“Well,” remarks Mr. O’Brien, as he sees we are almost speechless with rapture and delight, “that’s something you don’t see in Pennsylvania or Jersey every day in the year.” “No,” I respond, “nor anywhere else in the world on any day of the year.” “I really believe there is no scenery in the whole wide world more intensely absorbing than your Columbia River scenery, Mr. O’Brien,” says Mrs. Mattson, and the Doctor, standing near, smiles down upon her his approval. “We will now turn our attention to something more practical than towering mountains and leaping waterfalls,” says Mr. O’Brien, as the train comes to a stop. “We will show you how our salmon are coaxed out of the water.”
Leading the way, we follow him down the river bank to its edge and on to a platform or wharf extending for several feet into the water, where a large wheel is slowly revolving that looks something like the side wheel of an old-fashioned ferryboat or the large overshot water wheel of an old-time sawmill, except that it turns backward, and as the scoops or buckets rise out of the water they bring the fish along, should any of them be so unfortunate as to get caught. When the scoop rises to a certain height the fish slip out into an incline trough or chute (something like the “boys” had fun with at Sutro’s) and are dumped into a bin under the platform. “We are not catching many at the present time,” says the man who is operating the trap, “the river is too high and muddy and the fish are not running very lively.” Opening a trap door, he allows us to peer down into the bin, where we see a lot of fish of various sizes. He kindly gave us several for our dining car, an act we all highly appreciate.
We next stop at Multnomah Falls, where one of those mountain streams pouring over the face of a cliff has a sheer descent of 950 feet. Here the party is arranged in a group on a grassy slope, with the falls as background, and photographed by Mr. Hicks. “Mr. Hicks, will all those beautiful rainbows we see there show in the pictures you have taken?” asks Mrs. Matthews of the photographer. “No,” replies Mr. Hicks, “that is beyond our art. No camera will picture nor can artist paint the gorgeous coloring and beautifully blended tints that you see in the dashing spray of Multnomah Falls.” “I don’t know about that,” answers Brother Mart. Houston, who is always of a practical turn of mind. “I believe George Cope, of Chester County, could do it, for a man who can paint the pretty spots of a trout or all the colors of autumnal foliage and never miss a tint can come pretty close to Multnomah Falls.” “He ought to come out here and paint it, then,” responds Brother Bob Foulon; “for a reproduction of Multnomah Falls on canvas as we see it to-day could not be surpassed by any painting in the world.” We all echo Brother Foulon’s sentiments, and feel as we get aboard the train that it has been our privilege to look upon a scene of unequaled loveliness and grandeur.
We again stop and are photographed at the Pillar, an enormous column of rock standing alone between the river and the railroad, upon the summit of which is growing a great pine tree, 1000 feet in the air. We get back to the depot about 7.30 and find McDonald has a sumptuous dinner awaiting us, which we all
heartily enjoy. Mr. O’Brien and Brother Young take dinner with us, and our people show their appreciation of the courtesy and kindness of these gentlemen by giving them three rousing cheers. After supper Manager E. Lyons, of the Union Depot, escorts a number of the “boys” to the luxurious quarters of the Commercial Club, where we are royally entertained for three hours, returning to the train about midnight.