ONE VIEW OF THE PARTIALLY COMPLETED TWENTY MILLION GALLON POMEROY GULCH RESERVOIR. A LINK IN THE PRESSURE WATER SERVICE FOR THE IRRIGATION AND DOMESTIC SUPPLY OF CLARKSTON-VINELAND
The Pomeroy Reservoir has a capacity of 20,000,000 cubic feet or 460 acre feet.
The major part of what has generally been known as Clarkston-Vineland has been sold by the company and is cultivated in small tracts, beautifully laid out and developed, trees, flowers, shrubbery, and lawns, a continuous village, thus fulfilling the noble ideal of the projectors as being a model irrigation project. The company has, however, retained possession of the larger part of the magnificent Clarkston Heights and is handling that property as a unit. It is a district hard to match among the irrigated tracts of the Northwest. It has every conceivable advantage of soil, climate, scenery, water supply, and when ultimately sold will be one of the rare home lands of the world. The company still owns about one-third of the townsite of Clarkston and about five thousand acres of land, of which 927.98 acres are in apple trees in a solid body. The apple trees are divided as follows in percentages: Winesap, 40 per cent; Yellow Newtowns, 15; Spitzenberg, 15; Jonathan, 10; Rome Beauty, 10; assorted varieties, 10. The average holding on the tract is only 3½ acres, making this the most densely populated irrigation district in the United States.
The electric power and light properties of the company, under another organization, as stated, constitute a system by themselves. The power plant comprises the Asotin power station, the Pomeroy power station, the Clarkston auxiliary steam plant, and the Lewiston sub station; a total of 3,200 horse power. There is also a power development on the Grande Ronde River, 2½ miles above the mouth and 28½ miles from Clarkston, with a minimum of 6,900 horse power, and a peack load capacity of 10,000 horse power. Through these plants the company supplies with power and light the towns of Asotin, Clarkston, Lewiston and Lapwai, having a population of about fifteen thousand.
One of the most important recent enterprises in the development of this section is the electric railway from Lewiston across the interstate bridge to Clarkston and Vineland, a total amount of four miles of street railway. This work was completed in the summer of 1916. It is owned by the Lewiston-Clarkston Transit Company. Contrary to the recent experience of some of the "Twin City" trolley enterprises, which have been seriously affected by jitney competition, this undertaking is said to be amply rewarded by financial results. There is so much transit during the fruit picking and packing season and there is so much general activity of movement to and from Lewiston, that the cars are almost constantly well filled. There was a total of 2,000,000 passenger crossings over the bridge during the year ended at this writing.
The Clarkston-Vineland region has none of the first pioneer settlers left. There are, however, a number of what may be called the second wave of immigration, prior to the inauguration of the Improvement Company. Mr. and Mrs. F. G. Morrison are said to be the earliest comers now living in the town. They came in 1878, though not to the place where they are now living. At the time of their coming the ferry was maintained by Ed Pearcy. E. J. Warner had a claim in what is now the business part of Clarkston. "Johnnie" Greenfield, an old bachelor, was then living on the "flat." He was a landscape gardener of much ability, having been employed to lay out Woodward's Gardens in San Francisco. There was a family named Pearsall living a little west of the present home of Mr. Morrison, having four sons, Jerry, Jake, William, and Ed.
We referred earlier in this chapter to O. F. Canfield. He is a man of unique interest, both by reason of keen intellect, many adventures in the wildest regions of the Pacific Coast, and his peculiarly marked pioneer traits. He came as a ten year old boy with his father, W. D. Canfield, and the family from Iowa across the plains in 1847. Being late in reaching Oregon, the father decided to accept the urgent invitation of Dr. Whitman that he remain at Waiilatpu (Mr. Canfield says that the Indians sounded that historic name more as Waiilatipsu) for the winter. They had been there but about a month when the dreadful Whitman massacre of November 29, 1847, occurred. The father of the family was shot by the Indians, but by reason of a glancing bullet was not seriously, though painfully wounded. In the general excitement he evaded observation and remaining in hiding till night managed to communicate with Mrs. Canfield and the children. Thinking from all the indications that the Indians were not going to murder the women and children, Mr. Canfield decided to try to reach Spalding's station at Lapwai where he hoped that he might find rescuers for the captives at Waiilatpu. Though bleeding from his wound, and having but scanty food or clothing in the freezing weather of winter he set out and with terrible suffering reached Lapwai. The son, now a white haired man of seventy-eight, tells us that his father would never have reached Lapwai, had not old Timothy, the Nez Percé chief of the Alpowa, succored him and carried him across the river. Being on the north side of the river he was comparatively safe and reached Lapwai. Years after, so Mr. Canfield tells us, he saw Timothy, then very old and destitute. Telling him that he was the son of the man whom he saved at that momentous time, he told the old Indian that he wanted to pay him for saving his father. But Timothy would not take anything. He said, striking his breast, that he had "hyas close tumtum." It was "halo chickamon." Finally Mr. Canfield induced the old man to accept some tobacco and an overcoat as presents, but not as pay.
Mr. Canfield told another Indian story of very different character, worthy of preservation. When Howlish Wampoo, the famous Umatilla chief, was the ruler of his tribe he had many horses, some fine racing animals. There was a great horse racer at that time named Joe Crabbe, living in Portland. Crabbe had known of Howlish Wampoo's fast horses and was anxious to get up some races and incidentally clean up some big bets. Going to Umatilla he finally engineered a big meet with the Indians. The crowning event was to be between Crabbe's champion and anything that the Indian chief could bring on. Howlish Wampoo was very crafty. He might have been a Teuton diplomat of the present. He brought out and made a great parade of a spotted horse which he said he was going to run, and then innocently put the horse in a corral very handy to the white men. Crabbe's hustlers took the horse out in the night, no Indians being in sight, and tried him. They found that he was nothing extra fast, and so they made all their plans in the light of that discovery. The next day came the great race. Everything was excitement, and betting went to a great pitch. Crabbe finally put up $1,500 on his horse and at last even his silver mounted saddle and spurs. Howlish Wampoo accepted the bets with seeming reluctance and Indian stoicism. When the horses were brought out Crabbe saw with some suspicion that the spotted Indian racer looked a little different and stepped a little different from what he did the day before. As he told Canfield in relating his experience he "felt a sort of cold chill go down his back." But it was too late to back out. Off they went, a four mile race, two miles to a stake, around it and back again. The Indian horse was evidently not the same horse. He went like a shot out of a gun and reached the goal post so much ahead that his rider turned back to run again with Crabbe's champion, and then beat him into camp. The Indians made an awful clean up on the white men's bets. Howlish Wampoo, with just a faint suspicion of an inward grin on his mahogany countenance, told Crabbe that he might have his saddle and spurs back again, and enough money to get home on.
Afterwards Crabbe made great offers to the Indian for the spotted racer, wishing to take him East or even to Europe, for he was satisfied that he could beat the world in a four mile race. But Howlish Wampoo would never sell the pet racer.