THE STjXDAT OREGOXTAIV, PufLAJTD, SEPTE3IBER 27, 1905.
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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'." - ,
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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
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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.