Empires of the Turning Tide

A History of Lewis and Clark National Historical Park

and the Columbia-Pacific Region

Douglas Deur

2016

With Contributions by

Stephen R. Mark, Crater Lake National Park

Deborah Confer, University of Washington

Rachel Lahoff, Portland State University
Members of the Wilkes Expedition, encountering the forests of the Astoria area in 1841. From Wilkes' 

Narrative (Wilkes 1845).

Cover: 

"Lumbering," one of two murals depicting Oregon industries by artist Carl Morris; funded by the Work

Projects Administration Federal Arts Project for the Eugene, Oregon Post Office, the mural was painted in

1942 and installed the following year.

Back cover:

Top: A ship rounds Cape Disappointment, in a watercolor by British spy Henry Warre in 1845. Image 

courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

Middle: The view from Ecola State Park, looking south. Courtesy M.N. Pierce Photography.

Bottom: A Joseph Hume Brand Salmon can label, showing a likeness of Joseph Hume, founder of the first

Columbia-Pacific cannery in Knappton, Washington Territory. Image courtesy of Oregon State Archives,

Historical Oregon Trademark #113.

Cover and book design by Mary Williams Hyde.

Fonts used in this book are old map fonts: Cabin, Merriweather and Cardo.

Pacific West Region: Social Science Series

Publication Number 2016-001

National Park Service

U.S. Department of the Interior 

ISBN 978-0-692-42174-1
Table of Contents

Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region i

1 The Environments of the Columbia-Pacific Region 1

A Brief Introduction

2 The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region 11

at the Time of European Contact

3 The Unknown Coast 25

European Exploration and the Maritime Fur Trade in the

Columbia-Pacific Region

4 Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery 47

Explorations on the Pacific Shore

5 The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific 63

Native Nations and the Fur Traders of the Early 19th Century

6 Reoccupying the Land 87

Settlers and the Formation of Agricultural Landscapes

7 A Rush of Silver 117

The Rise and Fall of Salmon Canning on the Lower Columbia

8 Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land 151

The Historical Development of the Columbia-Pacific Timber Industry

9 Navigating the Bar 187

Early Lifesaving and Aids to Navigation at the Mouth of the Columbia River
10 An Arcadian Triangle of Fire 221

Landscapes of Militarization the Lower Columbia

11 Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation 259

in the Columbia-Pacific Region

12 Toward a Conclusion 301

The Historical Landscapes of Lewis and Clark National 

and State Historical Parks

Bibliography 311

Notes 371

Index 407
Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region

Since the beginning of human time on the lower Columbia, this great Western river

has been a nexus of regional significance, a place where natural bounty and Northwest inhabitants meet and mingle. Spilling from the Northwestern interior, the 

Columbia meets the coast with a scale and force that define the Columbia-Pacific 

region, as it is often called today. From the estuaries teeming with life to the wavepummeled outer beaches, and on verdant and rain-soaked slopes, water defines the

place. Here, the West’s largest river meets the Earth’s greatest sea. 

The human history of the Columbia-Pacific region matches the scale of its 

geography. A trade and transportation corridor for unknown generations before

Lewis and Clark’s tenure, the mouth of the Columbia has long served as a crossroads

between cultures, a geographical locus for the interaction of peoples from around

the region and across the globe. From ancient times into the present, this place has

also served as an economic locus, where the resource wealth of the Northwestern 

interior, from Willamette Valley beaver furs to Palouse grain, have crossed paths

with the incoming resources of the coast and Pacific basin. Long before Lewis and

Clark, people converged here to trade, to work together, and to share their ideas,

languages and songs.

Captains Meriwether Lewis and William Clark, whose visit in the winter of 1805–06

shapes the mandates and message of today’s Lewis and Clark National and State

Historical Park (LEWI), were keystone characters in many respects. They were 

symbolically central and catalytic figures, representing the vanguard of AngloAmerican exploration and ultimately, the reoccupation and transformation of the

larger Northwest region. Their influence in this story cannot be lightly dismissed.

Yet the captains and their Corps of Discovery were visitors, stepping into and back

out of a world they could only perceive through the lens of one rain-soaked winter

spent huddled on its shores. As the Corps’ ranks seemed to understand, they did 

arrived in a region with its own rich and ancient history. The history that would 

follow the Corps of Discovery’s visit would prove to have its own richness, bringing a

succession of new peoples and new ways of living that would change the land in 

— i —
profound and enduring ways. The arrival of Lewis and Clark was in this respect a

historical pivot-point, marking the end of thousands of years of autonomous Native

American occupation and the beginning of something quite different, a story still

being written today. The document that follows is in many respects an attempt to

place the Corps of Discovery’s journey in larger historical context, so these 

connections can be better understood.

If there are linkages that connect the successive phases of history in the region, they

tend to be rooted in the nature of the Columbia-Pacific landscape. The relationship

of humans with the distinctive lands and natural resources has always defined the

region’s character. More often than not, economies have centered on the 

accumulation and exchange of naturally occurring things—wild fish, trees from

coastal forests, otter and beaver furs taken from the shore—and the freedom of

movement along ocean beaches and navigable waters. Even the modern tourist

industry, which does not harvest from the land per se, still depends on these natural

landscapes for momentum and appeal. Beach, ocean, and mountainscape present

natural resources in their own right.

Another theme that links these phases of history is a tendency toward economic

busts and booms. Distant markets rise and fall and natural resources have at times

been harvested beyond the limits of sustainability—especially in the 20th century era

of laissez faire economies prior to the advent of regulatory controls. The sea otters

that first brought explorers and non-Native traders to this coastline were all but 

extirpated from the Columbia-Pacific region a century later, the species of the area

nearly extinct as otter furs adorned the hats, coats and capes of Asian and European

gentry. Beaver fared a little better, rebounding slowly from depressed numbers in

the 19th century. Salmon canning magnates arrived from depleted New England and

California fishing grounds, building a nationally significant salmon industry on the

banks of the Columbia estuary and feeding people throughout the nation, only to see

the fish numbers plummet and the industry depart for Alaskan waters a few decades

later. The Columbia-Pacific’s timber industry and the forests that spawned it are

still here today. Yet both are much changed. With modern tree farms bearing little

resemblance to the ancient forests that preceded them, timber products and

economies have transformed accordingly. As an industry that does not rely on 

resource extraction, tourism’s potential for overexploitation may be relatively 

small. Still there are thresholds that may yet limit or change its character as 

people arrive in growing numbers and the Columbia-Pacific becomes an

increasingly urbanized region.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— ii —
While the economies of the Columbia-Pacific region have risen and fallen like the

tides, new peoples have washed up on its shores with each cycle. The region’s 

history is characterized by remarkable ethnic diversity that continues to shape the

culture and character of the region. Long before Lewis and Clark’s journeys, resident

Native American communities—the Chinook, Clatsop and others—hosted traders,

travelers, and even slaves hailing from tribes throughout the Northwestern region,

gathering here to participate in a bustling trade at the river’s mouth. The European

fur trade in turn brought people of French-Canadian, Native Hawaiian, Cree, 

Iroquois, Metis, and other ethnicities to the river’s mouth who worked under the

oversight of a British (often ethnically Scottish) managerial class. 

As the fur trade waned, new industries developed through the initiative of venture

capitalists, largely of northwestern European extraction and mostly from the 

American East, who recruited immigrant labor to build their empires. Some 

recruited immigrants from southern China, mostly male, who served as laborers in

the region’s canneries and early farms. Indeed, for a time the Chinese population 

rivalled that of the native-born American population in the Columbia-Pacific 

region. Some also recruited Scandinavian immigrants—Norwegians, Swedes, and

Finns, in particular—who moved to the region as families. They helped build the

early logging industry, worked in canneries and fishing boats, and eventually

founded their own businesses and small farms. In time, new waves of immigrant

labor arrived. For example, Japanese workers came in the early 20th century only to

be removed under nationwide internment policies during World War II. Since their

departure, other newcomers have come, especially laborers from Mexico and parts of

Central and South America. Their presence in local industries has been widespread. 

Especially since the late 20th century, their impact is felt in every part of the 

burgeoning tourist industry. Native American labor has remained a small but 

persistent part of the local economy. Successive generations of immigrants have left

lasting, multigenerational imprints on the region’s demographic landscape, sharing

traditions and values with one another, often intermarrying, producing a cultural

mélange in the Columbia-Pacific region that has persisted in spite of homogenizing

influences within American culture.

Each of these economies and communities has a bearing on the story of Lewis and

Clark National and State Historical Parks. The various sub-units of the parks—no

less than ten of them—include Cape Disappointment and Fort Columbia State Parks,

Station Camp, and Dismal Nitch in Washington, as well as Fort Clatsop, the Fort-toSea Trail, Fort Stevens, Sunset Beach, the Lewis and Clark Salt Cairn in Seaside, and

Ecola State Park. (The Yeon property, newly-acquired at the time of this writing, is

— iii —

Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region
addressed here too, albeit parenthetically.) These park sub-units are widely 

dispersed along the region’s shoreline and intersect with the historical geographies

outlined above in myriad ways.

The scale and scope of this document reflects this broad impact. The National Park

Service initiated the study with an ambitious vision, hoping it would provide a 

context for discussing the human history of the Columbia-Pacific region, including

the whole of Clatsop County in Oregon, and Pacific and Wahkiakum counties in

Washington. This was done in part to aid the public’s understanding of historical

themes, but also to aid anyone seeking to nominate properties in these parks to the

National Register of Historical Places. At the time this research began, there were

ongoing discussions within the communities of the Columbia-Pacific region and the

offices of the National Park Service of a potential National Heritage Area that might

be centered on the mouth of the Columbia, thus contributing to this document’s

broad geographical scope. As the research progressed and the National Heritage

Area proposal was tabled, this study’s objective narrowed somewhat, focusing on

the historical context of lands now within Lewis and Clark National and State 

Historical Parks.

During this early planning for the study, the park superintendent at the time, David

Szymanski, and the regional managers for Washington and Oregon state parks, 

expressed a desire to see the document written in a certain way. They wanted to 

provide the public with accurate and compelling interpretations of the parks, 

outlining broad storylines that would help interpreters situate past events on park

lands within a broad and integrated historical context. Though their seasoned 

interpreters would know many of the stories included in the study, the document

might be used to help train new interpreters, as well as to share the study’s findings

with a public curious about regional history. These managers also expressed interest

in illuminating familiar themes—the fur trade or salmon canning—through the

lenses of environmental and ethnic history, providing perspectives that have 

sometimes been overlooked in conventional historical treatments. Furthermore,

they expressed a wish that we steer clear of fine-grained discussions of the Lewis

and Clark Expedition, already a mainstay of park interpretation, to focus instead on

events before and after their arrival that would situate the events of the winter

of 1805–06 in their broader historical context. There was little interest in 

producing a manuscript defined primarily by the logic and lingo of the National

Register of Historic Places, and they urged that we not turn the final report into

a planning document that would bore the masses and sit dusty and unused on

office shelves. The document in your hands has been produced in response to 

this larger vision.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— iv —
— v —

Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region

A map of the LEWI Parks. Courtesy Chris Clatterbuck, National Park Service.
With such an ambitious scope, the breadth of the study is understandably vast, 

addressing key themes in human history over a period spanning hundreds of years.

