[Illustration]
OREGON
THE
PICTURESQUE
_By the Same Author_
British Highways and Byways from a Motor Car
THIRD IMPRESSION
WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color, and Thirty-two Duogravures 320 Pages,
8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00 Net
In Unfamiliar England with a Motor Car
SECOND IMPRESSION
WITH SIXTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Forty-eight Duogravures 400 Pages,
8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00 Net
Three Wonderlands of the American West
SECOND IMPRESSION
WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Thirty-two Duogravures 180 Pages,
Tall 8vo, Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.50 Net
On Old-World Highways
WITH FIFTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS AND THREE MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Forty Duogravures 388 Pages, 8vo,
Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00 Net
On Sunset Highways
WITH FIFTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Forty Duogravures 376 Pages, 8vo,
Decorated Cloth Price (Boxed), $3.00 Net
THE PAGE COMPANY, BOSTON
[Illustration: BISHOP’S CAP, COLUMBIA HIGHWAY
Copyright Winter Photo Co., Portland, Oregon]
OREGON
THE
PICTURESQUE
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A Book of Rambles in the Oregon Country and in the Wilds of
Northern California; Descriptive Sketches and Pictures of
Crater and Klamath Lakes, the Deschutes River
Canyon, the New Columbia Highway, the
Willamette and Rogue River
Valleys and the Cities
and Towns of Oregon; also of
the little-known Lakes, Rivers, Mountains,
and Vast Forests of Northern California, to
which is added a trip to the Yosemite and to the
Roosevelt Dam and the Petrified Forest of Arizona, by Motor Car.
BY
Thos. D. Murphy
Author of
“On Sunset Highways”, “Three Wonderlands of the American
West”, “In Unfamiliar England” etc., etc.
With a Map, Covering the Country Described and Showing
the Author’s Route, and with Forty Plates, of
which Sixteen are in Color
[Illustration]
BOSTON
THE PAGE COMPANY
MDCCCCXVII
Copyright 1917
By THE PAGE COMPANY
(Incorporated)
All Rights Reserved
First Impression, October, 1917
Preface
I know quite well that there have been books without end dealing with
our great Pacific Coast, and I feel that a writer who adds another
ought to have some good excuse for such action. I flatter myself that I
have sufficient warrant for this modest addition to western literature
in that my book will not deal with the widely traveled and much
heralded sections of this great country, but to a large extent with
its little visited and comparatively unfamiliar regions. Ninety per
cent of existing books on California have dealt with San Francisco and
the region to the south of that city. None, so far as I can discover,
have covered in detail, the vast mountain-studded wonderland that
comprises the northern half of California and very few have dealt with
the eastern half of Oregon, which undoubtedly can boast of some of the
most impressive and picturesque scenery in the whole world. I dislike
that overworked--almost banal--“picturesque,” too, but if there is
any excuse whatever for its use, surely it is in this connection. If
my language is not strong and colorful enough to prove it, I can rest
assured that the forty beautiful plates which grace this book will
settle the question beyond peradventure. There is only one thing more
convincing--a personal visit to this little-known American wonderland,
and this, I hope, every one of my readers will find opportunity to
accomplish some time or other.
In the title to my book I have given Oregon preeminence,--though I
have covered some adjacent territory outside of the state--because I
feel that the predominating interest will be centered in this great
commonwealth. I believe I have covered nearly everything in the state
that will be likely to interest the average tourist and many of those
who make the round by motor will no doubt make San Francisco their
starting-point, as we ourselves did. In such cases, our opinion is that
the routes we pursued through Northern California are well worth while.
In addition to the credit given with each of the splendid photographs
reproduced in this book, I wish to reiterate here my obligation to
Portland’s masters of the camera, the Winter Co., the Weister Co., and
Mr. Fred H. Kiser, who so kindly permitted the use of some of their
most beautiful pictures as illustrations.
October 1, 1917.
