SWINGING ROUND THE CIRCLE.
STILL ON THE WING FOR LAKE MAJESTY AND THE FALLS.
On the morning of the 6th we broke camp and started for the Fort, thirteen miles distant. This morning, as on the two previous ones, the whole country was enveloped in smoke. Our view, therefore, was limited, though what there was in the circle of our vision was fine, the veil of smoke giving a novel appearance to the scene. As the rippling of Williams River died away in the distance we cast our eyes about us and found ourselves surrounded by sagebrush, peering over the tops of which was now and then seen an Indian hut, wigwam or tent. They prowl about the country like the Arabs of the desert. Their habits are nomadic, but few having permanent homes. Some, however, seem very comfortably fixed–have houses “like unto the whites,” and cultivate small fields of grain. Two or three miles bring us to the shore of the lake again, but on this occasion the opposite shore was not visible, owing to the smoke, which gave it the appearance of a boundless sea. Four or five miles from the river in a northwest direction we come upon the site of the old Agency, and why it should ever have been established at this place I cannot imagine, as (to me, at least) a more uninviting position could not have been found in that part of the country. Next in turn comes
THE AGENCY,
pleasantly located on a fine stream, which, at this place, rushes in one volume from beneath the mountain which bounds it on the east. The town is situated in the edge of a fine grove of tamarack and pine, is neatly built and cleanly kept, contains a well-regulated school for the rising generation of savages, a flouring mill, saw mill, and a full quota of other establishments. Several families are residents here and seem to appreciate the pleasantness of their situation. The water of this, as all other streams flowing into the north of Big Klamath Lake, is of such transparency as not to obstruct a close observation of objects lying beneath its ever-flowing current, even where the water is several feet in depth. The Agency is so situated as to overlook a fine stretch of rich prairie land, suitable (were it not for the severity of the winters) for successful agricultural operations. And even as it is, a considerable amount of grain, hay, and I am told some vegetables, are produced. The distance to the Fort is five miles, over an almost perfectly level country, beautifully diversified with prairie and timbered land, traversed here and there by silvery streams of crystal waters, their banks bordered with evergreens and a luxuriant growth of vegetation. In vain did I listen [for] the sound of fairy trumpet, and expectantly watch for some woodland nymph to cross our path. The whoop of a savage or the sight of a dusky dame of the forest might have dispelled the delusion, and have caused us to realize the fact that we were not in fairy land, but traversing groves where ribald scenes of brutal barbarism had been, and might again be enacted. We come now to
FORT KLAMATH.
The spot upon which it is built was selected with a view to convenience, beauty and its adaptability to the purpose. Abundance of pure water, broad expanses of meadow land, a superabundance of excellent timber for all purposes, the general healthfulness of the location, and the abundant supply of fine mountain trout are among some of the more important characteristics of the place. Were it not for the frequent and severe frosts and great depth of snow here in the winter Oregon could not boast a more valuable or beautiful tract of country than this of Upper Klamath. And even as it is, I look in the future to see it utilized for grazing purposes. Each year now, during the summer season, extensive herds of cattle, horses and sheep may be seen quietly cropping the luxuriant herbage with which the plain is so extravagantly carpeted, and a good steak purchased of some of the grazers of this vicinity testifies as to quality of the grass. And now a few words in reference to
THE SOLDIERS AT THE FORT,
and what they are doing. Here is an order of things peculiar, I believe (as regards soldiers as a body), to Klamath alone. The boys at the Post have organized a Lodge of Good Templars and have gone into the work with earnestness. The Good Templars among them only associate with their brother Templars. They have completely revolutionized matters at the Post, and instead of lounging around or engaging in drunken revelry, we see them following steady habits, using their utmost endeavors to reclaim their comrades and to save others from falling. Among the most zealous workers may be mentioned Jas. Lynch, the W.C.T. [Worthy Chief Templar], an intelligent, genial gentleman, and an honor to his lodge and to the cause; Frank J. Murphy, W.S. [Worthy Secretary], a lively, practical man, full of life and jollity, making his presence felt wherever he is and forcing mirth and laughter upon his homesick or depressed companions; private [Jasper Newton] Terwilliger (I have forgotten his initials), D.G.W.C.T. [Deputy Grand Worthy Chief Templar], another very affable, intelligent and pleasant young man, tired of the army but determined to do good while in it, and many others too numerous to mention, and whose names I have forgotten. They all deserve praise for what they have already done, and will yet succeed in putting down this fiend [i.e., alcohol] which has come to be a national curse. They are mostly privates and are laboring under many disadvantages. They met with a great loss when Gen. Wheaton took his leave of Fort Klamath. The General did all he could to assist the boys, for he appreciated their efforts. The same can’t be said of all the officers. And this elevates, in my estimation, the sober, moral private far above the dissipated officers. We look not to title for the man; though title and rank be piled on and heaped up in profusion, yet if that manly spark and principle be lacking I defy you to show me the man. We should all remember that beneath the meanest exterior may sometimes be found the purest heart or brightest intellect. But we must move on and get a view of
LAKE MAJESTY,