In light of this, the content had to be bounded by certain parameters. Foremost

among these is a focus on historical developments that have imprinted the 

landscape, within parks or within sight of them. The research began with an 

attempt to define our key themes, reviewing which National Register properties 

existed in the area and conducting a windshield survey of historic properties in and

immediately adjacent to the parks. From this effort, we defined what themes might

require the greatest attention, while also illuminating the parks’ future nomination

needs for the National Register. The research team, principally Steve Mark, has 

produced National Register Nominations “context statments” for Cape 

Disappointment and Fort Columbia State Parks as part of this effort, while author

Douglas Deur produced similar documentation for Fort Stevens (Deur 2014). Other

spin-off documents from these early investigations were compiled separately, such

as a windshield survey summary report (Deur 2009) and an overview of the historical 

configurations of Fort George (Watters and Deur et al. 2009). They are available 

from the National Park Service in the LEWI collections for anyone who wishes 

to see them.

While this exercise narrowed the list of topics, making park relevance a litmus test,

the scope of the document remains broad. Writing summarily about any of the 

topics included—from the fur trade to salmon canning to the history of military 

occupation at the Columbia’s mouth—is at best a challenge. Volumes could be (and,

in many cases, have been) written about each of the themes discussed here with

great brevity. Although this can prove awkward, we have sought to provide basic

statements of historical context. Those seeking more depth are encouraged to mine

our bibliography, which lists the sources we have reviewed, and to reach out to the

staffs of our regional and state museums, many of whom have a vast knowledge of

the topics at hand. A portion of the larger archive amassed for this project will be

stored along with the preexisting collection at the Lewis and Clark National 

Historical and State Parks Archive, where it will be available to researchers and

members of the public who seek greater detail.

Other factors have also made this research effort unique. The author, a longtime

principal researcher on cultural and historical matters for the national parks and

tribes of the West, has lived in the study area much of his life. His younger years

were spent listening to the stories of community elders, exploring the history and

derelict industrial landscapes of the forests and tidelands, navigating the cold, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— vi —
The Columbia-Pacific region. Courtesy Patrick Hammons, Cartographer.

— vii —

Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region
cavernous interiors of the old military forts, and watching Columbia-Pacific’s 

archaeological sites slowly erode into the sea. His family’s history is connected, at

least tangentially, with many of the themes outlined herein. This local knowledge

has helped to inform the content of the document in various ways. 

From start to finish, this was very much a group effort. At each stage, the work was

supported by fellow researchers Steve Mark (National Park Service), Deborah Confer

(University of Washington), and Rachel Lahoff (Portland State University), all of

whom contributed to the writing of sections of this document. Portland State 

University graduate students, especially Roy Watters, assisted in literature-review

tasks. Lewis and Clark National and StateHistorical Parks (LEWI) staff, including

David Szymanski, Deb Wood, and Chris Clatterbuck, made intellectual contributions

of their own, as did National Park Service cultural resource specialist Gretchen 

Luxenberg. Finally, the document was reviewed by a number of topical specialists

including Jim Sayce (Washington State Historical Society), Betsy Millard and Barbara

Minard (Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum), Chrissy Curran (Oregon State Historic

Preservation Office), Tricia Gates Brown (professional editor and former director of

the Cannon Beach History Center), environmental advocate and poet Cameron

LaFollette, Alex McMurry (Washington State Parks) and NPS historian Steve Mark. 

Indeed, the staff at almost every museum in the Columbia-Pacific region has made 

a contribution to this project: the Clatsop County Historical Museum (Astoria), 

Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum (Ilwaco), and Columbia River Maritime Museum

(Astoria) most of all, but also the Pacific County Historical Museum (South Bend)

and various local museums in Warrenton, Seaside, Cannon Beach, and beyond. The

Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum provided many photographs, as well as volunteer

assistance that went above and beyond the call of duty. The archives and staff of the

Washington and Oregon State Historical Societies in Tacoma and Portland aided

considerably in identifying sources for this work while providing photographs of

their own. So too, the official state archives in both states were of assistance, as

were the archives of particular agencies, especially Washington State Parks and the

Oregon Parks and Recreation Department. Certain local park staff members, such as

recent Washington State Parks retiree Donella Lucero, have made invaluable 

contributions to this effort. Staff members from certain federal archives, including

the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) archives in both Seattle

and Washington, D.C., assisted in certain tasks, as did the archivists from the 

National Park Service in both the Pacific-West and Washington, D.C., Support Offices. In addition, representatives from tribes with varying degrees of local interest 

— viii —

Empires of the Turning Tide
— ix —

Foreword: Land and Life in the Columbia-Pacific Region

have provided brief but useful comments to the author in the course of this work,

including members of the Chinook, Clatsop-Nehalem, Grand Ronde, Quinault, and

Siletz tribes. 

Finally, considerable non-Native oral tradition has aided in the effort, the 

observations and personal collections of loggers, fishermen, farmers, hoteliers 

and avocational local historians. The contributions of each of these sources were

compiled, focusing attention on those that place park history in the context of 

regional history. In the pages that follow, the results and contributions of 

aforementioned sources are summarized thematically. This document is presented

with the hope that, taken together, they might provide a foundation for future 

investigations and for good conversation regarding the history of the ColumbiaPacific region. 
Cannery worker, Walt Hansen, processing Chinook salmon on the Columbia estuary waterfront.

Photo courtesy Columbia-Pacific Heritage Museum.

Empires of the Turning Tide
 !-34/0,1/ 3/.*41#4.-34)1(% 022+0+4"3'01/4

A Brief Introduction

raining a vast inland basin encompassing 260,000 square miles of the Pacific

Northwest interior—from the Canadian Rocky Mountains to the drylands of

Nevada and Wyoming, and from Idaho to vast portions of Montana, Oregon,

and Washington—the Columbia River tumbles toward the ocean. The Columbia is a

mighty river, but it must give way to the sea. On its lower reaches, the Columbia 

is effectively an estuary, shaped by tides and growing increasingly salty as it 

progresses from the Columbia River Gorge to the Pacific. Indeed, harbor seals 

(Phoca vitulina) and twice-daily tides encountered near modern Bonneville, 

energized members of the Corps of Discovery in late October 1805, signaling that 

the ocean was within reach. Here in the Columbia-Pacific region, where the Columbia River makes its final westward run, the river is swift but calm, rising and falling 

with the tides until it meets the heaving Pacific beyond the Columbia River bar.

The Columbia-Pacific region has been fundamentally shaped by the meeting of 

the river’s drainage and the sea. The recoverable geological history of the region

suggests that for millions of years some sort of estuary was situated on this part of

the coastline, where the waters of northwestern North America meet the Pacific. By

geologists’ reckoning, complex arcs of volcanic islands and submarine lava flows

erupting from deep below the Earth’s crust, once dotted this shallow estuary of what

would become the Columbia outfall during the Eocene period roughly 49 million

years ago. Portions of these islands became the Crescent Formation foundations of

important local landmarks, such as the Willapa Hills and Cape Disappointment

(Lasimanis 1991; Snavely 1987; Walsh et al. 1987). The turbulent geologic history of

this region, where oceanic and continental tectonic plates collide, continued to 

reshape the coast in dramatic ways. It produced volcanoes, uplifting mountains and

submerging coastlines, and caused earthquakes and tsunamis. 

In the Miocene epoch, roughly 11 million years ago, the collision between oceanic

and continental plates seems to have accelerated (Orr and Orr 2006). The pressure

— 1 —
and mass of underground magma spiked, just as the continental plate lurched 

westward, creating vast fissures in the bedrock of eastern Oregon and Washington

that oozed liquid lava, flowing downstream along the ancestral Columbia River’s

course. Meeting the Columbia estuary and the sea, sometimes with explosive force,

these flows cooled in and around the river’s course to become today’s Columbia

River Basalts. 

The arc of mountains, including Saddle Mountain and Tillamook Head, created by

these flows mark one ancestral course of the Columbia cast in heavy black rock. The

results are impressive, including the wonderfully rugged scenery of Ecola State

Park’s headlands and offshore rocks, as well as peaks up to 3288 feet in the case of

Saddle Mountain. So high are these peaks, in fact, that they contain islands of rare

vegetation isolated since the last ice age amid mountaintop forests of Pacific silver

fir (Abies amabilis). The prominent backbone of Clatsop County, this volcanic 

mountain chain—Saddle Mountain in particular—is a key landmark in all local 

history and features prominently in oral traditions and spiritual practices of 

Native peoples to the present day.

Figure 1.1 – A portion of the Cape Disappointment headland in the 19th century, prior to its 

development. The rugged headlands of this coast, as well as its loftiest peaks, bear the hallmarks of

ancient volcanic events. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

In the eons that followed the formation of the Columbia River Basalts and as 

tectonic forces lifted the coast upward, the region’s rainfall ensured the downcutting

of streams through fractured lava rock, leaving behind mountainous terrain visible

today. Sediments from the adjacent estuary and shorelines, trapped amid the 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 2 —
volcanic landforms and folded by the continued collision of tectonic plates, created

vast lenses of sandstones, siltstones and mudstones. These sedimentary formations

often contain fossils of fish, shellfish, and other estuary-dwellers, some long extinct

on this coast. Whether volcanic or sedimentary, bedrock is heavily weathered

throughout the region. And as a result of mild climate, dense vegetation, and no 

history of glaciation, soils are deep. Tree roots and flowing water work their way

down into mazes of bedrock fissures making it difficult at times to discern where

soils end and bedrock begins.

Sediment passing down the Columbia contributes much to the look of the outer

coast. Mud, silt, and sand build shifting shoals in the river’s mouth, hazards to early

navigators that are regularly dredged today. On the ocean beaches, sand-sized 

particles settle out to form the brilliant, light beige beaches of the outer coast, home

to unique shellfish such as razor clams (Siliqua patula) and a diversity of durable,

drought-tolerant plants, isopods, birds and other beach dwellers. Especially in the

last 3000 years, the sands have accumulated, causing beaches and dunes of the outer

coast to creep incrementally westward. Geologists have found, for example, that the

age of each dune ridge in Clatsop Plains is younger as one progresses from the east

(such as Cullaby Lake) to the west (such as Sunset Beach). Dune lakes and marshes

are found in abundance in these places, where streams and rivers were partially

trapped behind the advancing sand. Likewise, former Native American villages on

the dune ridges are successively younger as one moves from east to west, since the

residents were compelled to move as sand accumulated and left them isolated from

the shore (Connolly 1992; Rankin 1983). The accretion of sands even appears 

prominently in the oral traditions of the Clatsop, who clearly spent considerable

time observing the phenomenon and its effects, and who attributed some portion 

of the change to Coyote, who shaped many facets of the natural world:

“Coyote was coming. He came to Gôt’a’t [near Seaside, Oregon]. There he met a heavy surf.