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I AN UNFAMILIAR WONDERLAND 1
II TO THE LAND OF SKY-BLUE WATER 23
III RENO TO KLAMATH FALLS 57
IV THE MARVELS OF CRATER LAKE 81
V CRATER LAKE TO THE DALLES 110
VI WHERE ROLLS THE OREGON 132
VII THE VALE OF THE WILLAMETTE 162
VIII GRANTS PASS TO EUREKA 184
IX EUREKA TO CLOVERDALE 216
INTO YOSEMITE BY MOTOR 245
A RUN TO THE ROOSEVELT DAM AND TO THE PETRIFIED FOREST 277
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOR PLATES
PAGE
BISHOP’S CAP, COLUMBIA HIGHWAY Frontispiece
THE OAKS AT SUNSET 1
A CORNER OF LAKE TAHOE 23
ACROSS LAKE TAHOE 34
CRATER LAKE 81
SHIP ROCK, CRATER LAKE 90
SUNSET ON THE COLUMBIA 132
FROM INSPIRATION POINT, COLUMBIA HIGHWAY 140
SHEPPERD’S DELL BRIDGE, COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY 148
THE WILLAMETTE NEAR EUGENE, OREGON 174
ON THE PACIFIC HIGHWAY IN OREGON 176
THROUGH THE DEL NORTE REDWOODS 194
SAND DUNES ON THE NORTH COAST 216
THE MENDOCINO COAST 234
EL CAPITAN, YOSEMITE 245
SOLITUDE--THE ARIZONA NATIONAL FORESTS 277
DUOGRAVURES
ON THE LOWER COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY 12
ON THE PACIFIC HIGHWAY 16
CAVE ROCK, LAKE TAHOE 48
THE ROAD TO CRATER LAKE 84
WIZARD ISLAND FROM GARFIELD PEAK 96
CRATER LAKE--WIZARD ISLAND IN DISTANCE 102
LLAO ROCK, CRATER LAKE 108
SAND CREEK CANYON PINNACLES 110
THE THREE SISTERS, DESCHUTES CANYON 112
THE DESCHUTES NEAR NORTH JUNCTION 116
OVERLOOKING DESCHUTES CANYON. MT. JEFFERSON 120
MT. HOOD FROM TYGH VALLEY 122
OR BON DESCHUTES RIVER CANYON 126
THE DESCHUTES RIVER CANYON 130
ONEONTA TUNNEL, COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY 134
COLUMBIA HIGHWAY AT MITCHELL POINT 136
AROUND TOOTH MOUNTAIN, COLUMBIA HIGHWAY 138
SHEPPARD’S BRIDGE FROM BENEATH--COLUMBIA HIGHWAY 142
SHEPPERD’S BRIDGE, COLUMBIA HIGHWAY 146
COLUMBIA RIVER GORGE FROM CHANTICLEER INN 152
COLUMBIA HIGHWAY NEAR EAGLE CREEK 156
PORTLAND AND MT. HOOD 160
ALONG THE COLUMBIA HIGHWAY 162
PRUNE ORCHARDS NEAR DUNDEE, OREGON, WILLAMETTE VALLEY 166
MAPS
MAP SHOWING AUTHOR’S ROUTE 314
[Illustration: THE OAKS AT SUNSET
From painting by Gordon Coutts]
Oregon--The Picturesque
I
AN UNFAMILIAR WONDERLAND
Twenty thousand miles of motoring had made us familiar with most of the
highways and byways of California lying south of San Francisco. Some
of these roads we covered but once in our wanderings and others many
times--only a few outlying sections and odd corners have so far escaped
us and these we hope to add to our conquests in due course of time. I
do not think it possible for any motor enthusiast ever to grow weary
of the wonderland of Southern California with its miles and miles of
splendid road, its endless variety of scenery, and its enlivening dash
of historic romance. But we had done all this, and when the wanderlust
came upon us again we cast about, temporarily, of course--for we felt
that Sunset Land would eventually claim us again--for new fields of
adventure with our companion of the wind-shod wheels.
And so it happened with us and we found ourselves scanning with
no small degree of interest and anticipation maps of the vast
mountain-studded country stretching from San Francisco to the Columbia
River. We had met infrequent motorists who had penetrated parts of this
comparatively unfamiliar region and their tales were enough to arouse
our curiosity and to intensify our desire to explore these virgin
fastnesses of shining lakes, vast forests, and rugged hills, but the
contemplation of such an undertaking caused us some uneasiness and
misgiving, we are free to confess.
Here one will not find a system of smooth, well-engineered boulevards,
but is confronted by a series of widely dissevered mountain trails
which climb long, laborious grades or creep along precipitous slopes,
deep with dust in late summer and stony and rough at all times. Indeed,
many of the roads we planned to traverse are closed by snowdrifts
during the greater part of the year and the preferable time for touring
is from July to September inclusive. Later, one may encounter the first
showers of the rainy season--as it happened with ourselves--and many
of these mountain grades are described as “impassable” in wet weather.
One of our informants told us of his harrowing experience in passing a
night in his car on a slippery grade of the so-called Pacific Highway
in Oregon until daylight and a cessation of the shower made it possible
to proceed. He completed his drive to Portland but shipped his car
back to San Francisco by steamer--no one but a fool, he said, would
wish to drive both ways over such a road.
And yet, when we called on the well-informed Automobile Association
in San Francisco, we were assured that the Pacific Highway was the
standard route to Portland and when we proposed to proceed north from
Lake Tahoe on the eastern side of the Sierras through Central Oregon to
The Dalles and to return through Eugene, Grants Pass, Crescent City,
and Eureka, we were regarded as being afflicted with a mild species of
dementia. We were assured that while it might be possible to make the
round with a good car, it was certainly not worth while; we would find
rough, stony roads and endless steep grades, and the trip would try any
machine and driver to the limit--all of which we found to be verily
true save that we can never agree that it wasn’t worth while--a mere
matter of opinion, after all.
A few extracts from our road-book covering some of the route seemed to
prove that the auto people knew what they were talking about. We found
such cheerful information as “Roads poor; many sharp curves and heavy
grades up to thirty per cent” and again, “Roads mountainous, heavy
grades, sharp curves.” Of the hills about Eureka we were cautioned,
“Roads poor, heavy grades up to thirty per cent; sharp curves; use
care,” and I might quote similar data concerning our prospective route
ad infinitum--but we found that really the worst parts of the road were
not charted at all, for the book did not cover our proposed tour in
Oregon.
