Oregon, the Picturesque / A Book of Rambles in the Oregon Country and in the Wilds of Northern California - Thos. D. Murphy

SAND CREEK CANYON PINNACLES

For many miles after leaving Crater Lake we pursued a natural dirt road, innocent of any attempt at improvement save an occasional log culvert or bridge over a dry gully or small stream. It was fair, however, except for occasional sandy spots and at times good speed was possible over its long, level stretches, for there is scarcely a five per cent grade between the park and Bend. Nearly the whole distance it runs through forests, chiefly the worthless lodge-pole or “Jack” pine, which grow almost as thickly as they can stand. One wonders that they have escaped the fires of whose deadly work we so frequently saw distressing evidences among the more valuable varieties of evergreens. We ran through these uninteresting trees for more than fifty miles without a single village or even ranch house to break the monotony. It was as wild and lonely a country as we had so far traversed and yet in a little shack by the road we passed a station of the Bell Telephone Company—a reminder of the wonderful ramifications of the wires of this great organization. No railroad had as yet penetrated this wilderness but one from Klamath Falls to Bend was projected, which will open up a vast territory to farming and stock-raising. Even now there are many cattle in this country and we frequently saw notices referring to stock ranges posted on the trees. Sheep are also common and in one place we passed a drove of many thousands of them.

Crescent, about seventy miles from Fort Klamath, the only village on the road, has a dozen scattering houses, a store or two, the omnipresent sheet-iron garage, and a big wooden hotel. For some distance about the town the Jack pines were being cleared and preparations made to till the land, though little had actually been done as yet in the way of producing crops. Beyond Crescent we followed the course of the Deschutes River to Bend, a distance of nearly fifty miles. The river here was only an ordinary stream and gave little hint of the stupendous scenery that skirts it beyond Bend. On our left, beyond the river, ran the main range of the Cascades and a little ahead rose the snow-clad peaks of the Three Sisters and Mount Jefferson. A few miles from Bend we came into a region once the seat of great volcanic activity. Here we passed Black Butte, a great conical hill of volcanic rock about which lie huge ridges of black lava with edges as sharp as broken glass.

THE THREE SISTERS, DESCHUTES CANYON

On entering Crook County, about thirty-five miles from Bend, it became evident that improved highways were to be the order of the day in this section, but said improvement had not progressed far enough to be of any benefit to us. A wide, straight road had been graded through the giant pines that cover this section, but no rain had fallen since the work was completed and the new “highway” was a wallow of bottomless yellow dust which concealed myriads of distressing chuck-holes. After trying the new road for a little while, we again sought the old, meandering trail and stuck to it as far as possible. However, for a good many miles there was no alternative and we plunged along, leaving a blinding dust-cloud behind us—a fine, alluvial dust that hovered in the air many minutes after we had passed. Fortunately for us, the road was clear ahead and if anyone was behind us he has our unstinted commiseration. We did not go scot-free ourselves by any means, for it was quite impossible to get away from the dust which the front wheels stirred up and it soon covered the car and its occupants with a yellow film. Nearer Bend the road improved somewhat and no doubt after the grades have been thoroughly settled by the rains, they will be smoothed and perhaps surfaced, in which case the road would be unsurpassed, as it is quite level and straightaway.

Much active lumbering is being done about Bend, and the fine yellow pines through which we passed were being slaughtered at a terrific rate. Temporary railroads were laid among the trees and logging engines were hauling trains loaded with the mighty boles that had fallen victim to the ax—or, more properly, the saw, which is generally used in felling these big trees. We learned later that this industry is chiefly responsible for the surprise which we experienced on arriving at Bend. The 1910 census listed the town’s population at five hundred and we were wondering if we could hope for decent accommodations in a village of that size located in a comparative wilderness. It was an agreeable surprise, therefore, to find a town of four or five thousand inhabitants with many evidences of progressiveness and prosperity. True, a good deal of the straggling old village was still in evidence, but the fine new buildings in course of construction made it clear that such structures would soon elbow the ragged old wooden shacks out of existence. A beautiful bank building that would grace the main street of a city of fifty thousand was under way, as was also a fine mercantile building of white glazed brick with white tile trimming.