Uh-oh!
I originally skipped over this installment.
(I thought the story jumped around!)
WE were up with daylight the second day out, and while I cooked a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon and coffee, Miller got the boat ready for the day’s journey by stowing all bedding, etc., and arranging the dunnage in its proper place. Our night and morning routine was the same every day of the trip, making for speed and satisfaction all around.
Shortly before 9 o’clock we sighted our first steamboat, several miles above Kennewick, and heading upstream. So we landed on the east bank and climbed to vantage points, where Miller, with his big 8x10-inch camera and Pathescope, and I with my trusty Graflex, made ready to shoot the steamer as she approached. And it might be mentioned that it made a very pretty picture.
The steamer was the Twin Cities, a boat we were destined to see many times going and coming on our trip, and which went through the Celilo locks and canal with us later.
We were under way again a little after 9, and shortly ran into the Horn Rapids, above Richland. We shot through easily, and at 10:30 passed the mouth of the Yakima River, which flows in from the westward.
This was the first tributary we had passed in the two days, and this absence of tributary streams impresses upon one the dryness of the country on both banks of the Columbia in this section of the state. Sagebrush and sand, rocks and rattlesnakes, are about all the land supports till water is poured upon it, and then it raises unbelievable crops. In fact, the irrigated valley of the Yakima is one of the richest sections of the whole state of Washington.
Miller stayed with the boat while I went up to the city, about a mile from the landing, to get
some gasoline and other supplies. Later, when I returned, Miller went to the city and reloaded his plate holders at a local photograph gallery, returning to the boat in company with A. R. Gardner, publisher of the Kennewick Courier and a very interesting chap.
Kennewick and her sister city, Pasco, are situated in the midst of a very prosperous ranching and apple raising district, and are attractive little cities in every way. When one considers that only a few years ago there was nothing but sage brush and sand hills where these towns now stand, one realizes what irrigation means to this vast section of Washington.
Swinging out from Kennewick at 2 p. m., we were soon shooting along under the Northern Pacific railroad bridge in swift and shallow water, and in half an hour we came to the mouth of the Snake, that tempestuous stream that is second only to the Columbia in size and volume in this great northwest land. A large island and bar obstruct the mouth of the Snake, but the main channel to the south of this island appeared deep, though swift.
It is interesting to note here that on January 8th of this year Senator Wesley L. Jones of Washington introduced a bill in the United States Senate to have the War Department survey the Columbia River from the mouth of the Snake to the foot of Priest Rapids, where
our trip started, with a view to the immediate improvement of the river for easy navigation. The War Department has already done this work for the Columbia from the mouth of the Snake to the sea, and much work is being done in the way of blasting out obstructions, dredging channels, etc. That the cities along the Columbia are awakening to the value of the river as a real commercial highway is reflected in these efforts to remove every menace to navigation, making the river safe to all types of river craft, including the smallest motor boats.
Our arrival at the mouth of the Snake marked our entrance into a part of the river that is particularly rich in historic interest. For it was here that Lewis and Clark, those intrepid explorers sent out by President Thomas Jefferson to find the headwaters of the Missouri and the path to the Pacific Ocean through the Rocky Mountains.
first entered the mighty Columbia in their canoes and periogues. They emerged from the
Snake into the Columbia on October 16, 1805; we came to the mouth of the Snake almost exactly 110 years later, for we were there October 15, 1915. The waters of both rivers were at an extremely low stage the year they came, as it was when we were there. According to their measurements the Columbia is 960 yards wide at the junction point and the Snake 575 yards wide.
Pursuing our way down the stream, we came in sight, shortly after 3, of badly breaking water toward the west shore, and though we tried to avoid it, found that the channel was there and it was up to us to “shoot the chutes.” We were in the thick of it in no time, and went tearing down what we afterward learned were the Homly Rapids. These were the worst rapids we had yet experienced, and one wave slapped a bucketful of water over on me as I sat astern, the first water we had thus far shipped. The current runs at the rate of about eight miles an hour through these rapids, so we evidently made about fourteen miles speed in running
The brilliant morning sun revealed to us a wonderful change in scenery that we only half appreciated the night before. It was the first real change encountered since leaving Priest Rapids. For two days we had floated down through the sand and sage brush country.
where occasional irrigation had spotted the banks with green, but now we entered into a weird land, where volcanic rock, brown and bleak and forbidding, was piled and pushed and hurled into a thousand fantastic shapes.