He was afraid that he might be drifted away and went up to the spruce trees. He stayed there

a long time. Then he took some sand and threw it upon that surf: “This shall be a prairie and

no surf. The future generations shall walk on this prairie.” Thus Clatsop became a prairie.

The surf became a prairie” (in Boas 1894: 101).

The fundamental cycles of the Columbia-Pacific region are defined by the seasons.

In the winter, low-pressure systems centered on the North Pacific send spiraling 

cyclonic storms, rotating counterclockwise, pounding one after the other into the

— 3 —

The Environments of the Columbia-Pacific Region: A Brief Introduction
Columbia-Pacific region’s coast. Strong south winds dominate the coastline from

fall into spring, occasionally gusting to hurricane force and tossing surf high along

its shoreline, with waves rising to 30 feet or more. Ocean currents pull strongly from

south to north in this season, carrying logs and debris from distant places to the

south. So potent are these forces that some Native American traditions describe

South Wind as one of the world’s most potent spiritual beings. The tribes of the 

Columbia-Pacific region had protocols for making claims to giant redwood logs that

were carried from the coasts of northern California and used in fashioning large 

canoes (Deur and Thomson 2008; Harrington n.d.). 

Beaches erode, but Columbia River sediments moving northward each year help to

replenish the 28-mile Long Beach Peninsula, one of the longest continuous sand

beaches on Earth. Most of the region’s heavy precipitation arrives in this season,

from around 65 inches per year in the lowlands to 150 inches or more in places where

high peaks wring moisture orographically from the storms sweeping onshore. Frosts

are relatively uncommon. Snow typically falls only in the higher peaks, though there

is historical evidence to suggest that winters were colder and snowfall more 

abundant in past centuries (Schulz 1990).

In the summer, the scene changes dramatically: high pressure systems settle on 

the North Pacific, bringing relatively calm weather, gentle surf, and light, north

winds. In this season, ocean currents turn southward, with the Columbia sediments

helping to build up beaches along the Clatsop County shore. Yet the currents also

pull slightly offshore in this season. This creates a hydrological vacuum in waters 

immediately along the shoreline, a phenomenon that pulls cold, nutrient-rich water

from deep in the ocean to its surface in the nearshore zone, a process called 

upwelling. The nutrients in these waters feed a seasonal burst in plankton and 

other small organisms that, in turn, support a rich oceanic food chain, attracting

large schools of fish, whales, nesting seabirds, and other marine life to feed and

breed. When making contact with warm air above, these cold ocean waters can 

produce impressive fogs—sometimes termed upwelling fogs—that creep onshore

many summer days. In addition to increasing humidity and causing modest 

precipitation, these frequent fogs moderate temperatures so that coastal lowland

temperatures can range from the 50s to 60s Fahrenheit in the summer, reflecting

the ocean’s chill, when temperatures are 10, 20, or even 30 degrees higher a few

miles inland.

The dominant vegetation of the region is shaped in many ways by these forces of 

geology and climate. Standing tall along the outer coast, Sitka spruce (Picea 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 4 —
Figure 1.2 – Mature Sitka spruce trees in the Oregon coastal forest. Photo courtesy Oregon State 

University Archives, Special Collections.

— 5 —

The Environments of the Columbia-Pacific Region: A Brief Introduction
sitchensis) is the dominant forest tree. Members of the Corps of Discovery marveled

at the prevalence, and sheer scale, of this tree:

“The hunters who were over the Netull the other day informed us that they measured a pine

tree [Sitka spruce] which at the hight of a man’s breast was 42 feet in the girth about three

feet higher, or as high as a tall man could reach, it was 40 feet in the girth which was about

the circumpherence for at least 200 feet without a limb, and that it was very lofty above the

commencement of the limbs. from the appearance of other trees of this species of fir and

their account of this tree, I think it may be safely estimated at 300 feet. it had every 

appearance of being perfectly sound” (Meriwether Lewis, March 10, 1806).

Found close to the ocean from northern California to southern Alaska, this tree has

found a winning strategy for coastal living. Its stalwart but lightweight wood has 

allowed stands of Sitka spruce to survive countless winters of violent storms while

remaining upright. As discussed in the pages that follow, this would lend the tree

national importance in the construction of early airplanes. Broad but shallow roots

allow spruces to stay upright (usually) while avoiding the perennial water table not

far below the ground’s surface. Piercing-sharp needles with porous exteriors capture

fog droplets, so that on foggy summer days spruce roots are supplied with constant

moisture while other trees go without for weeks or months at a time.

Standing among the spruces, and benefitting from spruces’ ability to withstand

storms and capture fog, are the western hemlocks (Tsuga heterophylla)—not as

durable, but uniquely adapted to germinate and grow within the dark, protective

cover of the spruce-hemlock forest. In certain well-watered but protected places,

stands of western red cedar (Thuja plicata) can be found, with reddish wood, often

tight-grained and soft compared to other woods, rich in tannins and uniquely 

resistant to rot. The red cedar is the cornerstone of the Native toolkit—used in

everything from houses to canoes to clothing—and shingles made from old cedars

are in high demand today for their matchless durability. Wildfires are remarkably

rare in the fog belt, making it possible to find cedars (or cedar stumps) in excess of

1000 years in age (e.g., Long and Whitlock 2002). Only in the interior hills and

mountains of the region, where summer fogs are rare and fires more common, does

one find the iconic Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii), which has been such a 

mainstay of the modern timber industry. Immediately along the shoreline one often

finds a tree more widespread in the arid interior Northwest, shore or lodgepole pine

(Pinus contorta var. contorta), a salt-tolerant tree that can survive long, dry summers 

in the draughty, sandy soils of the beachfront in a way that hints at its aridcountry kinship.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 6 —
The forests of this region are among the most productive in the temperate zones of

the world, if measured in total biomass. The region also boasts a diversity of lichens,

insects, and fungi so vast that it is still being catalogued today. Within forests well

watered and dense, understory plants tend to be tolerant of shade, saturation, and

highly acidic soils. Because windborne seed dispersal is difficult in this 

environment, many species grow berries, with their seeds dispersed through 

the forest in the digestive tracts of myriad animals—humans sometimes among

them, enriching the diets of everyone concerned. 

Native people of the region traditionally employed fire at the margins of these 

imposing forests. Fire produced needed clearings for settlements and camps, opened

vistas, fostered the growth of culturally preferred plants such as camas or bracken

that colonized such clearings, and produced predictably rich hunting grounds (Deur

1999). Early Euro-American settlers also struggled to find clearings in the forest,

often occupying areas formerly cleared by Native Americans before embarking on

their own efforts to push back the forest margins and build new settlements. 

Decomposition in this mild, moist climate is rapid, and historical structures 

disappear from the landscape with astonishing speed. Moreover, under a constant

barrage of rainfall and conifer litter, the soils are generally quite acidic, making agriculture a more challenging prospect than the region’s rich vegetation might suggest.

Heavy precipitation runoff feeds a number of smaller rivers and streams in 

addition to the formidable Columbia. A few produce estuaries, where fresh water

meets the sea. Some of these estuaries are river dominated, admitting large rivers

and little seawater, and as a result, especially in the rainy winters, have low salinity

by the standards of tidal environments. The Columbia and Necanicum estuaries are

excellent examples. Others estuaries are ocean-dominated and relatively saline,

admitting only small rivers and exchanging vast quantities of seawater with each

tide. Within the Pacific Northwest, Willapa Bay is widely known as an estuary of this

type, providing a home to unique sea life such as the native Olympia oyster (Ostrea

conchaphila) and a number of flatfish.

These rivers and streams are home to a great diversity of fish. All five species of 

Pacific salmon return from the sea each year to spawn in the Columbia and in other

waterways of the region, while sturgeon (Acipinser spp.), eulachon (Thaleichthys 

pacificus and possibly the origin of the name Oregon), and other riverine and 

anadromous fish abound (Byram and Lewis 2001). Most famously, the Columbia and

other rivers of the region are home to the Chinook or king salmon (Oncorhynchus

tshawytscha), which defined Native traditional fishery and commercial fisheries 

— 7 —

The Environments of the Columbia-Pacific Region: A Brief Introduction
Figure 1.3 – The Chinook salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha) – the iconic fish of the Columbia River,

and the cornerstone of the 19th century fishing industry, named for the Chinook people of the 

Lower Columbia River. From National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, Alaska Fisheries 

Science Center.

alike, especially prior to 20th-century construction of Columbia River dams. In the

smaller waterways, coastal Coho salmon, cutthroat trout and steelhead thrive, living

their freshwater life phases in shallow, marshy streams, often in and around ponds

and backwaters that form behind beaver dams. As they swim to and from the sea,

these fish have historically fed in extensive kelp forests, undulating, submerged

stands of the giant bull-whip kelp (Nereocystis luetkeana) that are home to several

species of rockfish, with scavengers such as Dungeness crab (Cancer magister) lurking

below. Sea otters, now extirpated, once frolicked in these kelp beds and sustained

them by eating the sea urchins that graze on juvenile kelp. Their thick fur, much

prized by Native Americans and early European traders (“the riches[t] and I think the

most delicious fur in the world,” according to Meriwether Lewis), which allowed the

animals to survive in cold waters without the aid of thick blubber, played no small

role in prompting Euro-American exploration and occupation of this coast (Lewis,

February 23, 1806, in Moulton 1990: 339). 

Much of the landscape has changed since the arrival of the Corps of Discovery, as

will be discussed in the pages that follow. Still, the environmental fundamentals of

the Columbia-Pacific region have helped to define the limits and opportunities of

life on this coast from the beginnings of human time to today.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 8 —
Figure 1.4 - A sea otter (Enhydra lutris) mother with small pup. The sea otter was widespread 

in the region, being hunted by Native American communities and prompting the earliest 

European exploration and settlement in the region. Photo by Michael L. Baird, bairdphotos.com,

made available courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

— 9 —

The Environments of the Columbia-Pacific Region: A Brief Introduction
Figure 2.1 – A map of the tribes of the lower Columbia River, from the Cascade Range to the sea, from

the first published edition of the Lewis and Clark journals. From P. Allen, N. Biddle, W. Clark and M.

