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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Sept. 27, 1908)
THE STjXDAT OREGOXTAIV, PufLAJTD, SEPTE3IBER 27, 1905. far fe-v.--;;;; . Ee&nG&VffliMhe Nestor of JTsh- )! sit f-'.- '' ;Pt-.ii; mermen on Gnegans finest 7houta)iFett fa - f. -7 ' -. t7 " u--wy-i i -C- V t$ ? - v--vj ..-:r:X s-' ;" 7: 'I, 'r- " : wi.. m sg0?rj$r P'S By ANSIS LAl'RA MILI.ER. U I XCLB GEORGE, who discovered the MoKenzle?" "McKeniie did." But Unci Oeorg-e didn't know whare he discovered It or how. and s the newspaper office augirezted ae au thorltr wa soma 50 miles away and probably knew only the baldest facts. McKenzls began to grow In my Imag ination. Little things grow to great size In the keen mountain air: a scrap of fleecy cloud becomes a thunder storm, a tiny trout becomes the enor mous flsh-that-gets-away, a little story grows to be a mighty yarn, and so Mc Kenzle the name became, to my mind's eye, an actual man. One hot Summer day In the early 'SOs I saw him climbing a rugged mountain side. There were fir trees and streams In the ravines, but he was climbing up among low brush and rocks with the sun pouring on his back. It was slow going, for there was no trail, only rocju and thick, unyielding brush, and he. poor man, wasn't your typical lean mountaineer, but a. short, stout, middle. aftd Scotchman, with his habitually red lac almost purple from heat and exertion. An hour or so later he had puffed and scrambled to the summit, and I saw him sitting there In the shade ef a lichen-covered rock. He took a drink ffom his whisky flask and looked at the river below running out of the far eastern mountain and danc ing away to the west. He looked long, his stolid Scotch face showing no emo tion, although be knew himself to be the first white man to see the beautiful stream. The next day I saw him riding eastward up the river leading a pack- horse loaded with provisions and blan ksta, but he vanished soon, in a mist like the mlet that hung over the moun tains this morning, and I didn't see the solitary explorer again. e Now, of course, since I wanted, to make the acquaintance of McKenzle to day, I had, to Imagine him, but equally of course, I couldn't imagine the early settlers who followed In his track. So I asked Uncle George, who has lived ST years at the Bridge and knew them all In the old days. There was "Ole Man" Peplot, a Frenchman, who kept the eating-house at oate Creek. He Is dead and so are "Ole Man" Belknap and 'Ole Man" SI me. who lived far up the river In the big timber. "Andy" Hlckson, tall and gaunt, a great hunter In days gone by, has retired now from the life of the trail and works at the salmon hatchery, while "Pood." his dog, and "Mouaer," the little blue pony, grow fat and lazy with inaction. "Ole Man" Finn, "the greatest liar on the McKenzte," lives still In a lonely big white bouse with "Finn's Hotel" paint ed In long letters on Its side. As we went up the liver the stage-driver pointed out to us the rock that Mr. Finn pulled out of the road with hie pair of stout little black mules. To prove the story, the rock stands there "big as a meetln'-houae." Immovable . since time began. Cncle George told me another of the "Ole Man's stories: "Finn went huntln" one day and killed a bear and put him on his back: then he killed a deer and put him on his back and waded the river and went home. He took the deer off and went to workin. Pretty soon somebody says, "Ain't ye goin" to take that bear off yer backT" "Well, by golly!" be says, "I plumb forgot It was there." And that night, when he took off his rubber boots six big redsldes fell out of 'em and went flappln' around On the hearth." Uncle George arises early In true mountaineer fashion. This morning when ws cams down to breakfast he was driving the cows out of the barn lot to pasture. H la some 60 years old. the "IsasJc "Walton of the McKenxie." "the greatest fisherman on the river." but ha covers the ground like a boy, and be hind his round spectacles are keen eyes that can as a fish far down in the water where untrained eyes see only the rocky river bottom. He wears sad- colored clothes In deferenoe to the fishes' feelings, an old gray felt hat. a brown sweater coat, gray trousers and a blue flannel shirt. After breakfast I saw an eight- pound Dolly Varden on the back porch, and as Uncle George was in the garden below I went to ask him the where and the why of the fish. He said that he had caught the Dolly "walking In the garden among the cabbages." There Is a beautiful big pool Just beyond. The garden is the pride of his life. There are rows of Raspberries, blackberries, rhubarb, peas, beets, turnips, -onions, carrots, a