To the tourist bent on best seeing America first, I can commend few sights more impressive than the Wallula Gateway of the Columbia River. Out of the gradually ascending plain, on the east bank, rise to a thousand
feet or more immense piles of basaltic rock, which wind
and weather have softened and worn into columns and
pillars and spires.
On the Washington shore this weird portal is guarded by columned rock even higher, and quite as impressive, and from the gateway westward the river rolls on between highlands of volcanic rock so forbidding, so awesome, and so barren of the mark of human habitation,
that one can not help feeling that the bawling rapids shouldering his craft along are carrying him for all time into the Never-Never land.
To me, this part of the river, from the magnificent Wallula Gateway to Bonneville, below the Cascade Locks, is in many ways the most interesting portion of the great waterway. I have taken the much advertised trip up the Hudson River from New York to Albany many times, and while it is a beautiful trip, why, the scenic features could be scattered along the Columbia from the Wallula Gateway to below Hood River and one would hardly notice them, they would be so overshadowed by the natural beauties and attractions along the route.
This holds true ofthe much-touted “Palisades of the Hudson,” too, for those beautiful
palisades could be used as a side show for many a real piece of scenery on the Columbia. And once get the trip down the rapids of the Columbia as well known as that other famous trip, down the St. Lawrence, and many a new steamer will have to be built to accommodate the tourists who will yearly flock to this coast and make this journey.
Several times we stopped to take pictures, and about noon headed into Bull Run Rapids, against which we had been warned. These were not bad however and we dashed through
them with little difficulty. Shortly afterward we negotiated Bull Run Shoal, also without any difficulty, though both were “bad water.”
All forenoon and well into the afternoon we were floating along between palisades of volcanic rock, every mile bringing into view new shapes and new scenes, each more
weird than had gone before. The river was wide and deep, save where there were well-marked rapids or sand bars. From the time we started we had been warned against the terrible Umatilla Rapids, and these we had in store for this day, so that the afternoon found us on the lookout for any sign that we were approaching the raging water. We had been told
that the main channel through the rapids was indicated by two range marks on the hills of the Oregon shore, so we scanned the hills for these marks as the afternoon wore on. We had no chart to go by, the distances and locations given us by well-meaning boatmen along the
river were never twice alike, so it was up to us to find our own way.
About 3 o’clock we came to what answered every description of the Umatillas save that there were no shore beacons. There was the reef almost straight across the channel, the water boiling into it, and the ragged rocks beyond. And, strapping on our life preservers, we headed into it, Miller picking the channel as usual.
(To be Continued)
visible for miles both up and down the river. Its sides are very steep and it has been
scaled but few times and then only with the utmost difficulty by the hardiest of climbers.
I originally skipped over this installment.
(I thought the story jumped around!)
WE were up with daylight the second day out, and while I cooked a breakfast of flapjacks, bacon and coffee, Miller got the boat ready for the day’s journey by stowing all bedding, etc., and arranging the dunnage in its proper place. Our night and morning routine was the same every day of the trip, making for speed and satisfaction all around.
We were under way at 7:20 a. m., a fine, early start on a glorious day. Seven miles below camp we took the east channel along an island. and it seemed like a veritable" irrigation ditch, it was so quiet for a time. But suddenly it began to speed up, and worse than that, big boulders began t.o show their round tops above the water. And for every one that showed there were others that were just below the surface. Our course through this patch was a weird zig-zag, and I kept the little Ferro going only enough to keep us from swinging broadside to the current.
Shortly before 9 o’clock we sighted our first steamboat, several miles above Kennewick, and heading upstream. So we landed on the east bank and climbed to vantage points, where Miller, with his big 8x10-inch camera and Pathescope, and I with my trusty Graflex, made ready to shoot the steamer as she approached. And it might be mentioned that it made a very pretty picture.
The steamer was the Twin Cities, a boat we were destined to see many times going and coming on our trip, and which went through the Celilo locks and canal with us later.
We were under way again a little after 9, and shortly ran into the Horn Rapids, above Richland. We shot through easily, and at 10:30 passed the mouth of the Yakima River, which flows in from the westward.
This was the first tributary we had passed in the two days, and this absence of tributary streams impresses upon one the dryness of the country on both banks of the Columbia in this section of the state. Sagebrush and sand, rocks and rattlesnakes, are about all the land supports till water is poured upon it, and then it raises unbelievable crops. In fact, the irrigated valley of the Yakima is one of the richest sections of the whole state of Washington.