Lewis 1815, Map of Lewis and Clark’s Track across the Western Portion of North America. London: 

Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orne & Brown. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 10 —
 !-3431$(341#4.-34)1(% 022+0+4"3'01/

2.4.-34!0 341#4%,1$32/4)1/.2+.

escending into the tidal lower reaches of the Columbia River, members of

the Corps of Discovery recognized they were entering a distinctive cultural

landscape. Along the estuary of the mighty river, they found themselves

traveling through a densely settled land, home to peoples, cultures and polities that

were unlike anything they did seen on their journey across North America. The 

Columbia estuary and the adjacent coastline were exceptional, as they must have

sensed, with one of the largest and densest indigenous populations in North 

America north of the urban civilizations of Mexico (Kroeber 1953; Hodge 1907). 

Traveling along the shores of the Columbia estuary on the eve of European contact,

it would have appeared to a visitor that this was a place of rare resource abundance

and wealth, and surprisingly urban by Native North American standards. Almost

every habitable portion of the shoreline was used by Native communities, for such

purposes as villages, resource camps, fishing stations, hunting grounds, plant 

gathering areas, burial sites, spiritual or healing sites, and the like. Likewise, on the

ocean coast, major settlements sat wherever freshwater rivers and streams entered

the sea. The Corps of Discovery did not encounter a wilderness on the lower 

Columbia, then, but a homeland to thousands of people and one of the most 

economically and culturally vibrant places in the Northwest.

The tribes of the Columbia-Pacific region were of vital importance to the Native 

and non-Native history of the Pacific Northwest (and some maintain critical, if 

more symbolically important, roles today). The Chinook proper, or Lower Chinook, 

traditionally occupied the entire northern shoreline of the Columbia River, from

Grays Bay to the sea. Their claims also extended over the greater proportion of

Willapa Bay, the Willapa Hills, and the entirety of the Long Beach Peninsula. At 

almost every place within this homeland where river meets sea, the Chinook had

sprawling waterfront villages of cedar plank longhouses. On Willapa Bay, villages 

sat at the mouths of the Palix, Nemah, Bear, and Naselle Rivers. These were ideal 

fishing sites and convenient for accessing the diverse resources of the bay. There

— 11 —
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 12 —

were also villages on the Long Beach Peninsula, in grassy clearings near Nahcotta

and Oysterville, prime sites for shellfish harvesting and other tasks tied to western

Willapa Bay and the ocean beaches beyond. In their northern territories, beyond Bay

Center and including the northern shores of Willapa Bay, Chinook territory and 

society was interconnected with that of Salish-speaking peoples, Lower Chehalis

bands including those called the Willapa, for whom the bay is named. Chinooks 

sometimes co-occupied villages and shared resource sites with these people, whose

language was quite different but whose culture and values were much the same. It

was, however, along the Columbia River, especially along the sweeping shore of

Baker Bay from Megler to Cape Disappointment, that the vast and powerful Chinook

community was concentrated. Here they were most typically encountered by 

visitors, especially in the spring and summer when people moved back to the 

riverfront from Willapa Bay and other interior winter communities. Here there 

were several independent settlements, on almost every habitable waterfront patch

of ground, large villages situated at places later called Fort Canby, Ilwaco, Chinook,

McGowan, and other names. Between them, and in the uplands adjacent, sat an 

almost continuous constellation of traditional fishing stations, plant gathering

areas, burial sites, and other places of cultural importance. Together, these Baker

Bay villages formed a single cultural and social unit—in some respects, the Chinook

core—and represented one of the great cultural, social, and economic powerhouses

of the contact-period Northwest (Ellis in press; Silverstein 1990; Ray 1938; Curtis

1911; Boas 1894).

To the south of the Columbia, from the vicinity of Tongue Point to the sea, were the

Clatsop. Closely related in language and culture to their Chinook kin to the north,

the Clatsop occupied much of the coastline in the Oregon county now bearing their

name. While apparently somewhat smaller in number than the Chinook across the

river, they also occupied a long east–west string of larger villages lining the 

Columbia estuary’s south shore, from the vicinity of Fort Clatsop to Point Adams

(today’s Fort Stevens). At the time of European contact, Clatsop villages sat on the

mouth of the Lewis and Clark River, Youngs River, and Skipanon Creek, as well as in

modern Hammond, Fort Stevens, and places in between. As on the northern side of

the river, the spaces between and adjacent to these villages abounded in resource

camps, fishing stations, hunting grounds, burial sites, and ceremonial spaces, all the

things needed to sustain such large and settled communities. A smaller, secondary

hub of settlement centered on the Necanicum estuary in modern-day Seaside and

Gearhart. As on the northern side of the river, the Clatsops from the Columbia River

villages often retired to the Seaside villages and other smaller settlements for the

winter months. And, as the Chinooks were connected to their Salish-speaking
— 13 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact

neighbors to their north, so the southern Clatsops shared villages and resource sites

with the Salish-speaking northern Tillamook. Finally, as with the Chinook villages

across the river, the Columbia estuary villages of the Clatsop—occupied most

densely in the spring and summer—functioned as a social, cultural, and economic

unit in many respects and were a powerful center of trade and ceremony in the 

contact-period Northwest (Ellis 2013; Silverstein 1990; Taylor 1953; Ray 1938; Curtis

1911, 1913; Boas 1894).

Figure 2.2 - The interior of a Chinookan longhouse, as seen by the U.S. Exploring Expedition, led by

Charles Wilkes, in the 1840s and drawn by A.T. Agate. From Wilkes (1845). Image courtesy Wikimedia

Commons.

Southward were the Nehalem (or northern) Tillamook, Salish-speaking peoples 

who differed in language, if not necessarily in culture, from the Chinook and Clatsop

to the north. While the exact delineation of territories is problematic, the Nehalem

Tillamook are typically associated with the area from Tillamook Head south, with

major population centers concentrated on Nehalem and Tillamook Bays. Yet 

Nehalems also lived alongside Clatsops in what were multi-tribal communities at

Seaside and apparently Cannon Beach, and the contact-period residents of Ecola

State Park also appear to have been northern or “Nehalem” Tillamook (Boas 1894;

Jacobs n.d.; Harrington n.d.).
Other ethnolinguistic communities occupied interior places. To the east of the 

Chinook were the Wahkiakum Cathlamet, whose territories extended upstream 

from Grays Bay to near Cathlamet, Washington, with large villages situated on the

mouths of each tributary river along this reach. Meanwhile, Cathlamet proper 

occupied the upper Columbia estuary along its south bank from roughly Tongue

Point to the vicinity of modern Rainier, Oregon. All of these groups spoke Chinookan

languages, closely related to Chinook and Clatsop. Meanwhile, in the interior 

mountains of Pacific and Clatsop Counties lived two relatively small and culturally

distinct Athabaskan groups, the Kwalhioqua and Clatskanie, respectively. 

Linguistically related to the Athabaskans of interior Alaska and the Navajo, these

populations were small, relatively distinctive culturally (to the extent that this can

be inferred from limited evidence), and ceased to exist as independent groups by 

the early 20th century (Ellis 2013; Silverstein 1990; Suphan 1974; Spier 1936).

The tribes of the Columbia-Pacific region shared rich traditions of artistic, 

technological, and ceremonial practice that were common to each of these 

communities. Villages consisted of a number of longhouses, usually constructed of

hewed cedar planks, each housing one or more families. While house sizes varied,

large houses could comfortably accommodate tens of residents; some of the larger

villages had 10, 20, or (in the case of Middle Village and perhaps the Point Adams

villages prior to contact) more than 30 of these houses at certain times. Cedar 

canoes, often huge and custom designed for travel in rough waters, were carved

from individual trees, and canoe travel linked these villages along the rivers, 

bays, and sea. 

Both at these villages and from a constellation of seasonal camps, these peoples

harvested every imaginable fish, mammal, and plant for subsistence and cultural

purposes. Chinook salmon, coho salmon, steelhead, sturgeon, eulachon, and many

other fish were caught in season; mussels, oysters, crabs, razor clams, and myriad

other shellfish were sought in suitable settings as well. A diverse range of plant

foods was also key to the diet: berries such as salal, various huckleberries, and

salmonberry; roots such as silverweed, wild onion, wapato, and camas; fresh edible

shoots of salmonberry, thimbleberry, and cow parsnip. Whatever was desired but

not locally abundant could often be traded from nearby villages. Moreover, though

ethnographic evidence of the practice is scarce, Native peoples sometimes burned

meadows in such places as Clatsop Plains to facilitate the growth of culturally 

important plants like camas and bracken fern, and to produce predictable hunting

grounds. (Where modern disturbances have been few, the vegetation in certain units

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 14 —
— 15 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact

of Lewis and Clark National Historical Park bears hints of this history of traditional

vegetation management; further investigation would be needed to confirm the 

origins of such patterns.) Resources and land were claimed by particular villages and

village leaders and were in some sense owned. Each generation bore a certain 

responsibility to maintain balanced relationships with prey species through 

proscriptions on overharvest and respectful ceremonial interventions, such as 

the first salmon ceremony (Deur 1999; Boyd and Hajda 1987).

Figure 2.3 - “Lower Columbia” – a 1910 photo by Edward Curtis, of Chinookan canoeists on 

Columbia River tidewater. Digital image CP08031, Northwestern University Library, Edward S. 

Curtis’s “The North American Indian.

The Chinook and Clatsop, in particular, sat at the hub of a vast trading empire. This

involved the exchange of goods up and down the coast, as well as along the Columbia 

River from the Northwestern interior. Prized dentalia, the long, tooth-like shell

money of the Pacific Northwest, was carried by canoe to the major Chinook and

Clatsop villages by Nuu-chah-nulth (or Nootka) traders who gathered the shell in

the inlets of their homelands on the west coast of today’s Vancouver Island. Slaves,

raided from communities as far away as northern California by middlemen such as

the Klamath, were sold by the Chinook and Clatsop to tribes visiting from elsewhere

along the coast. A type of dried, pounded salmon— a local specialty product—that

was lightweight and easy to transport was such a popular trade item for the Clatsop

that they were named for it. Tlatcep means “those with pounded salmon.” Furs, 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 16 —

canoes, tools, foods, and any number of other goods passed through these villages 

as they were exchanged between tribes. 

A casual perusal of ethnographic and early historical accounts reveals an impressive

list of tribes converging at Chinook and Clatsop villages—Middle Village and the

Fort Stevens villages, in particular. They met there to trade, but also to socialize,

gamble, meet potential spouses, participate in ceremonial events, race, and sing: the

Kwakwaka’wakw (Kwakiutl) from the central British Columbia Coast; the Makah,

Quilleute, and Quinault of the northern Washington coast; the Yaquina, Alsea, and

Tillamook from the Oregon coast; and many, many others visited for these reasons.

They also came to fish. There are many accounts of visiting tribes being allowed to

fish alongside the Chinook, especially the Chinook of Baker Bay, at once sharing

some of the Chinook’s prodigious wealth, but also building and reinforcing 

relationships with anetwork of tribes that insured the Chinook’s primacy in regional

economic and social life. Especially among the high-ranking individuals of 

Columbia-Pacific tribes, a good marriage was a marriage with someone from 

another tribe, building intertribal social relationships that supported, and were 

supported by, economic relationships, and that insured deep ties with many of these

visitors and possible roots in the villages of the lower Columbia. Multi-lingual

“polyglot” communities were the norm, contributing to the development of a trade

language, Chinuk wawa or Chinook Jargon, which the people of the lower river honed

with time to bridge linguistic divides (Lang 2008; Hajda 1984).

