

Thunder Creek, 135

Ticks, 307

Tieton: Glacier, 385; Reservoir, 129

Tigh: Creek, 56; Valley, 56

Tillamook, 143

Timber cruising, 194

Timber line, 82, 265, 293 ; skiing, 372

Timberline Lodge, n, 119; skiing,

383

Tipsoo Lake, 252

Tolmie, Dr. William Fraser, 261

Tolmie Peak, 261

Tom, Dick and Harry Bowl, 383

Tourists, 34

Towhee, 279

Towonehioolcs, 308

Tractors, first, 143, 158-159

Trails, 86, 87, 89, 123, 125, 126, 128,
131, 134, 135, 136, 137, 218; Indian,
55, 58, 62. See also Agnes Valley
Trail, Cascade Crest Trail, Foss
River Trail, Lava Crest Trail, Ore-
gon Skyline Trail, Pacific Crest
Trail, Railroad Creek Trail, Roads,
Routes, Round-the-Mountain Trail,
Skyline Trail, Wonderland Trail

Transition zone, 221, 235, 274

"Tree farms," 160-165, 210-211

Trees: autumn coloring, 187-188. See
also Aspen, Cascara, Cedar, Cy-
press, Elderberry, Fir, Hemlock,
Larch, Madrone, Mahogany, Ma-
ple, Oak, Pine, Spruce

Trillium, 225, 241, 391

Tropical forest and garden, 323

Trout, brown, 311-312; cutthroat,
320 ; Kamloops, 326 ; Makinaw,
331; rainbow, 174, 308, 311, 315,
3*6, 3*7> 3*8, 320, 323, 326; steel-
head, 308-316, 320, 323

Trout Lake, 121

Tunnels, 32, 128

Twayblade, 249
Twin Lakes, 132, 268
Twin-flower, 232
Twisted stalk, 226

Ulrichs, Hermann F., 361

Umpqua: National Forest, 316; River,

no, 174, fishing in, 312-316
Union Pacific Railroad, 116
Unions, labor, 144
Upper Klamath Lake, 109
U.S. Bureau of Land Management,

211

U.S. Forest Service, 24, 112, 143, 211,
264, 400, 401. See also National
Forests, Wild Areas, Wilderness
Areas

U.S. Highway: #10, 128, 130; #ioA,
128, 131; #97, 106, 108, in, 119,
124, 131, 134; #99, 102, 104, 106,
115, 122, 124, 136; #410, 386

Valerian, white, 250, 255, 258

Valley: depth, 89, 91-99; U-shaped,
89. See also Clackamas, Fort Rock,
Hood River, Nisqually, Skagit
River, Tigh, White River, Willa-
mette valleys

Van Trump, P. V., 344~347, 34-9

Vancouver, George, 68, 69, 77, 79,
141

Vanilla-leaf, 231

Vanport City, flood, 311

Verlot, 33

Veronica, 258, 260, 263

Vigilantes, 33

Village life, 35~37

Violet: purple, 247; round-leaf, 235;
swamp, 225, 240, 261 ; yellow, 224,

235

Vireo, 279
Volcano, 12, 13, 74, 77-82, 92, 102,

I 78, 373- See also volcanoes listed

in Appendix, 399

Wahanna Lake, 304
Wahtum Lake, 117
Waldo Lake, no, 317
Walla Walla, 59
Walupt Lake, 122

INDEX

417

Warbler; Audubon, 279; lutescent,
279; Macgillivray, 279; pileolated,
279; Townsend, 278-279; yellow,
279

Warm Springs Indian Reservation,
190

Washougal River, 321

Water power, 79

Waterfalls, 89. See also Burney,
Ghost, Horsetail, Latourelle, Mult-
nomah, Sluiskin, Waukeena

Waukeena Falls, 117

Weed, 106, 194

Weekly Qregonian, 339

Wenatchee: apple blossom festival,
26 ; Lake, fishing in, 325-326 ; River,
326

West Coast Lumberman's Associa-
tion, 1 60

Whatcom Pass, 137

Wheat, 27

White River, 60, 338; Glacier, 341;
Massacre, 53; Valley, 126

White Salmon River, 121, 321

Whitney Glacier, 12

"Whulge," 59

Wickiup Reservoir, 307

"Widow-makers," 37

Wild Areas, 112, 400, 401

Wild ginger, 231

Wilderness Areas, 87-88, 95, 112, 223,
326, 400, 401

Willamette: National Forest, 317;
River, 316-337, fishing in, 316, pol-
lution of, 319; Valley, 12, 54, 55,
58, 72-73, 115

Willis Wall, 127, 352

Willow Creek Geyser, 103

Willow-weed, yellow, 242

Wilman's Peak, 30

Wind, 82, 83 ; moisture-bearing, 172

Wind River, 320, 321

Windigo Pass, no

Winter Sports Centers, 103, 119, 372-

387
Winthrop: Glacier, 127, 371; village,

325

Wizard Island, 108

Wolf Creek, 325

Wonderland Trail, 126

Woodpecker, 281 ; Alaskan three-toed,
281; Gairdner, 281; Harris, 274,
281 ; Lewis, 274, 281 ; pileated,
274, 281 ; song of, 277-278

Wren, winter, 274 ; song of, 276-277

Wright, Perry, 316

Yakima: city, 17, 129; Park, 124, 125,
126; River, 60, fishing in, 326;
skiers, 386

Yarrow, 241, 258

, Yeast, from wood, 164

Yew,- 208

Zigzag: Glacier, 338; River, 120

124544