plot of potatoes, cucumbers, cabbages and: "It won't be long now, maybe a week," said Uncle George, as he lifted the leaves to find the string beans, and ffelt of the ears of corn. me. he said, cutting a cabbage head. If the garden is the pride of his life, the love of his life is "Auntie." his sweet old wife, a plump, little, old lady, who walks with a cane. She was never known to say a harsh word, the postmistress at MoKenzle Bridge. Next to Auntie In Ms affection comes Bru tus, the old asthma-smitten white terrier. "He might be 12," Uncle George says. "He was always old; terriers is only bulldogs, anyway no play In "em." There Is "Snoozer." too. white like his father, "Sport." a spotted terrier, and "Buster." small and black. There they were this morning at Uncle George's heels, all in a string like the tall to a kite, all that Is but Buster, who lay In exile on the bank above, looking Into the gasden. He is forbidden the garden, so be waits outside to take his place at the end of the string. This morning Brutus had had a light with Snoozer and there were streaks of blood on his white coat. The only living thing I ever heard Uncle George speak of with contempt . was dog that followed every one. "There's so me thin" the matter with that dog," he said, "he'll go to anybody; he ain't got no master. We carried some lettuce to the chick ens. "I've got 180 young chickens." he said. "not big enough to fry yet; an' I tell you I don't like to kill "em. Do you know that? They know me an' come runnln to me." W picked up a bucket of fallen apples and carried them to pigs, fat to the bursting point with frequent meals. -"See where the limbs are broke on the trees." he said, as we went through the orchard. "When the high water came some of those big redsldes roosted on the limbs. That's what broke 'am off." Then we went fishing. Something was wrong. I knew, when I came ' downstairs. It wasn't the fishing rod, for Uncle George himself had chosen the small bamboo pole, tied to it a stout, dark line, a black leader with a lump of lead and a small bait hook (one of your Joint ed poles, reels and books of many-colored flies for Uncle George). The trouble wasn't my brown denim suit. The clothes Is all right," he said, "but that hat won't do too bright the fish '11 see' you comln . So a battered gray felt took Its place and we started. In the edge of the forest Uncle George uncovered his head. 1 always take off my hat when I go Into the woods," he said "reverence." For three quarters of a mile we fol lowed the trail, past the patch of red huckleberries, under the giant fir trees., The sunlight came glancing down through the vine maple and made bright spots on the thick moss where Oregon grape, delicate ferns and oxalls grew with occasional bunches of Indian pipes, the ghost flowers' of the woods. A pair of nuthatches ran down a fir tree, far away a russet-backed thrush sang his loud, clear song, nearer was a tiny brown wren singing the sweetest warbling song Imaginable, and Just above the trail, on a low-swinging hough sat a young Alas kan robin, as yet too Ignorant to fly away from human beings. Pine squir rels were chattering up in the tree tops, and once, we came suddenly on a chip munk, so frightened at our approach that his throat throbbed as If his heart had Jumped there and his poor little sides were beating with terror. We came to where Horse Creek went to pieces and ran this way and that In many small streams, seeking the river through a Jun gle of vino maple. "There's some pools up there on Horse Crick that nobody knows, and there are big speckled fellers there that have never seen a white man nor woman," Uncle George said. We passed an old abandoned cabin and went through an opening scaring up a bevy of quails. A Jay called In a burnt treetop, a pheasant drummed near by and overhead a flock of merry chickadees sang "ohick-a-dee-dee, chick-a-dee-dee-dee" as they hopped about in the alder boughs. Uncle George went rapidly ahead glid ing through the woods more like a brook than like a two-legged human being; at his heels was the string of four dogs and I followed shouting questions: "Uncle George, aren't you ever sick?" I asked, "No," he answered, "and Til soon be llvln' on borrowed time too. O, a per son hasn't hardly got time to be sick. If you want to be well. Just keep a goln' and don't sleep in the daytime. Some folks don't know how to live; they never learned how to eat; they'll get up with a headache and set down and eat a meal that a logger hadn't ought to put away. I always look on the right side and the bright side and when I hear people be gin to talk about their pains I don't say a thing, but