While settlement was especially focused on the shorelines, the interior portions 

of northwestern Oregon and southwestern Washington are also of traditional 

importance to Native peoples. The highest mountainous areas, occupied by 

meadows and plant communities rare in the deep forests below, were often visited

for specialized hunting and plant gathering. Places such as Saddle Mountain and

Onion Peak in Oregon and the Bald Ridge and Gray’s River Divide complexes in

Washington served as places to hunt elk and gather onions (especially Allium 

cernuum), bear grass (Xerophyllum tenax), and other plants uncommon in the 

lowlands. Hunting was popular in these upland areas, along established elk trails or

in meadows, and hunters sometimes took advantage of the rough terrain to chase

elk, buffalo-jump style, off of precipices to be dispatched below.1 These highelevation places, far from the bustle of human settlements, were often of elevated

spiritual significance as well. Most Columbia-Pacific tribes’ oral traditions traced

their origins to events on Saddle Mountain, where ancestral beings emerge from the

eggs of Thunderbird, each descending to a particular watershed to found the region’s

tribes. Spirit questing often involved travel to places of such elevated importance:
Saddle Mountain, critically, but also places such as the higher elevations of 

Tillamook Head in today’s Ecola State Park.2

As the whole of the Columbia-Pacific region was occupied by Native American 

people in some manner and the densest centers of settlement hugged the shoreline,

it is clear that every sub-unit of the Lewis and Clark National and State Historical

Parks has some history of Native American use and occupation. A portion of this

history can be reconstructed from the available written record, though much of it is

still elusive. Contemporary Native American knowledge may yet help to fill gaps in

this record, which is summarized in cursory form here.

The options for settlement were limited at Cape Disappointment, in part because 

of a limited number of fresh water sources.3 At what later became Fort Canby on 

the protected eastern slopes of Cape Disappointment, sat the village of Walmlm 

(or Walumlum, meaning “rotting wood”), which was described as a village of 

approximately 10 multi-family longhouses during the time of European contact. In

addition to being a residential village, this was a fishing station of importance for

salmon and other species that occupied the boundaries between ocean and river. As

Ray’s interviewees noted, “fishing was excellent here at extreme low tide” (Ray

1938: 39). There is evidence to suggest extensive hunting as well, both of marine and

terrestrial mammals, such as seals and deer. The village was occupied by Chinooks

but was often visited by people from other tribes, who were sometimes granted 

fishing access by their resource-rich Chinook hosts. The village served as the 

westernmost extension of the large settlement complex occupying the shoreline of

Baker Bay. Adjacent portions of Cape Disappointment appear to have had diverse

functions, being used for hunting, plant gathering, lookouts, and spiritual purposes

linked to life in the villages below (Ray 1938; Boas 1894).

At today’s Station Camp sat the sprawling Chinook Middle Village (Qiqaiaqilxam,

meaning “middle town,” apparently referencing its central location among the 

settlements of the north bank), perhaps the single most powerful center of social,

political and economic influence in the Chinook lands and indeed along the entire

lower Columbia. Some sources suggest well over 30 longhouses lining the waterfront

at this place, sometimes called Chinook Point on early navigator’s maps until that

term was reapplied to the Fort Columbia area in the 19th century.4 With a 

commanding view up, down, and across the river, this village served as a center of

trading activity and social and ceremonial life to the Chinook. It was also visited by

tribes from throughout the region. A fishing site of great importance, salmon could

be netted here as they began their ascent up the Columbia. During the times of 

— 17 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 18 —

European exploration andfur trade, discussed in more detail in later sections, Middle 

Village played a distinctly prominent role. Adjacent landmarks, such as the modern

site of Fort Columbia, were reportedly clearings, used extensively by residents of 

the adjacent villages as a lookout and trail corridor, but also for ceremonial and 

utilitarian purposes related to life in the village complex situated below. It has been 

reported that the Chinook “called the point [Fort Columbia, today’s Chinook Point]

‘No’s-to-ils’ and the hill [now called Scarborough Hill] behind the point ‘No’si-misp’”

(Weathers 1989: 24, 31; Wilson et al. 2009).5

At Point Adams, on the banks of the Columbia near the site of the oldest military

fortifications, was the largest Clatsop village, Niak’ilaki (meaning “pounded salmon

place”). The location was also called Tlatcep (or Clatsop) village. This village was of

singular importance to the Clatsop. As Ray (1938: 39) noted, “it was one, perhaps the

largest, of a number of [Clatsop] villages in the vicinity. The early writers speak of it,

however, almost to the exclusion of all others.” Due in no small part to this village’s

prominence, the entire Clatsop people were known by this village-specific moniker

to arriving Europeans. Various accounts suggest the village had between eight and

ten large longhouses at the time of European contact, and a population in the 

hundreds. These sources also suggest that Niak’ilaki served as a center of fishing

and other forms of resource procurement. Salmon fishing was especially important,

as was the production of dried pulverized salmon that was among this village’s 

principal exports, and the basis for its name. As at Middle Village on the opposite

bank of the river, this cornerstone Clatsop village was also a major trading center,

hosting people from throughout the region who stayed in camps on the village’s

margin for days or weeks as they participated in economic,social, and ceremonial

activities. A short distance upstream were the large Konapee (named for a chief by

that name) and Naiaaqsta (meaning “at the head”) villages situated between 

Niak’ilaki and the center of modern Hammond, close to the northeastern boundary

of the modern park. Konapee village was said to have been massive at one time, with

40 or more longhouses, but was in rapid decline by the time of direct European 

contact (Ellis 2013; Deur 2008; Ray 1938; Boas 1894; Jacobs n.d.).

Close to Fort Clatsop, at the mouth of the Lewis and Clark River, was Ni’tl, or 

Netul, once a “very large village” that collapsed early in the history of European

exploration (Curtis 1911: 183). The Fort Clatsop site itself is widely agreed to have

been used by Clatsops—a use suggested by the large clearing occupied by the Corps

of Discovery—though its use is debated and was arguably in flux at the time of 

contact. This site is variously reported as the location of a small settlement. A burial

site, linked to Netul or the local village, was reported a very short distance of the fort
— 19 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact

site, denoted by some sources as “Memaloose Point.” By the time of Lewis and

Clark’s arrival, some part of the site was used seasonally as a resource processing

area for fish, game, and other products. The Fort Clatsop site, or lands along the

shoreline very close by, are said to be occupied by “two houses of Clatsops” on 

December 14, 1813, when traders from the North West Company came ashore there: 

“At noon we entered the river and proceeded up to Fort Clatsop. There we found two houses

of Clatsops, busily employed making mats and straw hats; they had an extraordinary 

Lewis and Clark in 1805-06, which are in total ruins, the wood having been cut down and 

Figure 2.4 – A detail of one of the earliest maps of the mouth of the Columbia, dating from the 

1840-42 explorations of French explorer, Eugene Duflot de Mofras. Clearly visible are the two large

villages at today’s Station Camp (“Indiens Chenook”) and Fort Stevens (“Indiens Clatsop”). In addition to

other Chinook villages, de Mofras included the site of Fort George and a somewhat misplaced 

reference to Fort Clatsop. From Duflot de Mofras, 1844. Carte du Rio Colombia Depuis don Embouchure

Jusqu’ au Fort Vancouver.... Paris: Arthus Bertrand. 
number of children...We walked up to see the old American winter quarters of Captains 

destroyed by the Indians...Having examined this spot, we returned to our horses, which are

left in the care of the Indians; there being no grass near the fort, we allow them to graze on

the salt marsh along the bay and river” (Henry 1897:771-72).

Writing in 1853, Preston Gillette appeared to be referencing this site, or one very

close to it, when he noted, “The small cleared spot at the landing was done principally by

Indians. It seems to have been a village or camping place occupied by them from time 

immemorial” (Gillette n.d.).

To the south, in what is today Ecola State Park, there were at least two settlements

including the Ecola Point and Indian Beach villages. (A third settlement, situated 

between these two, is suggested by archaeological materials at Bald Point, now

largely eroded away, though there are few ethnographic or historical references to a

village at this place.) Oral history shared by Nehalem Tillamook elders in the 1930s

suggests that the Ecola Point village (apparently called Dehontatch, perhaps 

referencing “baskets”) was a small community perched on the Ecola Point headland.

They specialized in hunting seals, sea lions, and other marine mammals in the 

offshore rocks below, “the sea lion rocks . . . where the olden Indians long ago 

used to go to spear the sea lions” (Harrington n.d.: 381). Elk hunting and shellfish

gathering were also common pursuits. The village apparently consisted of many

small houses, though the exact number cannot be ascertained due to landslides and 

erosion that have almost entirely washed away the site. Hand-holds were carved

into the cliff face leading down to the beach below, though these too are no longer

visible due to erosion. 

In a narrow gap at the southern base of Tillamook Head (Neaseu’su), eroded 

remnants of the Indian Beach village sit largely below the modern park’s parking

lot, its integrity much compromised by repeated impacts by road and, later, parking

lot development. Little ethnographic information was reported for this site, which

was largely abandoned by the time of Lewis and Clark’s arrival. It is clear, however,

that elk and marine mammal hunting and shellfish gathering were important to its

inhabitants. At least one petroglyph, no longer visible, was reported on the adjacent

beach (Deur 2008; Minor 1991; Harrington n.d.; Jacobs n.d.; Ross 1976). Near this

village, on the slopes of Tillamook Head, were places used to gather white clay for

purposes both ceremonial and ornamental. As Clark noted on January 7, 1806, while

crossing from Seaside to Indian Beach, “In the face this tremendeous precipice 

immediately below us, there is a Strater of white earth (which my guide informed me) the

neighbouring indians use to paint themselves” (in Moulton 1990).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 20 —
The other sub-units of Lewis and Clark National Historical Park (LEWI), while not

necessarily occupying major village sites, sat very close to such villages and were

part of those areas visited and used frequently by villagers living nearby. A short

distance north of Sunset Beach was a large Clatsop village, Niak’iwanqi (meaning

“where there is killing”), which sat where the former Neawanna Creek estuary

pierced the dunes on its way to the sea. This site is now buried below the sands in

what is today the Camp Rilea National Guard base, the Neawanna having turned its

course southward in the 19th century. A short distance from the Salt Cairn site in

Seaside, Oregon, was Nakut’at village, a sizeable community especially supported by

salmon fishing, berry picking, and the hunting of land and marine mammals, whose

Clatsop and Nehalem Tillamook residents befriended the Corps of Discovery (Lyman

1900). Other villages sat a short distance north and south. On the north shore of the

Columbia, not far west of the

Dismal Nitch wayside, was

Qailciak, apparently a small

fishing community on the far

eastern end of the Baker Bay

village complex.

