Part 3

What an immense affair it must have been, ages upon ages ago, when, long before the hot breath of a volcano soiled its hoary head, standing as a proud monarch, with its feet upon earth and its head in the heavens, it towered far, far above the mountain ranges, aye, looked far down upon the snowy peaks of Hood and Shasta, and snuffed the air beyond the reach of Everest. Then streams of fire began to shoot forth, great seas of lava were hurled upon the earth beneath. The elements seemed bent upon establishing hell upon earth and fixing its throne upon this great mountain. At last its foundation gave way and it sank forever from sight. Down, down, down deep into the bowels of the earth, leaving a great, black, smoking chasm, which succeeding ages filled with pure, fresh water, giving to our day and generation one of the most beautiful lakes within the vision of man.

In conclusion I will say, Crater Lake is one of the grandest points of interest on earth. Here all the ingenuity of nature seems to have been exerted to the fullest capacity, to build one grand, awe-inspiring temple, within which to live and from which to gaze upon the surrounding world and say: "Here would I dwell and live forever. Here would I make my home from choice; the universe is my kingdom, and this my throne."

JOSEPHINE COUNTY CAVES.

On Friday evening, August 24, 1888, S. S. Nicolini of Ragusa, Austria, E. D. Dewert of Portland, and the writer boarded the south-bound train for Grant's Pass, intent on a few days' outing. This town of Grant's Pass was so named for a pass in the mountains several miles south, where, in early days, the silent hero camped for the night.

Early Saturday morning my head was banged up against one end of our sleeping car, an instant after hearing the shrill whistle sounding down brakes. As soon as possible I got on the outside and found the engines standing within a few feet of a yawning chasm where a bridge had been. Now, however, seven bents had been burned away and a terrible railroad accident was averted by the quick eye of Engineer Elliott, who saw the fire as we turned the curve and stopped the train almost instantly.

At Grant's Pass, H. D., M. M. and F. M. Harkness joined us, and we started for the Josephine County Caves, about thirty miles due south, in the Siskiyou mountains. For twenty miles the trip was made over a very good road by wagon. At this point it became necessary to pack our things on two horses and walk over a trail into the mountains. On a hot day, this portion of the trip is very laborious, owing to the fact that it is up the steep mountain side about two-thirds of the way, and down an equally steep incline the remainder. We arrived at our destination a little before noon on the 27th, and found two openings, one above the other, and about one hundred yards apart, on the south side of a deep canyon. When out hunting a few years since, Elijah Davidson, of Williams Creek, found a bear and chased it into the lower entrance, thus discovering the caves.

Each entrance is high enough to admit a person without stooping, and is probably about eight feet wide. At noon we entered the upper cave. For a few feet the floor inclined inward; we then descended a ladder for about six feet, and found ourselves in a passage way eight feet wide by an equal height, which changed, however, at every step. Now it would be wider, and now narrower, now higher, and now lower. Walls, ceiling and floor were composed of solid rock. To describe them, appropriately would simply be to use a gift made divine by inspiration. No man can behold them, then impart to others an accurate idea of their appearance. Soon after entering we were compelled to progress on hands and knees, then stood upright in chambers ten feet high, the walls of which were white. Stalactites were first seen here, and involuntarily we cast sly glances around to discover the bodies of kings preserved beneath such droppings in "King Solomon's Mines." We wandered from place to place, from chamber to chamber, dragging ourselves through passage ways barely large enough to admit a human body, while with toes and fingers we worked along, or stood in the midst of rooms that reached far above us. Now we see a beautiful pool of clearest water, surrounded by a delicate crystal formation in the shape of a bowl. In color it is as white as the driven snow, while each crystal is oblong, projecting at right angles with the main portion for about an eighth of an inch. One peculiarity of these crystals that disappointed us was the fact that they change from white to a dull, yellowish color, immediately after being removed from the caves.

We were extremely anxious to try a new process for taking photographs in the dark, so Dewert took his camera and acted as photographer for the party. Owing to the limited space at times and cramped manner of locomotion it required the services of four men to carry the camera and accompanying necessities. Having reached a suitable place for a picture, the camera was first put in position, a board was laid on the top of it on which a tin reflector was placed, and a little powder called the lightning flash was then poured on the board in front of the reflector. At this point the order was given, "Douse the glim," and all lights were extinguished. The plate was exposed in perfect darkness, the powder was ignited, and instantly there was a flash of the most intense light. This light was so brilliant that, for several minutes, it caused in the eyes a glimmering sensation of light. Several photographs were taken in this way, which will doubtless prove excellent examples of what ingenuity can do in the dark.