We had, however, set our hearts too fondly on the trip to be easily
deterred and we determined to proceed, making careful inquiry of local
conditions from town to town; at the worst we would always have the
option of retracing our route. We felt sure that our car, a Pierce
forty-eight, was equal to any road that any motor-driven vehicle could
master--and nobly did it live up to our anticipations; in four thousand
miles of strenuous work, chiefly among the mountains, it did not give
us a moment’s trouble.
For the greater part of our proposed route we were unable to secure
detailed descriptive maps such as cover so many of the main roads
on the coast and we had considerable misgivings about being able to
find our way, though we may anticipate a little by saying that this
misgiving proved quite unfounded. We had no need of such carefully
detailed maps and those we were able to secure met every requirement,
for we found the roads well signed, even in the loneliest and most
remote sections. We were seldom at a loss for our route; we did not
go astray a single time and were never delayed to any extent for
lack of road information. In the wildest and most thinly inhabited
regions there is usually but one road and we found the local garages
an unfailing source of reliable information as to the best route to
the next town. Indeed, many of them were perfectly familiar with
road conditions within a radius of a hundred miles, since in these
isolated villages--some of them to be reached only by automobile--the
garage men are accustomed to drive customers long distances in all
directions. Even the smallest places have one or more garages fairly
well equipped to take care of the travelers’ needs. We found it
unnecessary to carry an extra supply of gasoline with us, though there
were times when we became uneasy lest we should find ourselves short
of that very necessary fluid. A gravity-fed car may fail on some of
the steep grades, even with a goodly quantity of gasoline in the tank,
and this should be borne in mind by the tourist. Cars are not frequent
on many of these roads and a shortage of gasoline might prove a very
inconvenient matter, to say the least.
At one of the remotest points on our trip we were hailed by a
fellow-motorist in distress--twenty-five miles from the nearest supply
station and with a tank so nearly empty that he could not climb the
grades. He had waited long for a passing car and one or two that had
come along could not help him out, being fearful of their own supply.
Then he hired a horse of a ranchman and visited the half-dozen houses
in the vicinity without success. We were able to spare a gallon or two
and he went on his way rejoicing. We always wondered, though, if he did
not meet with more grief before he mastered the nine-mile, twenty-five
per cent grade before him. Of course, it wasn’t twenty-five per cent
all the way, but a twenty-five per cent grade for only fifty yards may
be just as much of an obstacle, if your gasoline is low, as one many
times as long.
We carried five gallons of water in two canvas-covered canteens, but
had little occasion to use it, as our motor seldom heated and we had
cool weather on some of the heaviest grades. An extra supply of water
may be a prime necessity, however, in very warm weather or in case of
motors inclined to heat under heavy work. There are grades where it
is a steady, low-gear grind for most cars for miles at a stretch and
frequently no water to be had. In such cases the canteen or canvas
water bag may prove a God-send, indeed.
With a heavy car one should start out with a new set of tires all
around and a couple of spares, also new. Tires for medium and small
cars can be found at most of the country garages, but few of them stock
the larger sizes. On such a tour one can not afford to take unnecessary
chances with tires--it would be exceedingly inconvenient to experience
a “blow-out” on a narrow, thirty per cent grade. Some of the runs will
keep one busy enough without fooling away time on tires--if it can be
helped. So new tires and the best will be economy in the long run. One
must be prepared to see them suffer severely from the sharp stones
that strew the roads in many places--but we found it possible to make
the three-thousand-mile round without a puncture, though our casings
were sadly cut and scarred at the end and some of them had apparently
reached the limit of their usefulness.
In the recesses of some of these giant hills a serious breakdown is a
calamity, indeed. It is impossible to tow the car to a repair shop and
it must be abandoned until necessary parts are obtained and repairs
completed by the roadside where the accident occurred. We saw quite a
number of these abandoned machines and wondered what luck the owners
had in getting assistance. In some cases it would have been a serious
matter to undertake to walk to the nearest house. In one instance
we had the pleasure of giving an unfortunate a lift just as he was
starting on a seventeen-mile trudge with a broken axle rod over his
shoulder. Another very serious feature of many of these breakdowns
was the time it must have required to get the new parts--all of which
reflections served to make us doubly thankful for the complete immunity
which our sturdy car enjoyed. Undoubtedly, the safest car for such a
tour is the heavy, powerful, and practically unbreakable car of the
type we used, or the light, agile Ford, for which a full line of parts
can be found in even the smaller towns of the remote districts. We did
not meet many cars on the greater part of our trip, but of these, fully
nine-tenths were Fords. In many cases they carried a complete camping
outfit, making the occupants independent of hotels and daily schedules.