Figure 2.5 – Clatsop Chief Tostom, 

a nephew of Chief Coboway, who

hosted Lewis and Clark in the 

winter of 1805-06. A signatory of

the unratified 1851 Tansy Point

treaty, which promised the Clatsop a

reservation encompassing Point

Adams, Tostom was the last leader

to oversee life at the prominent 

village at that Point until being asked

to vacate by Army Engineers 

beginning construction of Fort

Stevens in the 1860s. His 

descendants and those of his 

immediate family, still reside on

both sides of the Columbia. Photo

courtesy National Park Service,

Lewis and Clark National and 

State Historical Parks.

— 21 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact
Linking these villages were trails. True, waterways were the principal sources of 

food and water, as well as the highways of the region’s Native people, allowing for

efficient transportation by canoe. Yet trails linked most major villages, allowing for

travel by foot, especially when inclement weather brought wind and waves to the

coast. A trail is reported to have linked the Netul village near Fort Clatsop with

Niak’iwanqi, roughly approximating (but slightly north of) today’s Fort-to-Sea trail

route. In turn, this trail linked those villages to the villages of Seaside and points

south. Trails linking the Seaside villages, the villages of Ecola State Park, and the

village at the mouth of Ecola Creek (perhaps Necost) in Cannon Beach passed over

the top of Tillamook Head, roughly approximating the present trail route managed

today by Oregon State Parks (Harrington n.d.). Members of the Corps of Discovery

would make use of both trails in the course of their stay in the winter of 1805–06, as

they traveled to and from the salt cairn as well as the Necost village at the mouth of

Ecola Creek, seeking to barter for whale meat and blubber in January 1806. 

Other trails lined the shores of the Columbia. These linked the settlements on the

northern and southern sides of the river, respectively, while the Chinook forded 

between the Columbia at Baker Bay and the southernmost navigable reaches of

Willapa Bay on a trail linking the two. A major Chinook trail also skirted the eastern

edge of Cape Disappointment from the ocean beach to the waterfront at Ilwaco – a

riverfront terminus reported to be called “no skwalikul,” or “where the trail comes

out” in Chinook (Kytr n.d.b). In many places, and especially along the ocean, the

beach served as a trail of importance. Networks of trails also linked sites in the 

interior—the upper Naselle to Deep River, the upper Youngs River to the Nehalem,

and so on—ensuring that most major communities of the region could be reached 

by land, if not by water (Ray 1938; Dicken 1978).

Various lines of evidence make clear that the population encountered by Lewis and

Clark, though large and still culturally robust, was only a portion of what may have

existed a few generations before. Diseases such as smallpox seem to have already

found their way to the Columbia-Pacific well before their arrival, and members of

the Corps of Discovery remarked on the number of Native people with pock-scarred

faces. These epidemics apparently arrived through direct contact with ships on the

coast, but also through tribal trade networks linking the Northwest to the American

interior, from the Spanish-controlled Southwest, the northern Great Plains, and 

beyond. Such diseases brought a two-stage shock to Native societies, killing many

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 22 —
people during initial exposure, but also causing infertility among a number of 

survivors, so that the demographic effects of single epidemics echoed across 

generations (Boyd 1999). Moreover, the monumental subduction zone earthquake

and tsunami that struck during the night in January 1700 is likely to have caused

high mortality in some villages, a point suggested by tribal oral traditions up and

down the coast (Losey 2007). The populations encountered by Lewis and Clark were

therefore survivors of repeated disasters, who had maintained the integrity of their 

communities, economies, and culture in spite of repeated devastating shocks.

This had several specific consequences prior to the Corps of Discovery’s visit, and

certainly for decades thereafter (as will be discussed later in this document, in 

reference to the fur trade era). As the people of the region experienced episodic 

contractions in their population, survivors often regrouped with one another in 

certain villages. People from multiple villages came together in one place, perhaps

contributing to such phenomena as Chinookan and Salishan people living in shared

villages. Meanwhile, peripheral or minor villages were often largely abandoned, 

becoming temporary resource encampments. Some of these villages had been 

year-round villages in generations past. In cases where there were no survivors 

remaining in a village, these places were often given over to the dead, the grounds or

even the houses being filled with the remains of former inhabitants (Jacobs n.d.).

This appears to have been the fate of the village at Indian Beach, within today’s

Ecola State Park. By the time of Lewis and Clark’s arrival, this village was abandoned

and filled with burial canoes. As William Clark noted on January 8, 1806:

“I observed large Canoes of the neetest kind on the ground Some of which appeared nearly

decayed others quit sound, I examoned those Canoes and found they were the repository of

the dead” (in Moulton 1990). 

Though this phenomenon is reported in ethnographic materials relating to the 

Columbia-Pacific region, the Indian Beach village was unique in being the focus of

such a detailed written account, and was a harbinger of horrific events yet to come.6

— 23 —

The People of the Columbia-Pacific Region at the Time of European Contact
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 24 —
— 25 —

4 !-34
//1/4)12*.

European Exploration and the Maritime Fur Trade in 

the Columbia-Pacific Region

hough the Columbia-Pacific region was a hub of Native American history 

and culture in the Pacific Northwest, this place was decidedly peripheral to

peoples from more distant corners of the globe. Spain, England, France and

other European nations had launched their exploration and occupation of the 

Americas on the far side of the continent some three centuries prior to Lewis and

Clark, but made slow progress to these far shores. Even by the beginning of the 18th

century when much of the world had been mapped, the Northwest coast of North

America remained terra incognita, an unknown land, to the peoples of Europe. Prior to

the explorations of such figures as Bruno de Heceta and Captain James Cook, its 

geography was wrapped in mystery and speculation. The Northwest remained one of

the few blank spaces on world maps. Yet national ambitions and growing markets for

the luxuriant fur of the sea otter would bring a wave of foreign explorers and traders

to the region—English, Americans, Spanish, Russians and others—transforming the

region profoundly and irrevocably (Hayes 1999; Vaughan 1982; Pethick 1976; 

Wagner 1937).

A few outsiders did visit the Columbia-Pacific region prior to the period of 

exploration outlined here. Tantalizing accounts speculate on the travels of Sir 

Francis Drake and Juan de Fuca, who may have plied the coast in the late 1500s.

Tribal oral traditions also hint of visitation by Asian explorers, and various lines of

evidence suggest wrecks by Manila galleons and other ships on the coast long before

Lewis and Clark’s arrival (Ray Gardiner pers. comm. 2012; Deur and Thompson n.d.).

Asian porcelains are sometimes encountered archaeologically, some attributed to

the Spanish, but others attributed to Asian ships that drifted crewless in currents

from far across the Pacific (Lally 2008). Still, it was the European exploration of the

18th and early 19th centuries that triggered the colonial reoccupation of the 

Northwest and the dramatic transformation of its landscape. Such developments as

the Lewis and Clark Expedition, the founding of Astoria, and all that followed are

rooted somewhat in this early maritime history. 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 26 —

Though the Columbia-Pacific shoreline was unknown and arguably unimagined to

the peoples of Europe—a conspicuous blank spot on maps of the known world in the

mid-18th century, as stated previously, the potentials offered by the North Pacific

were of keen interest to that continent’s expanding empires. Two vast empires had

slowly advanced on the North Pacific from opposite directions: the Russian Empire,

which had been creeping eastward across Eurasia, and the Spanish Empire, with its 

sprawling holdings in the Americas from Mexico to the distant southern fringes 

of South America.

Figure 3.1 - Europe’s knowledge of the world’s geography, as it existed circa 1689. The Northwest coast

of North American remained a conspicuous gap in the known world. From Gerard Schagen, Nova

totius terrarum orbis tabula Amstelodami, an Amsterdam world mapping project of the late 1600s.

Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

While different in many respects, both empires were astonishingly vast and 

expansionist, ploddingly autocratic, and increasingly overextended, especially on

their most remote Pacific Ocean frontiers. In the early 18th century, both began to
— 27 —

The Unknown Coast 

converge on the North Pacific, claiming this region as their own. Sitting roughly

2000 miles from the outer reaches of both European domains, the Native peoples of

the Columbia-Pacific region sat roughly equidistant between two global empires.

And both were advancing toward the region, from the northwest and the southeast.

Though Spanish colonial forces had found their way to the Pacific coast of Mexico by

the 1500s, they made relatively little progress northward in the years that followed.

Their early encounters with the Pacific Northwest coast were brief, fleeting, and

poorly documented. They seem almost mythical in the retelling. Spanish colonial

claims to the Northwest coast relied heavily on accounts of a Greek sailor, Ioánnis

Fokás, or Juan de Fuca, who sailed under the Spanish flag in 1592. Details were thin,

but his journals suggested de Fuca had entered a waterway somewhere on today’s

Pacific Northwest coast. This waterway, sometimes called the “Straits of Anian,”

was described as a possible Northwest Passage to the Atlantic coast or other interior

waters. While some suggest this was the Strait of Juan de Fuca between Washington

State and Vancouver Island, others doubt there was any real geographical basis for

de Fuca’s Northwest Passage. But the allure of a short, fast passage between the 

Atlantic and the markets of Asia tantalized generations of explorers. The accounts 

of de Fuca were known to the Spanish explorer Sebastián Vizcaíno, who led an 

expedition up the southern California coast in 1602. One of the expedition’s ships,

the Tres Reyes under the command of Martin d’Aguilar, separated from the rest and

apparently ventured as far north as present-day Oregon – though probably not as far

north as the Columbia River – though probably not as far north as he Columbia

River. Returning from this detour, d’Aguilar reported a major river near the 42nd

parallel. On the basis of this account, European maps began to depict a “River of the

West,” sometimes alongside and sometimes as a portal to the mythical “Straits of

Anian” and the Northwest Passage beyond (Pethick 1976).

In spite of these tantalizing glimpses of the coast, there were few major Spanish 

expeditions northward in the century and a half that followed. Those few sea 

voyages that extended north of southern California commonly produced only scurvy,

supply shortages and few detailed findings. The Spanish Empire was still eager to

claim the entire west coast of North America as Spanish territory, based in part on

the Inter caetera, a decree made by Pope Alexander VI that gave the New World to

Spain, signed in 1493 only two months after Christopher Columbus’ return from his

first voyage. Yet for roughly two centuries, the Spanish had been largely content to

establish missions on its northern frontier in southern and central California and to

leave the stormy, forbidding coast beyond Alta California as an unexplored Spanish

possession. There were no reports of gold there, nor were there ample cultivable
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 28 —

lands by the standards of Mediterranean agriculturalists. Little incentive to extend

the colonial reach existed. For more than two centuries, Spanish maps showed de

Fuca and d’Aguilar’s two reported waterways as the only known geography of the 

region (Cook 1973).