It would require days of constant work to explore all the passages we found, whereas our time was limited to that portion of one day after 12 o'clock noon. For this reason we remained in the caves from noon to midnight, first examining the upper, then the lower one. This difference exists between them: The one above is possessed of fine stalactite formations, while below none appear. Instead, however, immense rocks are piled indiscriminately one upon the other, with great cracks between. Long ladders were used to climb to the top of the rocks, over the sides of which yawning pits could be seen that seemed to possess no bottom. Lack of time alone prevented us from making a thorough investigation, but I could not resist the temptation to climb over the side of one friendly rock for a few feet to see how it looked. Down for twenty feet the space remained unchanged, so that I could easily reach from rock to rock. It then widened out and I could proceed no farther without ropes, so I returned to the party. A fine stream of clear cold water flows from this cave and a strong breeze of cool air rushed forth also. At times in both upper and lower cave, the wind blew toward the entrance so that it was impossible to keep the lights burning. No traces of foul air have been found in either cave.

Before our visit, visions of square chambers filled my mind, only to be dashed aside when real ones presented themselves, the irregular shape of which could not well be surpassed. There are no parallel walls, few straight ones, but corners everywhere. The floor will pitch in all directions, likewise ceiling and walls. Beautiful views of stalactites and stalagmites stand out in bold relief against snow white walls. At the farthest extremity of the upper cave in one direction an immense chamber presents itself, and should be known as the devil's banquet hall. It is probably 75 x 150 feet and sixty in height. Great blocks of rock hang as by a thread from the ceiling, while on every side rocks of equal size lie in all conceivable shapes. Standing at the point of entry one looks at the opposite side and sees great cracks, yawning cavities with open mouths of blackness, dismal shadows, to which flickering lights give a ghoulish, dance-like appearance. Yes, the devil seems to be holding high carnival, while his imps would dance the night away. They bob up and down and swing their arms in fiendish glee, while the dance goes on forever. None can look therein without seeing these imps and their antics. The floor recedes rapidly from the entrance, and is composed of great rocks scattered in confusion. We placed a number of lighted candles in different places, then climbed to the opposite side to view them. The shadows had partially disappeared, crevices and holes in the walls not before seen became suddenly black and excited our curiosity, so we climbed over high rocks into unknown passages. In a small chamber on one side we found a beautiful stream of water, falling several feet into a crystal basin. The walls of the chamber are white, and the effect by candle-light is very fine.

Midnight found us still employed, but we reluctantly ceased our labors and withdrew. Without unnecessary ceremony we wrapped our blankets about us, laid down beneath the stars, and slept the sleep of the just until 3 o'clock, when the dulcet notes of a coyote called us to the business of the day. Preparations were quickly made for the journey, and at daylight we were on our way to Grant's Pass, where we arrived at 9 o'clock P.M.

OUR MOUNTAINS IN WAR.

It is a curious fact that the home of Liberty has always been in the mountains. The reason for this is, that Nature intervenes every barrier to prevent conquests, and shields the native mountaineer from onslaughts of a foreign foe. The ringing words, "Make way for Liberty," could never have become immortal had it not been for a mountain pass. The memory of William Tell would not now be cherished by liberty-loving Swiss, were it not for the friendly crags of the Alps that sheltered him. Here in the Northwest we are blessed with a wonderful mountain range, extending from California through Oregon and Washington to British Columbia.

For beauty, grandeur and extent it has no superior; while as a field of defense, it simply stands unparalleled, and is rich in minerals, agriculture and commerce. Located at from forty to a hundred miles apart are the following mountain peaks, covered with perpetual snow: Baker, Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, Hood, Jefferson, Three Sisters, Pitt and Shasta. From each of these, convenient points of prominence are visible in the Coast Range, one or more of which in turn are visible from every harbor and city as far south as San Francisco. In case of a foreign war it is one of the possibilities of the Oregon Alpine Club to organize a sort of Signal Corps, say five hundred men, each of whom would be thoroughly familiar with every pass, crevasse and crag in the mountains where detailed for service. With a liberal supply of provisions and ammunition on each peak, scarcely anything short of a pestilence could dislodge them. What could a foreign army do around Mt. Hood, for instance, with fifty resolute men well armed and equipped on the summit.

It has been but a few years since the entire force of the United States Army was successfully defied by Captain Jack and a dozen Indians in the Lava Beds; and yet we have here every advantage of the Lava Beds, to which is added precipices to the north, east and west, while to the south a narrow passage would permit men to ascend, but it is necessary to cut every step in the ice; while directly across the base of this precipitous glacier, a crevasse extends, of unknown depth, which varies in width from three to forty feet, according to the season. It is needless to say that every wounded member of the assaulting party would pay the penalty with his life, for the slightest misstep would hurl him into the crevasse where "moth doth not corrupt and where thieves do not break through and steal." Now for the point of this article. Give to the corps a liberal supply of heliographs and instruct the men how to use them. In this way a perfect system of communication can be established by which messages can be sent from point to point in an instant. Say, for instance, that a hostile fleet was lying at Victoria and a descent on San Francisco was planned. From a spy within the enemy's lines, the party on Mt. Baker gathers full particulars, and immediately informs San Francisco of the contemplated attack, giving full particulars, including number of ships, men and guns.