As to the hotels encountered in our month’s jaunt through the wilds, we
will deal with them in detail as we proceed with our story--but we may
generalize by saying that the average was wonderfully good. In towns of
a thousand or less we often found comfortable and well-appointed inns
where we could get rooms with private bath, and in the medium-sized
places the hotels were often truly metropolitan in size and
furnishings. In the smaller places the rates for rooms were low and in
the larger towns moderate in comparison with city charges. Nearly all
the hotels, however, were operated on the so-called European plan--you
pay separately for room and meals--and the “high cost of living” was
usually strongly in evidence in the restaurants. Although the touring
season was nearly past when we began our trip, many resorts being
closed at Tahoe and elsewhere, we found the hotels surprisingly well
patronized and in a few cases we secured accommodations with difficulty.
Not being familiar with the hotels, it was not always practical to wire
for reservation--a practice worth while where one has the necessary
information. Sometimes we could get a tip from the hotel people as to
the best stopping-place in the next town, but this did not always prove
reliable, as the inn-keepers sometimes let personal reasons influence
them to recommend a second-rate hotel. Neither can the average hotel
directory be depended upon; many of the towns in the section we covered
are not even listed and improvement marches so rapidly in this country
that any information a few months old may be out of date. We found fine
hotels under construction in two or three towns and they are likely
to spring up almost overnight anywhere in this country. So, if one is
uncertain, perhaps as good a plan as any is to wait until the day’s
destination is reached and then make inquiries. This is usually safe if
you do not arrive too late in the day; we planned our runs, as a rule,
to bring us in well before dark and in several cases we saw later
arrivals turned away from our hotel. We reached one good-sized town,
where there is only one first-class hotel, about four o’clock in the
afternoon and the landlord told us he turned away no fewer than thirty
would-be guests after our arrival.
We might remark here that we almost invariably carried our noonday
luncheon with us and ate it amidst the best surroundings we could
discover at the time. Often no place was at hand anywhere near the
luncheon hour where a meal could be secured, or if there happened to
be it generally proved a poor one, while a few nicely made sandwiches,
with fruit, nearly always to be found in this country, and hot coffee
from our thermos bottles, cost less than hotel meals and was far more
satisfactory; besides, this plan consumed less time and gave us the
advantage of enjoying the great out-of-doors, often with a magnificent
scene before us.
As I have intimated, we met a good many fellow-motorists who carried
the out-of-door idea to a still greater extent, for they had with them
complete camping outfits, including the tents which sheltered them at
nightfall. In some parts of the country very delightful camping sites
could be found with trees and clear spring water near at hand; but
there were long stretches of road where none of these conveniences
existed and nothing save barren, stony soil or sagebrush-studded sand
greeted the wayfarer’s eyes. Occasionally we passed campers who were
making the best of such surroundings, but they did not present the
cheerful appearance of those who had lighted upon some grassy glade
under a group of fragrant balsam pines. A goodly number of the campers
were hunters, for we were in the midst of the season in California and
Oregon--we ourselves saw several deer by the roadside and occasionally
started a long-tailed pheasant or jack-rabbit from cover. Still more
numerous were the beautiful California quail which frequently arose in
large flocks as our car brushed through some dense thicket that skirted
the roadside. Considering the long distance we traveled through virgin
wildernesses, however, we saw little of wild life.
If the hotels along our route averaged quite moderate in charges,
the garages did their best to even things up; gasoline is, indeed, a
precious fluid in this country, prices ranging from thirty to fifty
cents per gallon. We paid the latter figure only once, but thirty-five
and forty cents was quite common and lubricating oil was at least
fifty per cent above the San Francisco price. When one recalls that
in many of these towns supplies have to come by motor truck for long
distances, perhaps these high prices are justified. Garage charges for
our car ran from fifty to seventy-five cents per night. Fortunately,
we are not able to speak from experience as to the cost of repair
work, but the average garage seemed very well equipped to take care of
anything in this line.
As we have already intimated, only an inconsiderable mileage of the
roads covered by our tour has as yet been improved. Most of the
counties that we traversed in Northern California and Oregon are vast
in extent and but thinly populated. For instance, Lassen and Modoc
Counties in California have respectively 4531 and 3823 square miles,
with a population of 4802 for the former and 6191 for the latter named.
Some of the Oregon counties would not show so great a population in
proportion to their area. It would be folly to expect such sparsely
inhabited communities, entirely without large cities, to be able to
match the great bond issues of the counties of Central and Southern
California. They have done much, everything considered, but so vast are
the distances and so great the engineering difficulties that the main
effort has been to keep the present roads in passable condition rather
than to build new ones. A veteran motorist told me that he had covered
a good part of these northern roads several years ago and that in
going over them a second time recently he could not note any great
improvement. Better bridges have been built and the surfacing improved
in places, but little has been done to widen the roads or to eliminate
the heavy grades. If fine highways with moderate gradients and curves
ever penetrate these natural fastnesses, the state will have to do the
work.