Over the course of the 18th century, however, European interests in the North 

Pacific changed. Within a few decades, the outlook transitioned from a protracted

period of distant, ambiguous speculation to a mad scramble undertaken to assert

national interests and build commercial empires. Improvements in navigation and

seamanship, especially involving sailing over huge distances, revolutionized sea

travel and effectively placed the North Pacific within sailing range of several 

national entities, the British in particular. And especially among the British, French,

Spanish and Russians, the goals of exploration were intertwined with those of the

European Enlightenment. Casting aside the lingering medieval torpor of European

scholarship and the weight of religious orthodoxy, the Enlightenment movement

prized evidence and data collection as the foundation of knowledge. Furthermore,

the Enlightenment married the spirit of scientific discovery sweeping 18th-century 

Europe with national dreams of empire-building, eventually inspiring Thomas 

Jefferson and shaping his decision to launch the Corps of Discovery to western North

America. Data collection was key to geographical understanding, and no empire

could expand or be sustained without it. From almost every major European empire,

then, explorers were sent to the far corners of the Earth—especially those without

strong competing European claims—to map the landscape, but also to document

flora, fauna, mineral resources and Native cultures. This was done not only as a 

contribution to Western science but as a prelude to possible Western occupation.

The objectives of Enlightenment-era explorers were unswervingly nationalist, 

territorial, and commercial, even as they gathered information that would be of 

lasting importance to Western scientific thought (Haycox et al. 1997).

In many respects it was the Russians who first brought Enlightenment-era 

exploration to the North Pacific. As Spanish explorers found their way to 

southwestern North America, so Russian explorers found their way across Siberia,

edging toward the Northwest coast from the northeast. Following furs, the Russian

Empire had founded remote outposts in the Siberian Far East by the 1600s. Before

the end of the century, Russians and those who followed their advance into the

North Pacific had come to recognize the unique potentials of sea otter fur. A sea

otter pelt might contain 250,000 to a million hairs per square inch, allowing the

otter to spend most of its life submerged in the cold waters of the North Pacific in

the absence of blubber or other special protection. Their coats were found to be
— 29 —

The Unknown Coast

unimaginably dense, silky and warm, lending them unparalleled status among fur

bearers sought by the expanding trade empires of Europe (Vaughan 1982).

By the early 1700s, under the leadership of the brilliant and expansionist Peter the

Great, Russia was beginning to more thoroughly explore and occupy the Russian 

Pacific coast, lured in no small part by the prospect of cornering the fur markets of

Europe and Asia. Sea otters abounded in the cold waters of eastern Russia, along

Sakhalin and the Kuril Islands, as well as the Kamchatka Peninsula. Their dense,

dark coats fetched astonishing prices when they could, with some difficulty, be 

delivered to Asian and European markets. The sea otter fur was a tremendous 

sensation in China. It became particularly emblematic of high status and 

increasingly integrated into the dress of Chinese elites as hats, capes, and as 

the furry fringe of silk robes and other clothing. By the late 1720s, sea otter 

Figure 3.2 – One of the earliest (and least flattering) images of the sea otter (Enhydra lutris) within

Western scientific writings—by Georg Steller, based on observations during the voyages of Vitus

Bering in the 1730s. From Georg Wilhelm Stellero 1751. De bestiis marinis.[The Beasts of the Sea]

Novi Commentarii Academiae Scientiarum Imperialis Petropolitanae. 2: 289-398. Image courtesy 

Wikimedia Commons. 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 30 —

hunting posts were well established in the Kuril Islands, and the Russians were eager

to establish an expanded claim on the North Pacific. Under the command of Danish

explorer andRussian Navy officer Vitus Bering, Russian expeditions explored the

coast of Kamchatka, and what is today the coast of Alaska, in the course of two 

voyages (1725–30 and 1738–41). Though Bering did not venture as far south as the

Columbia-Pacific region, his explorations set the stage for Russian occupation of

Alaska and helped them bolster claims to the entire region. The expedition maps

and the place names assigned to Alaskan topographic features gave the Russians a

foundation for territorial advancement. The naturalist from their expedition was

Georg Steller. He described some of the plant and animal species for the benefit of

Western science, lending his name to such common Columbia-Pacific denizens as

Steller’s jay and Steller’s sea lion, among others. The sea otter pelts brought back

from these expeditions helped launch interest in the development of what, in time,

would become a robust Russian-American fur trade (Tikhmenev 1978; Fisher 1977).

News of the Russians’ movement into North American was particularly alarming to

the Spanish Empire. Spain’s growing awareness of their strategic vulnerabilities on

the North Pacific prompted the construction of a large and centralized naval station

at San Blas, a short distance from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, in 1768. Though situated

more than 2000 miles from the mouth of the Columbia, this naval station had

tremendous implications for the Native residents and the larger history of the 

region. From the San Blas station, the Spanish launched a series of expeditions

along the Northwest coast. They thus asserted their national claims and interests in

unprecedented ways. In 1774, explorer Juan Perez sailed northward on the Santiago,

making the first of what would be many Spanish expeditions to the area, passing the

Columbia-Pacific region but making little mention of it. Traveling to what is today’s

northern British Columbia coast, however, the Perez expedition met with the Haida,

trading for pelts and other goods in the first well documented encounter between

European peoples and Northwest coast tribes. Perez returned to San Blas, where his

commanders and viceroy celebrated the expedition’s success in extending the 

Spanish reach to the lands and peoples of the distant northern coast, while also 

celebrating the apparent absence of Russians on those shores.

A year after Perez’s voyage, the San Blas station outfitted the Santiago for a second

Northwest coast expedition, under the command of Spanish Basque explorer Bruno

de Heceta. Accompanying Heceta was the Santiago, under the command of Juan

Francisco de Bodega y Quadra. Sailing northward, Heceta traveled along the Oregon

coast, which still bears place names like Heceta Head marking his journey, and in

August 1775, anchored off the mouth of the Columbia. The geography of the 
— 31 —

The Unknown Coast

Columbia-Pacific region, with its rugged mountains and sediment-clogged river

mouth, defied the geographical conventions known to Heceta. Similarly, they 

would defy the imaginations of other explorers who followed, being seemingly 

incompatible with the mighty “River of the West” described by d’Aguilar more than

170 years earlier. Questioning whether he could be at the mouth of a substantial

river, Heceta examined the sandspits, shoals and impenetrable river bar. Deciding

this could not possibly be a vast river, the expedition mapped the Columbia River 

estuary as an inconsequential bay. They called it “La Asunción,” marking the feast

day of the Assumption, which coincided with the dates of their visit. To Cape 

Disappointment on the northern side of this imagined bay he applied the name

“Cabo San Roque,” and to Point Adams on its southern side, now within Fort

Stevens State Park, he gave the name “Cabo Frondoso.” 

The crew then turned their attention to the rugged high mountains along the coast,

from roughly Neahkanie Mountain to Tillamook Head—the mountains that define

the dramatic views at Ecola State Park. On August 18, the feast day of Santa Clara de

Montefalco, they designated this small range as “Sierra de Montefalcon,” a name

that persists today in the appellation Cape Falcon (McArthur 1992: 40). (Like Cape

Disappointment, the mountains of this range, especially Tillamook Head proper,

proved to be important navigational landmarks to explorers who followed, though

very few set foot on the rugged promontories until the Corps of Discovery.) For a

brief time, Spain had bolstered its international claims to the Northwest, based on

the thinnest of ties and an assortment of inexact maps and place names.

Yet in 1776, as the Americans were declaring independence from Britain and Heceta

was returning home with his vague accounts of the Columbia-Pacific shoreline, the

Russians were mounting their occupation of northwestern North America. In that

year, Kamchatka’s fur trading posts bustled with traffic in sea otter pelts, and 

enterprising Russian fur traders lobbied for new posts in Alaska. By 1783, with the

backing of wealthy Russian merchants, Grigory Shelikov established a fur trading

post on Kodiak Island. Naming the bay after his ship, he established the first 

permanent Russian settlement in Alaska’s Three Saints Bay, constructing a 

permanent European settlement on the Northwest coast some 28 years before the

founding of Astoria. As he returned to Kamchatka with his first shipment of sea

otter pelts from Kodiak, Shelikov petitioned the Russian crown for a corporation that

could develop and monopolize the sea otter trade of the Northwest coast. His 

petition was approved, allowing Shelikov to establish a company that would in 1799

become the Russian-American Company, the corporation that developed Alaska’s

fur trade and defined the economic and social landscape of Alaska’s Russian period. 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 32 —

Although Kodiak Island was situated far from Russian or even Asian markets, 

Shelikov’s move was extraordinarily well-timed. Almost everywhere the sea otter

was hunted, its populations were, in time, almost obliterated, and the Russian 

waters were no exception. As the Russians began to extirpate commercially viable

sea otter population from the Kuril Islands and Kamchatka Peninsula through the

1780s and 1790s, the entire Russian Pacific fur trade began a move into Alaskan 

waters. They built small forts that would support Shelikov’s operations. They 

transferred materials and men already well-seasoned in Russia’s sea otter trade,

gradually moving eastward and southward into the waters of the Northwest coast.

Native labor, especially the Aleuts of the Aleutian Islands and the Koniags of Kodiak

Island were conscripted, often with brute force or the threat of it, to become the

principal hunters supporting these new operations.

All of the activity in the North Pacific by the Russians and Spanish drew the 

attention of the powerful seafaring nations of Europe, France and England, in 

particular. Even as they lacked seaside colonial footholds on the Pacific comparable

to those of Russia and Spain, both were growing and relatively nimble empires,

eager to establish their own presence upon the vast and largely uncharted Pacific 

region. Ambitiously expansionist, England found itself more ready than ever to

enter the scramble for territorial claims and fur trade wealth on the North Pacific.

With the significant involvement of Captain James Cook, the British Navy made

huge technological strides. This allowed them to sail vast distances, learning how to

avoid scurvy, for example, and developing such instruments as the chronometer, a

precise clock that allowed mariners to establish longitude with pinpoint accuracy.

With these and other tools, a cartographic revolution took hold in British 

exploration, allowing mapping with unprecedented precision and supporting British

claims of discovery and future navigation efforts. This revolution was advanced in

many respects by Cook. It was significantly honed by his former midshipman, 

Captain George Vancouver, who later commanded some of the most historically 

significant early mapping expeditions in the Pacific Northwest.

As British attention turned to the Pacific, the crown eagerly recruited and outfitted

Cook, already a celebrated veteran of two prior global journeys of exploration. The

Northwest coast of North America was one of several places around the Pacific to be

visited in the course of this journey, which would also serve to support British claims

to Australia and New Zealand. Arriving on the western coast of North America in

1778, Cook operated under formal instructions. He was directed to utilize the maps

of Drake, the Spanish, and others to determine whether a fabled Northwest Passage

might exist, thus providing a sea route between the European nations of the Atlantic
— 33 —

The Unknown Coast

and the Asian nations of the Pacific. This aspect of the mission was, however, 

secondary. It is clear that, through Cook’s third voyage, the British hoped to usurp

thin Spanish (and perhaps Russian) claims to the Northwest coast and, through the

process of discovery, stake claims for a British foothold in this newly contested land.