NIGHT ON THE SUMMIT OF MOUNT RAINIER.

Monday, August 14, 1889, Mr. J. Nichols, of Tacoma, and the writer, left Tacoma for Mt. Rainier, determined, if possible, to reach its highest point.

The provisions, blankets, alpine stocks (a hickory staff seven feet long with a steel point at one end), alpine ax and all that was necessary in making the ascent easy, were taken from Tacoma, while pack horses were procured at Yelm, a station twenty-five miles south of Tacoma, and from which the trail leads eastwardly to Mount Rainier. It first follows river bottoms, then mountains, ridges and river bottoms again, while an occasional fording of the glacial stream, lends interest to the ever-changing scenes. We aimed at the end of each day to camp where feed could be obtained for hard working horses. Darkness coming on as we reached the first ford, left in some doubt the exact location of the crossing, so camp was made on the bank of the river with nothing but oats for our tired horses. Daylight found us fording the river, which had risen during the night about ten inches, making it quite exciting as the foaming water splashed the horses' sides, and wet our feet and ankles.

Stopping at the first place where hay could be had, a stay of nearly two hours was made for breakfast for ourselves and horses.

From our last night's experience, we decided to carry hay with us and camp wherever night should overtake us, which was at the foot of a high mountain our trail led over, and on the bank of the river as before. The day was uneventful, if we omit mention of the many hornets' nests we passed through and the four pheasants which fell before the unerring aim of Nichol's rifle. The pheasants led us to a fitting close of the day in the shape of pheasants and dumplings, prepared by the writer and pronounced by Nichols (who, by the way, is an epicure) to be simply _par excellence_. And here I might add that the writer is a single man.

The end of the third day found us at the Hotel Longmire at Hot Springs, located on the southwest slope of Mt. Rainier, at an altitude of three thousand feet, and some five miles from the perpetual snow limit. And no finer people ever lived than Mr. and Mrs. Longmire, who own and preside over the hotel and springs. The hotel material was cut by hand out of the finest grained cedar that ever grew--boards twelve inches wide and fifteen feet long--as perfect as though sawed.

As a matter of information for those interested, it might be well to say here that the waters of the springs are positively life-giving. The writer has visited many mineral springs, and has never seen anything that will compare with the stimulating and health-giving qualities of these springs.

But, to resume: we left the springs next morning, with a single pack horse, expecting to leave the horse at the top of the ridge (eight thousand feet altitude) overlooking Paradise valley, and, with blankets on our backs, to make our way to Ewing's camp, ten thousand five hundred feet above sea level. We reached Paradise valley, and, finding the same had been so well and truly named, decided to stop till next day and enjoy some of its beauties. Accordingly, camp was pitched, fire-wood gathered, and a camp fire built, and a pot of beans placed thereon. After a light lunch we strolled, enjoying the alpine beauties of the valley, well named Paradise.

During the afternoon the wind changed to the southwest, and clouds gradually spread over the firmament. From our experience a year ago on Mount Hood in a storm, at no higher altitude than we now were, no thought was given to ascending higher till fair weather and a northwest wind prevailed. Morning dawned and no indications of good weather. Our spirits were accordingly depressed. Observing the barometer, we found it moving quite rapidly in the direction of storm. By noon the sky was heavily overcast, and an hour later undercast as well.

By 3 o'clock rain began to fall. The wind had already risen to quite a gale. Re-staking our tent, digging a ditch around the head and sides, and piling wood and rocks along the edges to keep out the wind and rain, we crawled into our blankets and awaited developments. Soon the storm broke upon us with all its alpine fury, and raged during the entire night. By morning the rain had turned into sleet and snow, the thermometer, at daylight registering 34 degrees. Shortly the storm ceased. After some difficulty a fire was started and coffee made. Sampling our pot of beans, which had boiled at least four hours, we found them still hard; after an hour more boiling we emptied them on the ground, having learned that beans are hard to cook at an eight thousand foot altitude. Our barometer still indicating foul weather, we decided to start at once for a more congenial climate. Accordingly our shivering horses (which we had blanketed) were packed and four hours later we were at the Springs hotel, in a rather moody frame of mind. Tuesday morning all was clear, the barometer indicated fair weather, and we started early, reaching the 8500-foot ridge at 1 P.M. Turning our horses loose to feed upon the succulent grass, we bound our blankets upon our backs and started for Ewing's camp, altitude 11,000 feet. Evening coming on, we made camp at 10,500. Clearing away the rocks, leaving a sandy bottom, we stretched our light, small tent, banking wet sand around the edges to keep out the piercing wind, which almost invariably blows at high altitudes. Placing our oilcloth over the damp, cool sand, we soon had a comfortable bed. For tent poles we used our alpine stocks, one of which was seven and one-half feet long. Our bed being satisfactorily arranged, we took notes on the scenery, temperature, etc. A haze hung over the valleys; in fact, it rose to a height of nine thousand feet. The rosy-tinted summits of Hood, Adams and St. Helens towered away above it, however, reflecting the rays of the declining sun.

