On the first day of July, I boarded the train for Ashland, where I met Capt. Dutton, and we were joined immediately afterward by Capt. Geo. W. Davis, one of the most eminent engineers of America, and ten soldiers. On the 7th, we started for the lake, preceded by Capts. Dutton and Davis, who were followed by a four mule team, bearing a first-class lap streak boat, which in turn was followed by three double teams, horsemen and pack train. Of our largest boat, the Cleetwood, we all felt justly proud, as it was certainly a beautiful model, four-oared, twenty-six feet long and competent to ride almost any sea.
When passing through Phœnix, the typical and irrepressible critic came to the surface, in the shape of a lean, lank, awkward, ignorant country boy of, say, eighteen summers. With hands in his pockets, he aided the single suspender delegated to hold his breeches in place, and when shifting a monstrous chew of tobacco over his tongue, informed his audience (of half a dozen small urchins) that "That 'ere boat won't live in Crater Lake half an hour if a storm comes up. It ain't shaped right. Jist see for yourself how sway-backed it is. It must have been made by some feller as never seed a boat afore." This brings to mind the fact that a critic is a person who finds fault with something of which he is densely ignorant.
The entire distance from Ashland—ninety-seven miles—was accomplished by slow, easy marches, every precaution being taken to provide against a mishap, and no incident occurred of special importance. Soon after reaching the foothills, we encountered sliding places and short turns in the road. As the wagon containing the Cleetwood was top heavy and coupled twenty feet long, it was impossible to turn on an ordinary curve, hence it became necessary at times to drive as far as possible, then let ten or fifteen men lift the hind end of the wagon around by main strength. When a sliding place was reached, the men would hang on the upper side, or attach ropes to the top and hold it, thus preventing an upset. On Tuesday we succeeded in reaching the foot of the last grade, and on Wednesday morning began the ascent. Here was the rub. The hill is about a mile and a half long, very steep, sliding, rocky, and filled with roots and stones, added to which were great banks of snow, packed solid by constant thawing. Progress was slow and tedious, a roadway having to be cut in places, while men with picks, axes and shovels dug up rocks, cut down trees and shoveled snow, besides building up or cutting down one side of the roadway. At 10 o'clock on Wednesday the 14th, the boats were landed on the walls of the lake, having traveled four hundred and forty miles from Portland, with scarcely a scratch to mar the paint.
Thursday morning the work of launching was commenced by covering the bottom of each skiff with inch boards, firmly secured, as also a shield in front of the bow. They were carried to the lowest place to be found in the cliffs, probably about nine hundred feet, vertical measurement, where a canyon descends at an angle of thirty-five or forty degrees, when a three-quarter inch rope was attached and in turn passed around a tree on the summit, where a man was stationed to manage it, directed by signals below. One was lowered at a time, accompanied by four men to guide and handle it. Besides this, men were stationed at different points to signal to the top, and thus regulate the paying out of rope. Every effort was made to send all loose stones on ahead, to prevent accident from above, yet, before the first boat had proceeded three hundred feet in its descent, a boulder came rolling from near the summit with increasing velocity, and before any one realized the danger, had struck a rock in near proximity and bounded over the skiff, passed between the men and within an inch of one fellow's head. Before the descent was completed, the boards were torn from the first boat; but extra precaution was taken with the second one. About two-thirds of the way down a perfect shower of rocks came tumbling from a cliff to the left, but, strange as it may seem, they either bounded over or around the men and boat, so that no damage resulted. At three o'clock the first skiff reached bottom somewhat scratched, but not injured in any manner. The second one was placed in the lake entirely uninjured at six o'clock p.m.