Two miles above Kennewick we encountered swift, shoal water for some distance, but we managed it nicely, and went scooting down to Kennewick on a good five-mile current. The Kennewick landing is in a little bight on the west shore, and into this we turned, and pulled up beside the little steam ferryboat that serves as the only link in the highway between Kennewick and Pasco, a mile back from the east bank.
Miller stayed with the boat while I went up to the city, about a mile from the landing, to get
some gasoline and other supplies. Later, when I returned, Miller went to the city and reloaded his plate holders at a local photograph gallery, returning to the boat in company with A. R. Gardner, publisher of the Kennewick Courier and a very interesting chap.
Kennewick and her sister city, Pasco, are situated in the midst of a very prosperous ranching and apple raising district, and are attractive little cities in every way. When one considers that only a few years ago there was nothing but sage brush and sand hills where these towns now stand, one realizes what irrigation means to this vast section of Washington.
Swinging out from Kennewick at 2 p. m., we were soon shooting along under the Northern Pacific railroad bridge in swift and shallow water, and in half an hour we came to the mouth of the Snake, that tempestuous stream that is second only to the Columbia in size and volume in this great northwest land. A large island and bar obstruct the mouth of the Snake, but the main channel to the south of this island appeared deep, though swift.
Even at this low stage, the Snake pours a great volume of water into the Columbia and its influence was very noticeable in the increased size and flow of the Columbia below the confluence of the two rivers. We had hoped to get into the Snake, and possibly add the trip from Lewiston, Idaho, to its mouth, as part of our itinerary, but lack of time made this absolutely impossible.
It is interesting to note here that on January 8th of this year Senator Wesley L. Jones of Washington introduced a bill in the United States Senate to have the War Department survey the Columbia River from the mouth of the Snake to the foot of Priest Rapids, where
our trip started, with a view to the immediate improvement of the river for easy navigation. The War Department has already done this work for the Columbia from the mouth of the Snake to the sea, and much work is being done in the way of blasting out obstructions, dredging channels, etc. That the cities along the Columbia are awakening to the value of the river as a real commercial highway is reflected in these efforts to remove every menace to navigation, making the river safe to all types of river craft, including the smallest motor boats.
Our arrival at the mouth of the Snake marked our entrance into a part of the river that is particularly rich in historic interest. For it was here that Lewis and Clark, those intrepid explorers sent out by President Thomas Jefferson to find the headwaters of the Missouri and the path to the Pacific Ocean through the Rocky Mountains.
first entered the mighty Columbia in their canoes and periogues. They emerged from the
Snake into the Columbia on October 16, 1805; we came to the mouth of the Snake almost exactly 110 years later, for we were there October 15, 1915. The waters of both rivers were at an extremely low stage the year they came, as it was when we were there. According to their measurements the Columbia is 960 yards wide at the junction point and the Snake 575 yards wide.
Pursuing our way down the stream, we came in sight, shortly after 3, of badly breaking water toward the west shore, and though we tried to avoid it, found that the channel was there and it was up to us to “shoot the chutes.” We were in the thick of it in no time, and went tearing down what we afterward learned were the Homly Rapids. These were the worst rapids we had yet experienced, and one wave slapped a bucketful of water over on me as I sat astern, the first water we had thus far shipped. The current runs at the rate of about eight miles an hour through these rapids, so we evidently made about fourteen miles speed in running
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them. Which, with a small, heavily laden boat in shallow water, is some exciting.
About seven miles below the Homly Rapids we veered over to the east shore, and in the shadow of the Twin Sisters of the magnificent Wallula Gateway we camped for the night.
We knew we were at the upper end of a long series of dangerous rapids, that on the morrow our little craft would really be tested to its capacity for the first time, and the dull roar of the Columbia over nearby shoals didn’t help any to reassure us during the long night.
In spite of our apprehensions, however, we both slept soundly and awoke to a glorious day with weather conditions perfect.
The brilliant morning sun revealed to us a wonderful change in scenery that we only half appreciated the night before. It was the first real change encountered since leaving Priest Rapids. For two days we had floated down through the sand and sage brush country.
where occasional irrigation had spotted the banks with green, but now we entered into a weird land, where volcanic rock, brown and bleak and forbidding, was piled and pushed and hurled into a thousand fantastic shapes.