The chilliness of the temperature, 28 degrees, prevented us from remaining long outside our tent. Crawling in, we tightly fastened the flaps and really passed a comfortable night. Twenty minutes after 4 A.M. found us astir, and at five o'clock we were under way.

We had scarcely as yet taken time to admire the beauties of the scene, so intent had we been on getting an early start so as to be able to return before sundown to our blankets and provisions.

We soon had an opportunity to admire the beauties around and below us, as climbing above eleven thousand feet altitude is productive of sudden stops for rest and breath.

We expected to reach the summit by noon, at latest; but on account of the icy condition of portions of the mountain side, it was necessary to cut steps over quite long stretches. This delayed us more than two hours. Twelve o'clock came and went and we were not quite to the top of the "big rock"--a large rock on the south side, the top of which is about two thousand feet below the summit.

By 1 o'clock we were past the rock several hundred yards. From here to the summit we crossed eight or nine crevasses. The snow or ice stood in pinnacles often six and seven feet high.

Three o'clock came and the top was still beyond us. Having no blankets or provisions, the question now presented itself: Could we make the summit and back over the dangerous points before dark. Not much talking was done, however, as breath was too precious; but we still pushed on.

At 4 o'clock we held a council of war and decided that since it was already so late we could not return before dark, and we would make for the summit, where steam caverns were said to exist, and where Messrs. Longmire and Van Trump stayed over night in '83. They found themselves in the same predicament we were now in, by their determination to reach the summit. This being settled, we pushed on, turned out of our way by first one and then another obstacle, until we found ourselves about one hundred feet, not more, below the summit of the highest western bump or dome. From this we descended about a hundred feet, and thence across a level piece of snow about one-third of a mile, to the foot of the main pinnacle, in which is located the crater.

Some three hundred feet (in altitude) more climbing, over ashes and fine pumice stone of the outside walls of the crater, and we stood on the apex of one of the highest mountains in the United States. Mr. Nichols claims the honor of being the first and only Tacomaite who has reached the summit.

It was now 5:10 P.M., the thermometer registering 23 deg. above zero; and having no blankets, our first business was to find a warm place in the steam to pass the night. Steam could be seen issuing from a dozen different places on the inside rim of the crater, say sixty to seventy feet below the crest.

Writing our names on a card, with a short account of the climb, we placed it inside of a small box, on which was inscribed, "Oregon Alpine Club, Portland." This was left on the top of the ridge. We heaped rocks around it to prevent the wind from blowing it away. We soon found a sort of semi-spherical opening in the rocks, from which the warm steam poured forth. Clearing away the rocks, leaving a sandy bottom, we built a wall of rocks two feet in height to break the wind, and then turned our attention to looking for canned corned beef.

We were told a can had been left there by Prof. Ingram's party ten days before. This was soon found, together with a package of French chocolate, a box of sardines and some cheese. We were already the possessors of one lemon. As nothing more was needed we got into our den. Taking a cup found lashed to a rock on the crest of the crater and filling it with snow we placed it in our oven and soon had plenty of water.

We ate some lunch, but fourteen and fifteen thousand foot altitudes are not productive of strong appetites, so we ate sparingly, and being so completely exhausted soon fell asleep.

About 8 o'clock P.M., we were rudely awakened by what appeared to be a dash of ice water in our faces and down our necks. The sky being clear the ice water was explained a few moments later. The wind had arisen and was drifting dry snow--(eight inches of which had fallen Sunday)--from a bank about fifteen feet distant, against the sloping roof and walls of our warm den; thus the snow was turned to water by the time it reached our faces. To prevent being so rudely drenched again we removed our coats, which were then wrapped around our heads.

The wind having veered to the west, some anxiety was felt that a storm might arise before we could return. However, fortune smiled upon us in our dizzy resting place so far above the clouds, and morning dawned clear, cold and beautiful.