[Illustration: ON THE LOWER COLUMBIA RIVER HIGHWAY
From photo by Fred H. Kiser, Portland, Oregon]
The present plans of the California Highway Commission contemplate the
improvement of the Coast Route--though, with the exception of about a
hundred miles, it runs a goodly distance from the coast--practically
to the Oregon line--and some of the grading in Humboldt and Mendocino
Counties is already done. Much work has also been done on the Pacific
Highway, which pursues its course through the central part of the state
and branches from this are projected to the county seats of each of the
eastern tier of counties. Nothing, however, is promised for the extreme
eastern counties in the way of an improved road northward from Lake
Tahoe and roughly following the Nevada, California & Oregon Railroad to
the Oregon border. Probably such a highway would not be justified, for
the population is very scant and the country barren and poor, though
it has much to interest the tourist for all that. With the completion
of the new highways, much of the present road will be practically
abandoned and while this is a consummation devoutly to be wished from
most viewpoints, the tourist of the future will miss many of the most
glorious mountain vistas that human eye has ever rested upon. For
the only way to realize the majesty of the mountains is to climb the
mountains, and though that is sometimes strenuous and even dangerous
work, it is not without its reward to one who delights in these giant
hills.
The success of the second state bond proposition submitted at the
general election of 1916, providing fifteen million dollars to
complete the highway system, insures that the work as outlined in
Northern California will be carried forward as rapidly as possible.
This comprises two trunk lines to the northern border: the Pacific
Highway, traversing the Sacramento Valley, and the Coast Route, roughly
following the ocean to Crescent City. A large part of the former road
is already finished, but a much larger proportion of the Coast road
is still undone. Besides these, several laterals will connect the
county seats not served directly by the main lines, thus reaching the
communities east of the Sierras, where no highway is planned. Much
of the worst road covered in the tour described in this book will
be eliminated when the proposed extensions are completed. This will
probably require three years, or until 1920--and we may confidently
predict that motor touring will become vastly more popular in this now
little-known scenic wonderland.
The highways of Oregon present a still more serious question in that
state than the one which California has to solve. With only one-fifth
the population and with two-thirds the area of her neighbor, Oregon
cannot undertake the vast road improvement plans that are being carried
out south of her border. There is as yet little well-improved road
in the state; a few pieces of macadam about Portland and down the
Willamette Valley--much of it broken and rough--and the wonderful new
Columbia River Highway comprising about all of it at this time. A
number of the more prosperous counties, however, have voted bonds or
are contemplating such a move, especially along the Pacific Highway,
so that in the course of four or five years we may expect some
appreciable results. But Oregon roads generally are desperately bad
and are likely to remain so for some time. There will likely be much
improvement in the way of grading and bridges, but surfacing after the
splendid fashion of California is far off for the vast majority of
Oregon highways. Multnomah County, in which is situated the city of
Portland, has by far the greater mileage of surfaced highways and we
found considerable road work in progress here. The first move toward
a permanent system in this county was the issuance of two and a half
millions in bonds, the proceeds of which were used to build the first
fifty miles of the Columbia River Highway, and it is to be hoped that
other counties will continue the good work until this wonderful road
parallels the mighty river its entire length in the state.
We found the leaven of good-roads sentiment working strongly in Oregon
during our sojourn in that state, and a little less than a year later
it bore substantial fruit in a six-million bond issue which carried by
a safe majority. This is avowedly only the entering wedge--it is safe
to predict a repetition of California’s experience in adopting a second
issue by a far larger popular vote than the first received. Six million
dollars will not improve a very large percentage of Oregon’s immense
road mileage, but it will serve to give the people of this state a
demonstration of the advantages of permanent highways and the good
work is sure to gain an impetus that will result in still more liberal
provision for carrying it forward.
[Illustration: ON THE PACIFIC HIGHWAY
Courtesy of the Southern Pacific R. R. Co.]
Efforts in both California and Oregon are at present being centered on
the Pacific Highway and in the latter state perhaps half the mileage
is improved in some way or other at this time. This is well enough,
since this highway traverses the principal centers of population in
both states and will no doubt serve the greatest number of people. It
does not, however, compare in scenic interest with the coast road and
it closely follows the Southern Pacific Railroad, affording one the
alternative of seeing the country from the window of a Pullman car,
which many will prefer while the highway is in its present state. The
Coast road, however, traverses virgin wildernesses that can not be
reached by railroad train and whose beauty will reward the somewhat
strenuous effort which the motorist must make to penetrate them.
We realize now that our trip was made too rapidly to give us the best
opportunity to see and enjoy the marvels of this wonderful region. For
unavoidable reasons we could not start before the middle of September
and before we made our round we became uneasy on account of the
weather. We ran into showers on some of the worst mountain roads in
California, the weather with its proverbial perverseness in the Golden
State taking a “most unusual” turn. Snow fell in the Tahoe and Crater
Lake regions shortly after we left them and with snow these roads
are impassable for the average motor car. So one will be easier and
practically sure of avoiding adverse weather manifestations if he will
start the latter part of July--though the “unusual” may get him even
then, since on the year of our tour the Crater Lake road was not free
from snow until the first of August. One should plan short daily runs
on such a tour and there are many side trips well worth while if there
is plenty of time to do them. There are, moreover, many delightful inns
and resorts to be found in the region we covered--some of them closed
when we reached them--which might well tempt the wayfarer to tarry
awhile to rest and enjoy at his leisure the surroundings of forest,
lake or mountain stream, as the case may be. There will be many days
on the road when such a respite will be very welcome, especially to
the feminine members of the party. Excepting Portland, there is no
large city in the territory covered by our tour; indeed, in California,
north of San Francisco and Sacramento, there is no town larger than
Eureka, with perhaps fifteen thousand people, while Eugene and Salem
in Oregon and Reno in Nevada have approximately the same population.