And the transition was not gradual, there was no slow changing from the one to the other. At the Wallula Gateway the Columbia bids adieu to its sand and sage brush shores and, hurled abruptly to the westward by the barrier of the Umatilla Highlands goes leaping and foaming away to the sea between banks that are a perpetual delight to the enraptured voyageur.
To the tourist bent on best seeing America first, I can commend few sights more impressive than the Wallula Gateway of the Columbia River. Out of the gradually ascending plain, on the east bank, rise to a thousand
feet or more immense piles of basaltic rock, which wind
and weather have softened and worn into columns and
pillars and spires.
And on the very point of these,
standing like grim sentinels of eternity, are the Twin Sisters, immense brown columns, symmetrical as though shaped by the hand of a giant sculptor.
standing like grim sentinels of eternity, are the Twin Sisters, immense brown columns, symmetrical as though shaped by the hand of a giant sculptor.
On the Washington shore this weird portal is guarded by columned rock even higher, and quite as impressive, and from the gateway westward the river rolls on between highlands of volcanic rock so forbidding, so awesome, and so barren of the mark of human habitation,
that one can not help feeling that the bawling rapids shouldering his craft along are carrying him for all time into the Never-Never land.
To me, this part of the river, from the magnificent Wallula Gateway to Bonneville, below the Cascade Locks, is in many ways the most interesting portion of the great waterway. I have taken the much advertised trip up the Hudson River from New York to Albany many times, and while it is a beautiful trip, why, the scenic features could be scattered along the Columbia from the Wallula Gateway to below Hood River and one would hardly notice them, they would be so overshadowed by the natural beauties and attractions along the route.
This holds true ofthe much-touted “Palisades of the Hudson,” too, for those beautiful
palisades could be used as a side show for many a real piece of scenery on the Columbia. And once get the trip down the rapids of the Columbia as well known as that other famous trip, down the St. Lawrence, and many a new steamer will have to be built to accommodate the tourists who will yearly flock to this coast and make this journey.
In many places the Columbia's banks are made up of these towering pocks of columnar basalt, which rival and often excel the famous highlands of the Hudson River. In fact, the Columbia scenery has no equal in either the Hudson or St. Lawrence.
As I remember the St. Lawrence trip, there is nothing in the whole river that compares in beauty of both river and surrounding scenery with the hundred and fifty miles of Columbia from the Wallula Gateway down.
And I know that the famous Lachine Rapids aren't half as thrilling as the roaring Umatillas, for I’ve run both of them.
On this gorgeous morning of our third day out Miller and I climbed the heights of the east portal of the gateway, and from vantage points took many pictures up and down the
river. Not until nearly 11 o’clock did we get under way, and then we took a side sweep around the east shore of the river to avoid the shoals whose roar had worried us the night
before.
river. Not until nearly 11 o’clock did we get under way, and then we took a side sweep around the east shore of the river to avoid the shoals whose roar had worried us the night
before.
Several times we stopped to take pictures, and about noon headed into Bull Run Rapids, against which we had been warned. These were not bad however and we dashed through
them with little difficulty. Shortly afterward we negotiated Bull Run Shoal, also without any difficulty, though both were “bad water.”
All forenoon and well into the afternoon we were floating along between palisades of volcanic rock, every mile bringing into view new shapes and new scenes, each more
weird than had gone before. The river was wide and deep, save where there were well-marked rapids or sand bars. From the time we started we had been warned against the terrible Umatilla Rapids, and these we had in store for this day, so that the afternoon found us on the lookout for any sign that we were approaching the raging water. We had been told
that the main channel through the rapids was indicated by two range marks on the hills of the Oregon shore, so we scanned the hills for these marks as the afternoon wore on. We had no chart to go by, the distances and locations given us by well-meaning boatmen along the
river were never twice alike, so it was up to us to find our own way.
About 3 o’clock we came to what answered every description of the Umatillas save that there were no shore beacons. There was the reef almost straight across the channel, the water boiling into it, and the ragged rocks beyond. And, strapping on our life preservers, we headed into it, Miller picking the channel as usual.
We shot through like an express train, and were bumped good and plenty by the waves, but were soon on the calmer water below the rapids and congratulating ourselves on the ease with which we had conquered the terror of the river.
(To be Continued)
Castle Rock on the North Shore Between Cascades and Vancouver
Rising sheer from the low lying river bank, Castle Rock is a beautiful land mark and isvisible for miles both up and down the river. Its sides are very steep and it has been
scaled but few times and then only with the utmost difficulty by the hardiest of climbers.
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