Near the base of Dutton Cliff stands a solitary rock, probably one hundred feet high, by two hundred in length and nearly the same breadth, that, while not seen by the present generation of Indians, is nevertheless known to them, and is a special object of superstitious dread. They consider it as a peculiarly ferocious monster, but are unable to describe its characteristics. It stands in the lake entirely alone and about fifty yards from shore. Standing on the cliffs, five miles to the west and looking across the lake, this strange rock is plainly visible in the sunlight its rugged peaks reaching aloft, giving it the appearance of a full rigged ship at anchor. Should a cloud pass before the sun, as the shadow strikes the rock it will pass from view as effectually as though it had ceased to exist. While sounding the lake in 1886, I caused a party of topographical engineers to be landed here for observations, but it was so rugged that the most diligent search failed to reveal a level place large enough to accommodate the tripod attached to their instruments, and we were compelled to resort to a point on shore for the purpose. I have never learned its Indian name, but among the whites it is known as the Phantom Ship.
To those who enjoy the noble sport of hunting, the vicinity of Crater Lake is especially attractive. Great numbers of deer, bear and panther roam through the timber in fancied security, inviting the keen eye and steady nerve of the sportsman. Although passionately fond of such sport myself, the grandeur and sublimity of the surroundings so overcame me with desire to see and prosecute our explorations, that I forgot my love for a running shot, in an inordinate desire to climb over the cliffs and view the wonderful place from every conceivable point. My companions were no less affected, and the result was that we ran out of meat and applied to a native sheep herder for mutton chops. He scowled upon us for a moment, then informed our spokesman that "when he butchered he never saved the heads."
While running a line of soundings from Llao rock to Vidae cliff across the lake one day, a strong wind sprung up from the south accompanied by black clouds and a storm seemed imminent. We had proceeded about three miles across, when we were suddenly startled by a loud noise, as though a multitude of men were savagely beating tin pans. In a very few minutes the southwestern cliffs became white and we could plainly see the "color line" advancing to the north, until all the cliffs to the west seemed covered with snow. To add to so strange a sight, a good-sized water-fall began pouring over Llao rock, and falling to the lake two thousand feet below. Within half an hour from the beginning of the storm, the water-fall ceased, the cliffs became dark again, the wind shifted to the northwest and drove millions of hailstones upon us, sufficiently large to make us wince when struck—especially when struck all over with no possible means of escape.
The only accident to any of our party during the sojourn, befel a highly respected mule attached to the Topographical Engineers Corps. One day as the party passed along the east side of Dutton Cliff, progress seemed almost blocked by high precipices. A point was found overlooking a yawning chasm, where a large tree had fallen and lodged. By throwing in stones and brush, a sort of trail was made to terra firma beyond the backbone of the mountain. Over this the pack train was passed safely, except a mule that was blind in one eye. He bore a reputation for dignity and sobriety that any well-to-do mule might envy. However, when just at the point which, above all others, should have received his undivided attention, he became gay and festive, and as a consequence, fell part way over the precipice. By dint of hard labor, he was drawn back, but little the worse for wear, his pack was removed and he again started across. Again, however, he became frisky, and pitched head-long over a rocky precipice five hundred feet high. As his limbs mixed with those of the trees below, the thoughts of the spectators above were: "There goes all that is mortal of Croppy, who climbed to the top of Mt. Shasta, but died in a lonely canyon, by his own hand in a fit of temporary insanity. Let him R.I.P."
One day while at work on the lake, my attention was called to what seemed to be a tall, full-bearded man standing on the southern portion of Llao Rock's summit. One foot was placed a little forward of the other and the knee bent slightly but naturally, while before him stood a gun. His hands were clasped over the muzzle as he gazed intently to the north. Just behind him stood a boy, apparently about fifteen years of age. They seemed entirely too natural not to be flesh and blood, and yet, persons at that distance would not be visible to the naked eye, as we were two miles out on the lake. Day after day, as our work progressed, their position remained the same, and, in the absence of a better explanation, we decided them to be trees.
Crater Lake is but a striking memento of a dread past. Imagine a vast mountain, six by seven miles through, at an elevation of eight thousand feet, with the top removed and the inside hollowed out, then filled with the clearest water in the world, to within two thousand feet of the top, then place a round island in one end eight hundred and forty-five feet high, then dig a circular hole tapering to the center, like a funnel, one hundred feet deep and four hundred and seventy-five feet in diameter, and you have a perfect representation of Crater Lake.
It is hard to comprehend what an immense affair it is. To those living in New York City, I would say, Crater Lake is large enough to have Manhattan, Randall's, Ward's and Blackwell's Islands dropped into it, side by side without touching the walls, or, Chicago or Washington City might do the same. Our own fair city of Portland with all her suburbs, from the City Park to Mount Tabor, and from Albina to Sellwood inclusive, could find ample room on the bottom of the lake. On the other hand, if it were possible to place the lake, at its present elevation, above either of these cities, it would be over a mile up to the surface of the water, and a mile and three-quarters to the top of Llao Rock. Of this distance, the ascent would be through water for two thousand feet. To those living in New Hampshire, it might be said, the surface of the water is twenty-three feet higher than the summit of Mt. Washington.
1. Rogue River Falls, 180 feet high.
2. Vidae Cliff, Crater Lake, over 2,000 feet high.
3. A point on Vidae Cliff.
What an immense affair it must have been, ages upon ages ago, when, long before the hot breath of a volcano soiled its hoary head, standing as a proud monarch, with its feet upon earth and its head in the heavens, it towered far, far above the mountain ranges, aye, looked far down upon the snowy peaks of Hood and Shasta, and snuffed the air beyond the reach of Everest. Then streams of fire began to shoot forth, great seas of lava were hurled upon the earth beneath. The elements seemed bent upon establishing hell upon earth and fixing its throne upon this great mountain. At last its foundation gave way and it sank forever from sight. Down, down, down deep into the bowels of the earth, leaving a great, black, smoking chasm, which succeeding ages filled with pure, fresh water, giving to our day and generation one of the most beautiful lakes within the vision of man.