I Just sneak off," and we went over the steep bank down to the first fishing hole. "There, that's the place." said Uncle George as he broke the Alder boughs and pointed to a big smooth spot above a rock. "A little more lead." And the hook baited with a fat yellow grampus floated right In the front door of a family of redsldes. Well! here they are, I knew they would come and they will come into every letter I write for months In spite of attempts to keep them out, for, being an amateur fisherwoman, I am proud of those two redsldes that weighed a pound and a half apiece. The first one "bit savage," and then, how he fought 1 rushing up stream, rushing down stream, suddenly lying still, Jumping to the surface, plunging to the bottom lunging toward midstream while the tough bamboo pole bent and my arm ached and Uncle George at my elbow gave me warnings and advice, and swore mildly and unconsciously at the fish. After ten minutes the fish had fought himself tired so he was brought near the bank and landed without a net. Uncle George took hlra off. "Ton devil, you," he said to the red- side, and to me: "That's a fine fish. Then if I had been "one of those Port land fellers" we would have celebrated with a drink of whisky for which Uncle George has a true fisherman's liking, but he took a chew of tobacco Instead and, as the fish had to go In the basket, we took our lunch out and ate It, and the four dogs ate theirs; and afterwards I caught the other redslde in the same pool. "Tou see," said Uncle George, "that's where they live. They're at home now." A two-pound white fish took the hook next and made a great fuss until wo discovered what he was and landed him without ceremony. "The only thing the matter with a white fish is that he alnt a trout" Un cle George said, as he threw him back in the river. Then came a whale of a redslde who fought until he was done, but Just as I was about to land him be floated away on the top of the water, too tired and dazed to swim, while I sat down heavily on the rocks, and pulled the broken hook out of the top of the aider ousn ana simon wept, ana wished myself a man so that I might swear. Yet. a man is on record at tne Bridge who lost a huge redslde fish. hook and leader all at one swoop, and stood looking at the pool and then: "Tou sassy thing," he gasped. No more fish came out of that hole. "I guess he squealed." Uncle George said: so we kept on down the bank, and If It was a half-pound redslde Uncle George said: That a a Tine nsn, ana it it was a speckled trout only as big as the law allows, be said: That's line eatln'." - , ? "511. t a- - . V "5. -. ! liMi V f - Via nmnMfirt 1j- I Once I almost forgot to fish, that river was so beautiful, rushing and tumbling over big moss-grown rocks with white sparkling bubbles trying to run back, with waves of a silver green where the sun shone through, and deep blue-green pools below the rapids. And when a mother water ouzel came hopping and ducking under the water encouraging her one small gray chick to follow her, I cast heedlessly Into the swift current Beauties of Drive to Council Crest June McMillen Ordway Describes Entrancing Scenery of Road, and Relates Circumstances of Naming of Mountain. BY JUNE M'MILIJSN ORB WAT. (CJT CCEPT an invitation for a drive " to Council Crest? I would not miss such a pleasure." Leaving cares and business behind, the most perfect of afternoons, September 2, found a merry party soon upon the way. Our kind friend, yes, "everybody's friend," George H. Himes. held the ribbons of a span of lively stepping horses. Leav ing the Oregon Historical Society's rooms In the City Hall we were driven to the Canyon Creek road, up an easy grade, through dense groves of fir, yew, cedar, spruce, dogwood and the lovely vine maple,, which at this season Is donning its handsome Autumn dress of brilliant red. On past clusters of ferns, 27 varieties of which grow In this canyon, "over the hill to the poorhouse." where the aged Inmates rest in the shade of trees on the well kept lawn; on lower ground the finest of vegetable gardens are seen. xne yew tree which grows in this canyon. Is said to make the best arrows In the world. Will Hi Thompson, the champion archer of the world, says this is a fact. Captain F. F. Barnes, of Forest Grove, has made hundreds of ar rows from the Oregon yew tree. In early days the Indians came long dis tances to secure this yew from this locality for their arrows. The Canyon Creek road was the first planked road on the Pacific Coast. In 1851 the laying of the first plank was cele brated in a fitting manner. The citizens met on Front street, where the proces sion, led by Thomas J. Dryer, first editor