The situation of these towns and the territory tributary to them puts
them nearer to the metropolitan class than the average eastern town of
similar size.
Though the tour covered by this book was the most strenuous we have
ever made and the lateness of the season compelled more haste than
we liked, yet we look back upon the month spent among these rugged
hill ranges and wide plains and valleys with unmixed satisfaction.
We saw many things that justly may be rated among the wonders of the
world. We saw enough to convince us that when this region is penetrated
by well-constructed highways, it will divide honors with Southern
California as a tourist resort and motorist’s paradise. It is little
known at present; all the flood of books poured forth about California
have dealt mainly with San Francisco and the country lying south of
that city; and Oregon, aside from the Columbia River, has a very scant
literature. I can not pretend in the limits of this work to have done
the subject anything like full justice. It is a country of magnificent
distances, of endless variety and immense and undeveloped resources,
and volumes would be necessary should one enter into detail. But with
the assistance of our sturdy car we saw much, indeed; we achieved in
one month that which in old days would have required months of tedious
travel.
We saw Tahoe, the gem of the world’s lakes, in its setting of
snow-covered, pine-clad mountains. We saw the strange volcanic plains
and hills of Lassen and Modoc Counties with their wide, shallow lakes.
We saw Eagle Lake, flashing in the sunset like a sheet of molten silver
among the pine forests that crowd up to its very shores. We saw the
vast mountain cauldron with its lapis-lazuli sheet of water--the bluest
bit of water on this mundane sphere--Crater Lake, with its mighty
ramparts of unscaled cliffs and the unmatched vista of mountain forests
and lake from the newly built government road. We saw the vast forests
of Central Oregon, where in a whole day’s run there is little evidence
of human habitation. We saw the great mountain range that skirts
the plain covered by this forest, with here and there a stupendous
peak, white with eternal snow, piercing the azure heavens. We saw the
white, cold pyramid of Mount Hood with the dark belt of pines at its
base, stand in awful majesty against a wide band of crimson sky. For
a hundred miles we followed the vale of the queen river of the west,
mountain-guarded Columbia, and coursed over the famous new highway
with its unrivalled panoramas of stream and wooded hills. We pursued
the western Willamette through its fertile, well-tilled valley and
admired the prosperous, up-to-date towns along the way. We traversed
the rough, sinuous trails over the summits of the rugged Cascades into
the virgin redwoods of Del Norte and Humboldt Counties. For more than a
hundred miles the narrow road twists through these giant trees, coming
at times to commanding headlands from which there are endless vistas
of shining sea. We visited Eureka, the wonder city of the North, long
shut in behind ranges of almost impenetrable hills and dependent on
the sea alone--though now it has a railroad and lives in hopes of the
coming of the new state highway. We saw Shasta of the eternal snows
and Lassen’s smoke-shrouded peak. We followed the rugged coastline
of Mendocino County with its stern headlands overlooking leagues of
glorious ocean. We coursed through the vast vineyards of the Napa and
Santa Rosa Valleys with the terraced hill ranges on either hand showing
everywhere the careful tillage one sees in Italy or along the Rhine. We
crossed the pine-clad hills that shut in beautiful Clear Lake Valley
with its giant oaks and crystal sheet of water--which still lingers
in our memories as the loveliest spot in all California. We traversed
the great plain of the Sacramento, whose pastoral beauty and quiet
prosperity rivals that of the Mississippi Valley.
Nor was the element of historic interest entirely lacking. Old Fort
Ross and the names that still cling to a few places about the Russian
River reminded us that at one time the Czar nearly added Northern
California to his vast domains. We found footprints of the padres at
San Rafael and Sonoma and no doubt they would have carried the chain on
to the Columbia River had not the Mexicans interfered. We came upon
reminders of the terrible privations suffered by the pioneers--for
did we not look down on placid Donner Lake, which takes its name from
one of the saddest of the endless tragedies that befell the emigrant
trains? There are many relics, too, of the romantic days of ’49, and
we came upon places where gold is still being mined, though by methods
vastly different from those of the panhandlers of Bret Harte. We found
many memories of Lewis and Clarke and of Marcus Whitman, who did so
much to put Oregon under the Stars and Stripes, and more than once we
crossed the trail of Fremont, the tireless Pathfinder.
But why anticipate farther, since I shall endeavor to describe in
detail as I proceed with the story of our tour? Even were I to write
nothing more, I hope I have proved my contention that it is well worth
while to explore this new wonderland--but I trust that I shall find
language as I progress to make even more apparent the savage grandeur
of these hills, the weird loveliness of the lakes, the majesty of the
virgin forests, and the glories of rugged coast and restless ocean.