Our tents were pitched in a beautiful spot. In the immediate foreground to the north lies the lake with its twenty odd miles of rugged cliffs standing abruptly from the water's edge. To the left is Wizard Island, on the top of which rests the Witch's Cauldron, or crater, like a great flat top; beyond stands Llao Rock, solemn, grim and grand, over two thousand feet perpendicular, while still beyond stands Mt. Thielsen, the lightning rod of the Cascades. Just to the east of the lake is Mt. Scott, partly covered with snow, while close to the camp on the east, is a high cliff known as Cathedral Rock, running far down to the right and at last disappearing below the tree tops. To the south the scene was varied by a wide range of mountain tops, stretching far away to California, chief among which is snow-capped and beautiful Pitt. Just to the left the rough mountain view is changed to a charming plain, in the midst of which is a broad expanse of water, which proves to be Klamath Lake, about thirty miles distant. Thursday evening, dark and threatening clouds were suddenly seen to approach from this point, accompanied by vivid flashes of lightning and loud peals of thunder. A few large drops of rain had fallen, when there was a sudden outburst of joy in camp, as every one glanced at the sides of Cathedral Rock, which were suddenly illuminated by a light of deep orange. To the west, the sun was slowly sinking to rest, when a glowing light spread itself over the dark clouds, which became brighter and still brighter. Looking beyond a scene of unparalleled magnificence was spread before us. Through the center hung long fleecy clouds lighted to a deep orange, while above, like a great curtain, was spread a belt of olive green. Here and there were tints of crimson, the delicacy of which no artist could approach. Above and parallel with the horizon stretched a long rift, in clouds rendered marvelously rich in gold and garnet, through which the blue sky beyond was visible, slightly obscured by light, fleecy clouds of silver. During all this magnificent sight the electric storm raged in the south with unabated fury, flashes of lightning and peals of thunder adding solemnity to a scene of wonderful brilliance.
The 16th was spent in preparing the Cleetwood for her final plunge over the cliffs in search of water. A sled was made of very heavy timbers, on which she was placed, keel up, then lashed and braced in every conceivable manner until, in fact, she seemed a part of the sled itself. Guy ropes were placed on each corner to guide it, in connection with a heavy handspike. Saturday morning the actual work of launching began, by sliding the boat over a snowdrift in a canyon that slopes to the lake at about an angle of fifty degrees. The cliff is probably one thousand feet high at this point. The sled was attached by block and tackle to a tree on the summit and lowered nearly half way, when the bearing was shifted as far down as possible and a new start taken. Leaving the summit at 7:30 a.m., it required the most persistent work and constant care of fifteen men eight hours to reach the lake. In the bottom of the canyon flows a stream of water that contributes very materially to the danger of such an undertaking, as constant slides of rocks are thus caused. When the bottom seemed to be reached it was found that there still remained a sort of jump-off, or slide, into the water, perpendicular and about fifteen feet high. The water, at this point is very deep, and the question arose, "How shall we launch the boat now that we have got it here?" It was simply turned right side up again, lashed to the sled and let partially down with the bow thrown out as far as possible. It was held securely in this position while one of the men climbed aboard, cut the lines and she shot forward in fine style, not shipping a gallon of water, although the bow was almost submerged to start with. The moment the launching was complete there was a cry of unrestrained joy sent up from all present, and our shouts were answered from the cliffs by waving of hats and blowing of fog horns. With one impulse the cry was raised, "Now for the island!" and in an incredibly short space of time both skiffs and the Cleetwood were headed that way. With four men at the oars we soon reached our destination, and then returned to camp, where a bountiful repast awaited us.
Every precaution was taken to clear the canyon of loose rocks, nevertheless a few rolled down, but were successfully dodged until the boat was actually in the water, immediately after which a small bowlder came down with terrific force. Capt. Davis stood directly in its course, and not seeing it the other members of the party shouted to him to "lookout." It being impossible for him to run, he jumped under the framework, or sled, hanging where the boat left it, and laid flat on the ground, just as the stone struck a rock and the upper end of the frame. It then struck Capt. Davis in the back, but its force had been so broken that it did no harm further than to make the spot feel sore.