of The Oregonlan, and headed by a brass band, took up the line of march; as Mr. Himes expressed It, they "zigzagged" up through the woods, passing the spot where the First Congregational Church' now stands, and on out to the canyon, where gold, coin was. placed under the first j 9r - ji - i V-i --""i.j. " Ji W- ""I -4 and came back to the fishing only when Uncle George said: "Don't throw ' In there; a fish never lived in there." , "Now" as the hook dropped In the edge of the swift water and seven speckled trout came In quick succession. "They've left home and are coming up after it." When the basket was heavy and It was mldafternoon we started back. Part plank laid. As much enthusiasm was ex hlblted as that attending the driving of the "last spike" on any great railroad at the present day. The sparkling Canyon Creek, which winds its way between the hills, seems to have assisted the road builders in their work, having cut a wide course through the canyon, this being an easy grade made it a great convenience to the early set tlers in the "coast country" in hauling their grains, meats and other produce which were exchanged for clothing and articles used upon the farm Leaving he Canyon road we are soon looking down upon the most beautiful farms In the world; farther on, we catch a glimpse of Tualatin Plains, and at another turn in the road Oregon City is distinctly seen. Winding around Marquam Hill so many beautiful scenes appear before us In this grand pano rama that we hear "Ohs!" and "Ahs!" from many lips, but when "Miller's View Point" Is reached the horses are stopped and quiet reigns; our adjec tives are exhausted; we look in speech less wonder upon the scene. Mount Hood seems to have arisen from a bank of lacy, veil-like clouds; the at mospheric conditions are cuch that the mountain looks much higher and larger than when we were on lower ground; It Is impossible to describe the en chanting scene. When. Joaquin Miller first visited this place, 12 years ago, which was named for him, he did not speak for 30 minutes, so great was his surprise and so enraptured was he of the scone. Having encircled the hilltops the homeward drive is upon an entirely different route from that which we had driven upon the upward trip. Upon 'every side are seen many varieties of wild berries and flowers. Thousands of people, many of whom have seen all the countries of the world, have taken this trip to Council , of the vine maple Jungle looked unfa miliar and the -creeks seemed to be run ning in more directions than ever. "Goin' the wrong way," Uncle George said as if to himself. "Are we goin' the wrong way?" I asked. "No, we alnt; the crick Is; It ought to go north and it's agoln' south." But we soon found the main trail and fared along. In the edge of the clearing Uncle George said: "It's good to go Into the woods, and It's good to come out of the woods," and I felt like adding "Blessed be the woods." After supper all the people thereabouts began to gather for the mall; the trap per who lives across Horse Creek, three of the cattleman's children, the' old mountaineer, who Is a living botany book; the homesteader's wife, very plc tureq'ue In a short sklTt, blue flannel shirt and felt hat, with a revolver by her side, the Summer boarders, and a wiry dark nran who is the most fearless hunter in the forest reserve. I asked Uncle George about the hunter. "Afraid? He ain't afraid of nothin". He'll climb right up a tree and shake out a wildcat or a cougar. He ain't even afraid of the devil," said Uncle George. In convincing tones that a picture leapt to my mind of the hunter climbing a tree to shake down to his dogs, his satanlo majesty of Faust, the early Puritans and of the devilled ham cans, man-size, lash ing his tailand flourishing a pitchfork. "A college professor came up with a good catch of big speckled trout: Crest, and have said that they have never seen anything so magnificent as the view from this place, and have been greatly touched by the Indescrib able beauty and grandeur of the sub lime surroundings. Many residents of Portland know that for 20 years George H. Himes has endeavored to get the citizens aroused to the point where they can see that it is their duty to themselves as well as to the State of Oregon to try and purchase the site of Council Crest to be used for observatory and park pur poses. It was an opportunity mat should not have been lost. Portland Is to be a great city and all great cities should have parks, and nature has done much for Portland's hills and dales. Mr. Himes made his first visit to this hilltop on September , 18(15, and since then he has made the trip not fewer than 2000 times, always