[Illustration: A CORNER OF LAKE TAHOE
From painting by Thos. Moran]
II
TO THE LAND OF SKY-BLUE WATER
There are two routes from Sacramento to Lake Tahoe which carry
nine-tenths of the motor travel to that interesting region. Both
traverse a picturesque mountain country with a spice of historic
and romantic interest and most motor visitors, naturally enough, go
by one route and return by the other. That we did not do so was the
result of the miscarriage of our plans, due to a break-down of the car
we had leased of a Los Angeles dealer for our first trip. This made
it necessary to go part of the way by train and when repairs to the
car were made, we returned by the route over which we had come. The
following year, in our own car, we again visited Tahoe, going from San
Francisco by the way of Sacramento and Placerville and continuing our
journey northward from the lake.
In each instance we passed the night at Sacramento, which is the best
starting point for the day’s run to Tahoe, being about one hundred and
twenty miles distant by either route. We were sure of every comfort and
convenience here--there are a dozen hotels ranging from good-enough
to first-class--and our repeated visits had given us more and more of
a liking for Sacramento. It is a clean, beautiful city, practically
a seaport, so deep and broad is its mighty tide-water river, which
carries a yearly commerce, incoming and outgoing, of an aggregate
value of more than fifty million dollars. The surrounding country
is very fertile, with greatly varied agricultural and fruit-growing
resources which form the basis of the city’s prosperity and assure
its future. Its streets and private and public buildings have a truly
metropolitan appearance which in the east would indicate a city of much
more than fifty or sixty thousand population. The Capitol building, a
white marble structure of purely classic lines, stands in a beautiful
semi-tropic park of about forty acres. This is beautified with endless
varieties of shrubs and trees, among them palms of many species, for
the climate is such that orange groves, olives and almonds flourish
quite as vigorously as in Southern California. The oranges ripen
here from six weeks to two months earlier than in the south, giving
the growers the advantage of early markets, and the quality of the
fruit is equal to the best. Surrounding the city are endless orchards
of peach, pear, prune, apricot, cherry, and many other varieties
of fruit trees; and there are extensive vineyards of both wine and
table grapes. Dairying, stock-raising, gardening, as well as other
branches of farming are carried on--very profitably, if one may judge
by appearances. Manufacturing is also done on a considerable scale in
the city and vicinity and gold mining in the county is an industry
producing about two millions annually. All of which would seem to
indicate that Sacramento has not yet reached the zenith of its growth
and prosperity. It is favorably situated as to railroads, having a
service of three transcontinental lines since the Santa Fe has leased
right of way over the Western Pacific. The new state highway enters
the city from north and south and a direct route has been opened to
San Francisco by the completion of the great Yolo Trestle, shortening
the distance by wagon road--thirty miles less than via Stockton and
Altamont, formerly the standard route. This great engineering feat
bridges the Yolo basin, which is flooded during several months of the
year, with a solid concrete causeway twenty-one feet wide and over
three miles long, carried on re-enforced concrete piles rising twenty
feet above ground. It was completed in about eighteen months and cost
a little under four hundred thousand dollars. We ran over it on our
last trip to Sacramento and it seemed like a fairy tale indeed to
be bowling along twenty feet above the formerly impassable marsh as
safely and smoothly as upon an asphalted city boulevard. In addition
to the state highway, Sacramento County already has many miles of good
road of her own construction, but she is planning still larger things
in the immediate future. A highway bond issue of two million dollars
was authorized late in 1916 by a majority of nearly four to one,
emphatically proving the enlightenment of the citizens of the county on
the question of improved roads. The proceeds of this issue will improve
practically all the main highways and make Sacramento County one of the
favorite touring grounds of the state.
Historically, the capital city is one of the most interesting towns
in the state, since it is the oldest settlement of white men in
the interior of California. It had a population of more than ten
thousand in 1849, though doubtless the majority of the inhabitants
were transient gold-seekers. It was the goal of the greater number of
emigrants who came overland during the “gold fever” period and was a
famous outfitting point for the prospective miners who rushed here
because of the proximity of the gold fields. Ten years earlier a colony
of Swiss emigrants, under the name of New Helvetia, was established on
the present site of the city by Col. John H. Sutter. It soon became
better known as Sutter’s Fort, on account of the solid blockhouse built
by the founder, which still stands in good repair, now containing a
museum of relics of pioneer days. Sutter employed John Marshall, whom
he sent to Coloma, some fifty miles east of Sacramento, to build a mill
on the South American river. Here Marshall picked up the famous nugget
that threw the whole world into a ferment in the late forties and
turned the tide of emigration to California.
But perhaps we are permitting our fondness for Sacramento to detain
us too long on the subject; it did not prevent us, however, from
getting an early start from our hotel on the Auburn road for Tahoe.
Out of the city for several miles through a fertile orchard and farm
country, we pursued a level, well-improved road which led us toward
the great hill range that marks the western confines of the valley.
Entering the rounded brown foothills, we kept a steady ascent through
scattering groves of oak and pine, with here and there along the way
a well-ordered stock farm or fruit ranch. It was in the height of the
peach season and a sign at a ranch house gate tempted us to purchase. A
silver dime brought us such a quantity of big, luscious, rosy-cheeked
fruit that we scarcely knew where to bestow it about the car. It was
just off the tree and ripe to perfection, and by comparison with
the very best one could buy in a fruit market, it seemed a new and
unheard-of variety--ambrosia fit only for the gods. Its fragrance and
savoriness linger with us yet and do much to mitigate the recollection
of divers disasters and disappointments that overtook us ere we reached
our destination. And they told us that so immense was the crop of
peaches and pears in this locality that some of this unequalled fruit
was being fed to the pigs.