and even now I fear time and space will not permit me to do it justice, though I possessed the power, which I do not claim. I had hoped to describe the scenery on Anna’s Creek, which stream we follow up for a distance of seven or eight miles, on our way to the Lake. But as time will not permit, suffice it to say that it is grand, the stream having its course through a canyon with perpendicular walls of stone from 200 to near 1,000 feet in height. We took dinner about fifteen miles from the Fort and arrived at camp, two miles from the Lake, and proceeded to construct a bower of boughs to shelter its slumbering inmates from the rude intrusion of the blasts and chilling dews or frosts that never fail, in clear weather, to moisten the face of nature in this elevated region. Having made all things ready for the night we sought our couches to dream of what we should see on the morrow. This great natural wonder is situated on the summit of the Cascade Mountains. The trail to it is becoming plainer and more worn each year, from the great number of persons who visit it during the summer and fall months. It is yet very rough, crooked and difficult to drive a team over, yet teams are driven to the bank of the Lake. The trail is through a dense forest of timber peculiar to the altitude, only such as grows on high mountains. Small streams and bubbling brooks greet the eye and slake the thirst of the traveler at every turn until you get within about a mile and a half of the Lake. The ascent is not very steep nor difficult for horsemen or footmen, and good grass is plentiful this time of the year, as far as water is found up the mountain. There is nothing beyond, however, to indicate a body of water ahead, and the adventurer is impressed with the idea, or rather the feeling, that he is above all traces of water–in fact beyond the power– of vegetation to grow. There is no change in the scenery to notify one that he is nearing one of the grandest scenes in the world, but knowing that it was ahead of us, patiently we toiled onward and upward, pausing now and again to get breath to enable us to pursue our journey. One has no notice of the nearness of the Lake until the whole scene, in one grand view, breaks upon the astonished gaze of the traveler. Here we stand, upon the brink of a mighty basin hollowed out by the hand of nature in some of her terrible upheavals. Standing upon the brink, the placid bosom of the Lake is spread out two thousand feet below. There are but two places discovered where it is possible for man to reach the water, and even here the utmost caution is required. The Lake is said to be about ten by fifteen miles in extent, yet so pure is the atmosphere and so transparent the water that the distance across does not seem one third of what it really is. An island stands about two miles from the shore, and is estimated at 1,500 feet in height, composed of lava and cinders. An excavation is left in the top about one hundred feet deep. This island is supposed to have been the last chimney or crater to the mighty volcano that was in active operation here, and was the instrument in the hands of nature in changing and transforming a vast extent of country. For many miles around, the country is covered to a considerable depth with pumice stone and other rocks of volcanic origin. Just imagine this immense cauldron, containing between 100 and 150 square miles, and mayhap thousands of feet deeper than is indicated by the surface of the water, filled with molten lava and threatening every moment to inundate the country with liquid fire–its fiery tongues of flame shooting upward as if defying the gods themselves, for its perpendicular rock-bound sides bear evidence of having struggled with the flames in their mad attempts to escape from this rocky prison–and you have a faint idea of what I conceive this lake once to have been. There are points about this mystic spot that are probably 3,000 feet above the water. One point is known as “Sore Thumb,” from its peculiar shape, resembling, as it does, the hand of a man doubled with the thumb projecting above the fist, with a portion torn off. It is one of the highest points in the vicinity, and from its summit an extensive view can be had. The Lake, it is said, has been sounded to a depth of 600 feet, and in places no bottom has been found. There is no visible inlet or outlet, and the water is as transparent as crystal. Huge banks of snow repose on the inner rim of this basin the year round. From the south bank we turned southward and were surprised with the splendid view spread out before us. There, twenty-five miles away, slumbered Big Klamath Lake, mountain barriers encompassing it, and its many tributaries wending their way to add their mite to swell its burden of waters. The whole Lake and Basin was spread out in one extended view and gave such a view as many would travel hundreds of miles to see. But we were destined to see what no other party has seen–
LAKE MAJESTY IN A SNOW STORM.
About noon the sky became darkened with clouds, the wind arose and the blinding snow limited our vision to a few hundred yards. I descended to the water’s edge, entered the boat and pushed out into the Lake, whose placid bosom but so short [a] time ago had seemed incapable of motion, but now the agitated waves began to roll, and whitecaps to break on the shore. The majestic cliffs, now that I had got to the bottom and was looking up, seemed terrific [i.e., terrifying]. I was getting uncomfortably cold, my boat was leaking and I floating upon the surface of the waters which had smothered out the fires of this once lake of fire, and a storm was upon the deep. The sensation was not a pleasant one. I succeeded in reaching shore, moored my boat, and after the hardest task for the same length of time in my experience reached the top, met my wife, who was almost ready to start in search of–a husband–thanked my fortune she was not a widow, took a last farewell look at Lake Majesty, and returned to camp, tired and hungry, while the ground was rapidly being covered with snow.
I’ll tell my readers of Rogue River Falls in my next and ask pardon for making this so lengthy.
Oregon Sentinel, Jacksonville, September 26, 1874, page 2