The day after launching the Cleetwood, nine members of our party made the circuit of the lake on a sort of casual observation, or tour of inspection. The scenery was grand to a degree far beyond our most sanguine expectations. Four strong oarsmen soon brought us to Llao Rock, and as we gazed in silent wonder at its rugged sides, reaching nearly half a mile above us, for the first time did we realize the immensity of such a spectacle. Never before did I fully understand the meaning of figures when they run up into the thousands of feet, vertical measurement. Beyond Llao rock we found a beautiful little bay, and beyond it a larger one, probably one mile long by a quarter of a mile deep. Here we stopped for lunch, and when landing were surprised to find a long line of dead moths, of large variety, washed up by the waves, and in such numbers that the air was laden with an unpleasant odor, apparently about a first cousin to a slaughter house. We also found here a narrow beach of small gravel running almost the entire length of the bay, while further out in the lake, the bottom is composed of sand. As this point had not only never been named, but probably was never before visited by human beings, we decided to christen it Cleetwood Cove. Passing on our journey, it was soon seen that the cliffs on the north side are not so high as those to the south. In several places it appeared that good trails could easily be made to the water's edge, over which a person might almost ride horseback, and in one place, without any grading whatever, a good pack train could descend with comparative ease. About 2 o'clock a thunder shower came suddenly upon us just as two beautiful grottos appeared in view. Into one of these the boat was run, where we were entirely beyond the reach of rain. It proved to be about thirty feet deep and twenty wide, with an arched roof probably eight feet above the water, while the rocky bottom could be distinctly seen ten feet below the surface. So perfect was its form that it almost seemed the hand of man had hewn it from the solid rock. Beyond it towered an immense cliff, very high, with broken, rugged sides, picturesque and sublime, which I insist on naming Dutton Cliff, in honor of Capt. Dutton, who has done and is doing so much to make Crater Lake justly famous. This point may be known from the fact that it lies directly opposite Llao Rock, and between the two lowest places in the lake's walls. Immediately north of Dutton Cliff, the elements have worn the sides of the mountain, leaving a harder substance, alternately colored red and yellow, resembling the mansard roof of a cottage, while in one place, tall red chimneys stand aloft, making, all in all, such a scene that Cottage Rock could scarcely be improved on for a name. Lying between the two points above referred to, a break in the wall was found, that is almost perpendicular, but certainly does not exceed five hundred feet in height. This is by far the lowest point in the walls.
No time was lost in getting our soundings under way. The first was made about one hundred yards from shore. It was supposed that we might possibly find as much as one hundred feet of water, but, as the lead ran out, our excitement grew with each succeeding hundred feet, until over one thousand two hundred feet were out. At one thousand two hundred feet the machine stopped, and our pent-up feelings exploded in one wild yell of delight. For a number of days the soundings were continued. The greatest depth recorded was one thousand nine hundred and ninety-six feet, which, making allowance for stretch of wire, would give two thousand and eight feet. Of the whole number made, eighteen are over one thousand nine hundred, thirteen over one thousand eight hundred, eleven over one thousand seven hundred, fifteen over one thousand six hundred, and nineteen over one thousand five hundred. It was found that at the bottom of the northeastern end lies a plain of several square miles, almost perfectly level, while south of the center is a cliff about nine hundred feet high, and west of the center seems to be cinder cone, nearly one thousand two hundred feet in height, with a crater in the center two hundred and fifty feet deep. Its summit is six hundred feet below the surface of the water.
On one occasion our party took five pounds of red fire, which we intended to burn on the summit of Wizard Island, but owing to the fact that the air was so filled with smoke as to destroy the effect, our plan was changed, and we took it to Rogue River Falls on our return. Here we met quite a number of hardy mountaineers, and at 9 o'clock left camp for the falls, about one mile distant. The night was very dark, and a weird sort of a scene it was as we climbed over logs and rocks, lighting our way by tallow candles and a lantern that flickered dimly. At last the bank of the stream was reached, and while the noise of the rushing waters was intense, nothing could be seen but the dim outline of something white far down below us. At this point, the walls are perpendicular, and one hundred and eighty feet high. They are also solid rock from top to bottom. Directly opposite where we stood, Mill Creek falls into Rogue River (one hundred and eighty feet), and this is what we came to see. In order to get the benefit of the red light, it was necessary for some one to climb down to the water. This duty fell to a stranger in the party, who made the descent during the day, and myself. He led the way carrying a dim lantern, and I followed as best I could. The rocks are covered with a remarkably thick layer of moss, which is kept very wet by the rising mist. The path, if such it might be termed, led along the sides of the cliff at an angle of about 45 degrees. As we cautiously climbed from rock to rock, it was a sort of feeling of intensified interest that overcame us, when we realized that a single misstep would precipitate us to the rocks below—and, worst of all, possibly we "never would be missed." The bed of the stream was reached at last, and the fire ignited close to the falls. Ye gods! What a transformation! Suddenly, the canyon, which could not be seen before, was as bright as day, lighted by a fire so brilliant that we could not look upon it. Crimson air and crimson water, crimson walls and crimson everywhere. No magician of the Arabians ever conjured up by a stroke of his wand a spectacle more sublime. It was one of transcendent beauty, upon which the human eye seldom rests, and when it does its possessor is spellbound by the bewildering vision. One almost loses the power of speech in the desperate struggle to see and comprehend the scene, and before it is realized the light dies away and darkness reigns supreme, rendered ten-fold more dense by the splendor of so magnificent a tableau.