Following a winding but fair road through the hills, we soon came, as
we supposed, into the main part of Auburn, for we had taken no pains to
learn anything about the town. At the foot of a sharp hill we paused in
a crooked street with a row of ramshackle buildings on either side and
it was apparent at a glance that the population of the ancient-looking
town was chiefly Chinese. A few saloons and one or two huge wooden
boarding houses were the most salient features and a small blacksmith
shop near the end of the street was labeled “Garage.” We mentally
classed “Sweet Auburn” with Chinese Camp and following the road leading
out of the place began the ascent of an exceedingly steep hill.
We were not destined to pass old Auburn with so short an acquaintance,
for something went wrong with the gearing of the car before we were
half way up the hill and we returned perforce to the wretched little
garage we had passed, never dreaming that at the crest of the hill was
a fine, modern town with one of the best-equipped machine shops we saw
outside of the cities. While the proprietor of the garage, who combined
in his single person the function of consulting engineer and mechanical
repairman, was endeavoring to diagnose our trouble, we learned from
a bystander that there was another Auburn on the hilltop with an
excellent hotel--welcome news, for apparently chances were strong for
passing the night in the town. We found the newer section well built
and attractive, with a handsome courthouse, an imposing high school,
and a new bank building with tall, classic pillars that would hardly
be out of place on Fifth Avenue. Best of all, we found a comfortable
hotel, which did much to mitigate the disappointment of our enforced
sojourn in the town.
Though the trouble with the car was trifling, much time was consumed
by our garage expert in locating it and still more in dissuading him
from making a three-days’ job of it by tearing the machine to pieces,
which he evinced a lively desire to do. A threat to remove the car to
the garage on the hill, however, proved efficacious and by the middle
of the afternoon he pronounced the job complete. And here we may pause
to remark that before we reached Tahoe we had more serious trouble with
this miserable car, which we shall pass over for the double reason that
a recital would vex us with harrowing memories and be of no interest
to the reader. We only registered a silent, solemn vow with good St.
Christopher, the patron saint of all travelers, that our next tour
should be made in our own car and we fulfilled our vow a year later in
the long jaunt to Portland and return covered by this book.
As it was too late in the day to continue our journey after the car
was ready, we contented ourselves with driving about town. The hotel
people especially urged us not to miss the view from a second hill
which dominated the new town and upon which may be found the homes of
Auburn’s Four Hundred. A truly magnificent outlook greeted us from this
hillcrest--a far-reaching panorama of the canyon of the American River,
intersected by the gleaming stream more than a thousand feet beneath.
On either side of the river we beheld range upon range of wooded hills
stretching away to the blue haze of the horizon, the rugged wall of the
Sierras looming dimly in the far distance. From our point of vantage,
we could see the broad vale of the Sacramento to the westward, and,
nearer at hand, the foothills intersected by the pleasant valleys with
orchards and cultivated fields, dotted here and there with white ranch
houses.
Beyond Auburn the road climbs steadily to Colfax, a few short pitches
ranging from fifteen to twenty per cent. The surface was good and we
were delighted by many fine vistas from the hilltops as we hastened
along. At Applegate was a deserted hotel and “tent city,” said to be
very popular resorts earlier in the summer. Colfax was the Illinois
Town of mining times and still has many buildings dating back to the
“days of gold.” The town was given its present name when the steam road
came and it is now a center of considerable activity in railroading.
Here we heard of a new California industry, for tobacco is grown in the
vicinity and cigars made from the home-grown plant may be had at the
local shops. There is also a famous vineyard and winery near the town,
operated by an Italian colony similar to those of the Napa Valley.
There is much beautiful scenery about Colfax. From the nearby summits
across long reaches of forest-clad hills, one may see on one hand the
mighty ranks of the snow-clad Sierras and on the other the dim outlines
of the Coast Range. On exceptionally clear days, they told us, the
shining cone of Shasta may be seen, though it is more than one hundred
and fifty miles away.
Out of Colfax we continue to climb steadily and soon come upon
reminders of the days when this was one of the greatest gold-producing
sections of California. The hillsides everywhere show the scars of
old-time placer mining. Millions of the precious metal were produced
here in the few years following ’49, but operations have long since
ceased and the deserted villages are fast falling into ruin. Dutch Flat
and Gold Run, now stations on the Southern Pacific, could no doubt have
furnished Bret Harte with characters and incidents quite as varied and
picturesque as Angel’s Camp or Sonora had his wanderings brought him
hither. For the disappearance of the good old golden days, the natives
console themselves in this fashion, quoting advertising literature
issued by Placer County: “In days gone by the gold mining industry
made this section famous. To-day the golden fruit brings it wealth
and renown.” And it also holds forth the hope that scientific mining
methods may yet find “much gold in the old river beds and seams of
gold-bearing rock.”