The climate of Eastern Washington, to which alone this remarkable state of things is due, differs entirely from that of the western half of the Territory, from which it is divided by the Cascade range of mountains. It is a mistake to suppose that the humidity which characterizes that portion of the Territory bordering on the Pacific Ocean, distinguishes it as a whole. On the contrary, the eastern half is remarkably dry, and that, too, without those extremes of temperature that usually accompany a dry climate. Should there be a spell of severe cold during the brief winter season, it is invariably cut short by the “Kuro-Siwo,” or Japanese current, which, striking the coasts of British Columbia and Washington Territory, sends a warm wave over the entire Northwestern country, sometimes extending even to the valleys of Montana.
Continuing westward from Palouse Junction, a run of little more than an hour brings us to Pasco, the eastern terminus of the Cascade division of the railroad. This important division, intended to establish direct communication between the magnificent harbors on Puget Sound and the Eastern States, is already operated to the extent of 122 miles, or ninety miles westward from Pasco, and thirty-two miles eastward from Tacoma. Its eastern section has given a great impetus to the development of the agricultural capabilities of the Yakima, Klickitat and Kittitas valleys, which are well adapted, not only to stock raising, but also to the cultivation of fruits and cereals. In this section wool growing is also engaged in with great success. This industry is one of considerable importance both in Washington and Oregon, the entire clip for 1885 being no less than 13,000,000 pounds.
There are few revelations more surprising to an Eastern tourist than that of the magnitude of some of the great Western rivers. The Snake river, for example, is known to him, if at all, merely as one of the various tributaries of the Columbia; and, when he finds himself crossing its mighty flood by a bridge 1,672 feet in length, and learns that its force and volume are such that it drives itself like a solid wedge into the waters of the Columbia, he is apt to wonder that he knows so little about it. Future tourists will not regard this tributary stream with any the less interest for being told beforehand that it is longer than the Rhine, more than three times the length of the Hudson, and that, straightened out, it would reach from the Missouri valley to the Atlantic ocean. It is, moreover, a great commercial highway, being navigated by steamers of considerable tonnage for 150 miles. It flows for a long distance in a deep cañon, the sides of which are so precipitous as to render the river almost inaccessible. Immense shutes have therefore been constructed for the transfer of the wheat that forms the staple product of the country from the warehouses on the high banks to the boats and barges anchored below.
Another section of the famous wheat country of Southeastern Washington, identified with the unmusical name of Walla Walla, borne by the oldest and best town east of the Cascade Mountains, is reached by a branch line extending from Wallula Junction. With 100,000 acres of land cultivated to cereals, with 800,000 apple trees, 100,000 pear, plum and peach trees, 25,000 grape-vines, large herds of cattle, and still larger flocks of sheep, the county of which Walla Walla is the judicial seat may be taken as fairly illustrating the varied capabilities of Eastern Washington. Scarcely less prosperous is the adjoining county of Columbia. These counties, however, being well settled, reference is made to them only as foreshadowing the future condition of those younger counties, adjacent to the Northern Pacific Railroad, which are now in course of settlement. In many of the latter the cultivation of the soil presents even fewer difficulties than in these older settled regions, in many parts of which there is scarcely an acre of level land to be found.
Returning to Wallula Junction, and there resuming our westward journey, we at once enter a region of surpassing interest, none other than the famous land—
“Where rolls the Oregon.”
Its navigable waters within 450 miles of those of the Missouri river, the great Columbia drains an area almost equal in extent to the united area of France and Germany. Excluding the portages at the Cascades and Dalles, with several less important rapids, the river is navigable to Kettle Falls, 725 miles from its mouth. These falls, on the upper river, are not accessible by rail, being a considerable distance above the point at which the railroad enters its valley. They are said to be more impressive even than the famous Cascades on the lower river, there being a perpendicular fall of twenty feet, and then swift rapids between rocky banks of quartz and porphyry. It is on the upper river, also, that there occur the Little Dalles, where the waters tear through a contracted channel with terrific force, constituting, at least at high water, an impassable barrier to navigation.
MOUNT HOOD—FROM THE HEAD OF THE DALLES, COLUMBIA RIVER, OREGON.
From Wallula to within a few miles of Portland, a twelve hours' ride, the tourist enjoys an uninterrupted succession of views of that superb scenery which has given the Columbia river its world-wide reputation. Never for more than a few moments does he lose sight of its mighty flood,—now flowing onward with all the majesty of the lower Mississippi, and now surging through the rocky barriers that impede its course; here confined within lofty basaltic walls, there inclosing numerous beautifully wooded islands; and here again marked by long stretches of bare white sand driven continually by the unceasing winds. For some miles west of Wallula the banks of the river are low, and possess no special object of interest. It is not, indeed, until he reaches the Great Dalles that the tourist sees any indication of the magnificent scenery he is approaching. There, however, he has his first glimpse of the queenly Mount Hood, whose snowy peak, soaring 11,225 feet above the sea, stands out sharply against the sky at a distance of thirty-five miles. The Dalles themselves, scarcely noticeable, except when the river is at flood, constitute one of the most curious and interesting sights in the world,—nothing less than that of the mighty Columbia turned on edge. Here, within a gorge so narrow that a child may fling a pebble from bank to bank, is confined the greatest river of the Northwest. The chasm through which it flows has never been fathomed, and can only be approximately determined by an inversion of the grand proportions of the river where it flows through its ordinary channel.