taking others along to enjoy the scenery with him. He has been there at all hours of the day and night and In every month of the year, always finding something new. With a . lingering look at Mount Hood, which apparently Is floating, a great white rose In misty clouds of violet and gray; and these same tints of violet and gray are creeping over river, city and forest there below us the twinkling lights ot home we turn reluctantly away, Many people ask who named Council Crest. The christening occurred on July 12, 1838. Upon this occasion 36 representatives of the Tenth Triennial Council of Congregational Churches of the United States were present Through the kindness of George H. Himes they were conveyed in carriages to this point. Upon the suggestion of their host that the party choose a name for the beautiful place, as the sup was setting behind the summit of the Coast Range the party formed a circle and organized by choosing Rev. w. E. Bar ton, D. D of Boston, moderator, and Rev. E. C. Wheeler, of Tacoma, Wash., scribe. After singing "America" the moderator spoke of the great pleasure he bad in being in Oregon and In com ing In touch with his brethren of the far West. He then called upon Rev. James Thompson D. D., of Chicago, to lead In prayer. Remarks followed by Rev. William Hays Ward, D. D., of New "Fine fish," said Uncle George. "But they say you have the flsh s'.aked out, Uttcle George, snd can get them when you want them." "Now you can catch flsh," said Uncle George, "but they's some men, the smartest men we have, too, don't know how to flgger on flsh. A 'man come up here thought he was a fisherman," and Uncle George chuckled and wiped his beard with a red bandanna. "I went fisnln' with him on Horse Crick. 'Which side you goln' to take?' he says. " 'Which' side you goin to take? I'll take tills side.' " 'Well. I'll take this side.' I says. . "We fished maybe three hours and I saw him comln' back grinnin'. "'Have luck?" I says. " 'Fine.' he says. 'I got 18. How many did you get? " 'Sixty.' I says. "Well, sir, next morning he went to flsh In the river and came hack In two hours without anything. He says, 'I was a fishin' and I heard a frog a settin' on the bank, and he says: " 'Good morning, George; good morning, George.' " 'I ain't George,' I says. " 'Then go home, go home,' the frog says. And I come home.' " The four-horse stage came Jingling In from Eugene, some 60 miles away, and Uncle George took the mail sack In to Auntie. Just now, as I sat on the upper porch, watching the stars, come out above the rugged mountain tops, I saw him starting out patiently with a lantern to And the straying cows. York, and Rev. Leavltt H. Hallock, D. D., of Mills Seminary, Oakland. Cal. Mr. Himes was then called upon to make a speech. He said it was a great privilege to meet friends from so many different and widely separated parts of i the Union, upon this lofty eminence,; and expressed a hope that as a result of this gathering a fitting name might be given it by this body first, because' Its representatives came to the city at their feet for mutual council, and sec ond, because this was a traditional council ground of the Indians of the valley, and a place where signal fires were lighted to inform the aboriginal tribes of this vicinity of Impending danger. Following these remarks one name after another was given, but each one was rejected as not appropriate, until, finally, Rev. Dr.. Hallock, formerly of Portland, Me., suggested "Council Crest." This being considered sug gestive and fitting, upon the motion of George H. Himes, it was unanimously adopted. In this company were those who had traveled "far and wide" over the earth. With one accord the entire company were enthusiastic over the wonderful, scenic surroundings of the city, claiming that "It could not be matched in all its striking diversity anywhere upon this earth of ours. No city in the world has a point so near It from which so much can be seen." Bunch of Episcopal Kittens. Everybody's. A street boy of diminutive stature was trying to eell some very young kitten to passers-by. One day he accosted the late Rev. Phillips Brooks, asking him to purchase, and recommending them as good Episcopal kittens. Dr. Brooks laugh ingly refused, thinking them too small to be taken from their mother. A few days later a Presbyterian minister who bad witnessed this episode was asked by the same boy to buy the same kittens. This time the lad announced that they were faithful Presbyterians. 'Didn't you tell Dr. Brooks last week that they were Episcopal kittens?" the minister asked sternly. Tessir." replied the boy quickly, "but they's had their eyes opened since then, sir.