Though a skilled navigator, Cook and his crew missed the Columbia River entirely 

as they traveled the coast of today’s Oregon and Washington. Instead, Cook made

landfall on Nootka Sound, on the west coast of what is today Vancouver Island.

There, Cook and his crew found the Mowachat Nuu-chah-nulth (or Nootka) living 

at the village of Yuquot to be eager traders in furs, especially those of the sea otter.

Indeed, the Nuu-chah-nulth were accomplished traders. They had honed their skills

in part during exchanges with longstanding trade partners the Chinook and the

Clatsop at the mouth of the Columbia River. As Cook observed upon their arrival 

at Nootka,

A great many canoes filled with the Natives were about the ships all day, and a trade 

commenced betwixt us and them, which was carried on with the Strictest honisty on boath

sides. Their articles were the Skins of various animals, such as Bears, Wolfs, Foxes, Dear,

Rackoons, Polecats, Martins and in particular the Sea Beaver, the same as is found on the

coast of Kamtchatka (Cook, in Cook and King 1784: 27).

Satisfied with his experiences with Yuquot’s inhabitants, Cook referred to the village

as “Friendly Cove” in his journals. He designated Nootka Sound “King George’s

Sound.” His writings would so fix this place in the minds of Europeans that Nootka

Sound would become the geographical locus of European maritime exploration and

fur trade. While directly linked to the lower Columbia during the period (both Native

and non-Native traders passed between Nootka and the lower Columbia almost 

constantly), Nootka Sound would eclipse the Columbia-Pacific region’s early 

importance in most respects. Beyond Nootka, Cook and his crew entered the Bering

Strait and encountered solid sea ice off of Alaska’s west coast. Seeing no evidence of

a Northwest Passage, Cook and his crew turned south, landing in Hawaii. Here, in a

conflict with Native Hawaiians on the western shores of the big island, Cook was

killed. Resolving to return home through the Indian Ocean, his crew sailed on to

China, where they found that the sea otter pelts from Nootka Sound commanded

unimaginably high prices. 

When the ships returned to England, the journals from Cook’s third and final voyage

were promptly published. Their dissemination spread news of Cook’s demise and of
Figure 3.3 – Nootka Cove, as observed by George Vancouver in 1792, on the west coast of what is

today Vancouver Island. By this time, both Spanish and British explorers had established outposts on

this cove alongside the resident Nuu-chah-nulth, and American ships were a growing presence. The

cove served as a cornerstone of the early maritime fur trade and most of the ships involved in the

early exploration and trade at the mouth of the Columbia had been anchored at Nootka for part of

their journeys. From Vancouver (1801).

peoples and lands around the Pacific, but also of the tremendous commercial 

opportunities of trade in sea otter furs. In the published edition of Cook’s journals,

his second-in-command, James King, provided prospective traders with finegrained details about Asian markets for sea otter pelts. So too, Dr. James Douglas

wrote a preface to Cook’s journals, calling for the British and other empires to use

exploration, mapping, and other tools of the age to build European commercial

dominance on the North Pacific, based in no small part on the trade in furs: “Every

nation that sends a ship to sea will partake of the benefit; but Great Britain herself, whose

commerce is boundless, must take the lead in reaping the full advantage of her own 

discoveries” (in Cook and King 1784: xliv).

By no later than 1785, a steady procession of English ships was en route to the

Northwest coast, most using Nootka Sound as a base of operations. There, the

British maintained a lively trade with Native hunters encountered along the outer

coast, providing these peoples with metal, tools, and other goods that would 

revolutionize those societies and rearrange traditional social relationships in myriad

ways. At Nootka, Chief Maquinna served as a highly influential gatekeeper to area

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 34 —
— 35 —

The Unknown Coast

tribes in a manner that would be recapitulated on the lower Columbia by Concomly

one or two generations later, making him one of the wealthiest chiefs on the coast.

For a time, even Maquinna sought to build his own ship to travel to China, to cut out

the European middlemen, but lacking support from the British and Spanish, 

he did not succeed.

It was in this context that British explorer John Meares brazenly sought to 

capitalize on the sea otter wealth of the region. Inspired by the Cook journals,

Meares successfully lobbied London investors to help him supply and launch two

British ships christened the Nootka and the Sea-otter, in order to seek furs in Alaska.

After a successful visit to the Northwest coast, Meares sailed to Asia to sell his cargo.

While there, he secured a lucrative commission with investors of the British East 

Indian Company to return to the Northwest in partnership with that company. And

in 1787, he departed in the command of a ship called the Felice Adventurer. In May

1788, Meares sailed to Nootka Sound and arranged with Chief Maquinna to build a

fort in support of British trade. During Meares’ voyage, he made landfall both north

and south of the Columbia River, but did not detect the great river itself. Meares, like

others before him, entirely missed the mouth of the Columbia, passing in July 1788

and, with remarkable confidence, interpreting the estuary as a small and isolated

bay. In his disappointment at not finding the river, he recorded the name of the bay

as “Cape Disappointment” and the Columbia estuary, which he only perceived at a

distance, as “Deception Bay.” As Meares reported in his journals,

After we had rounded the promontory, a large bay, as we had imagined, opened to our view,

that bore a very promising appearance, and into which we steered with every encouraging

expectation. The high land that formed the boundaries of the bay was at a great distance,

and a flat level country occupied the intervening space. . . . As we steered in, the water

shoaled to nine, eight, and seven fathoms, when breakers were seen from the deck, right

ahead, and from the masthead, they were observed to extend across the bay; we therefore

hauled out, and directed our course to the opposite shore, to see if there was any channel, 

or if we could discover any port. The name of Cape Disappointment was given to the

promontory and the bay obtained the title of Deception Bay. . . . We can now with safety 

assert that there is no such river as that of St. Roc exists, as laid down in the Spanish charts. .

. . We now reached the opposite side of the bay, where disappointment continued to 

accompany us; and being almost certain that we should obtain no place of shelter for the

ship, we bore up for a distant headland [probably Tillamook Head] keeping our course

within two miles of the shore (Meares 1791: 154–55).
Though Meares did explore nearby Willapa and Tillamook Bays and traded for a few

furs with Native residents clearly familiar with such a routine, he left little in his

wake but enduring place names. The names reveal his misunderstanding of the 

Columbia’s unique geography.7

The British were not alone in their response to Cook’s journals. The French, too, 

reviewing accounts of Cook’s voyages, were eager to participate in exploration and

the assertion of territorial claims along the Northwest coast. King Louis XVI hastily

commissioned a vast, if somewhat secretive, expedition to the North Pacific in 1785,

under the command of Jean-François de Galaup, the Count of Lapérouse. Lapérouse

traveled to Alaska where he and his crew gathered extensive information on the

coast from his base on Lituya Bay. Upon crossing the mouth of that bay to return

home and report their findings, the expedition lost two longboats and 21 members

of their crew, with the survivors promptly retreating to Spanish territories in 

California. Though Lapérouse gave the French king some basis for territorial claims

on the North Pacific, the French Revolution brought an effective end to these 

explorations, turning national attention inward and scuttling the grand vision 

of the French royalty for a fur trade empire on the Pacific (Inglis 1997).

Agitated by both British and French exploration, the Spanish sent a series of 

expeditions to further document and assert claims to the North Pacific coast. They

marshalled some of the most skilled commanders in the Spanish Navy: Ignacio de

Arteaga and Bodega y Quadra (1779, 1785), Esteban Jose Martinez and Gonzalo Lopez

de Haro (1788), Salvador Fidalgo and Manuel Quimper (1790), Francisco de Eliza and

Alejandro Malaspina (1791), and Dionisio Galiano and Cayetano Valde y Flores (1792),

among others. Most left behind place names still used on the coast today, including

features named for themselves. Boldly, during several of these voyages, the Spanish

repeatedly ventured into Russian-occupied Alaska, seeking to reassert claims to the

region and undermine Russian fur trade monopolies by instigating their own trade

with Native peoples. In 1790, the Spanish also attempted to build a permanent base

on Nootka Sound as a base of operations on the Northwest coast. The base was 

supplied and supported as a distant outpost of the San Blas naval station in Mexico.

There, they sought to portray themselves to the rising tide of visiting ships—British,

Russian, and even Swedish and Portuguese—as the rightful colonial authorities in

the Northwest. Moreover, the Spanish brought their own naturalists to begin 

documenting flora, fauna, and Native peoples (Moziño 1991; Pethick 1980). Direct

conflicts with the British over claims to the coast erupted at Nootka. The Spanish 

attempted to arrest British traders there, including John Meares’ business partner,

James Cornett, and the two nations almost went to war over the diplomatic standoff 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 36 —
— 37 —

The Unknown Coast

that ensued. George Vancouver and Bodega y Quadra were dispatched to negotiate 

a settlement, resulting in the Nootka Sound Convention of 1790, the first of three

conventions signed at Nootka agreeing to shared areas of interests along the coast

by Spain and England and to the ultimate abandonment of both nations’ Nootka

Sound holdings. While these conventions kept the peace, the British, in particular,

continued to survey the coast and work to reinforce British claims. Perhaps ironically, it was George Vancouver who was enlisted to oversee the most detailed survey 

efforts of the coast while in command of the Discovery and Chatham (Tovell 2008). 

As those who had passed before him, Vancouver applied myriad place names to the

landscape, while his on-board naturalists, most notably Archibald Menzies, his

name memorialized in the scientific name for Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii),

chronicled the flora and fauna encountered during this expedition.

Figure 3.4 – A painting by crew member George Davidson of “Fort Defiance,” erected by 

Captain Robert Gray and the crew of the Columbia Rediviva on Clayoquot Sound (Vancouver 

Island) in the winter of 1791-1792, shortly before their first arrival on the Columbia River. The 

Columbia Rediviva sits offshore, while the crew constructs a new ship, the Adventure, on the beach.

Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons.
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 38 —

Soon enough, Americans were embarking on their own journeys of trade and 

exploration along the Northwest coast. The signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1783 

brought the Revolutionary War to an end. An independent class of American 

merchants emerged on the scene, eager to build their own small empires 

independent of the British Crown and its chartered corporations. In this effort, 

they were aided by an abundance of skilled but underemployed mariners, many 

just retired from naval service at the conclusion of the war or let go from British

commercial enterprises involved with the triangular trade in slaves, sugar, cotton,

tobacco, liquor, textiles, and other goods between Africa, Europe, and the Americas.

The fledgling United States, too, was eager to promote exploration in discovery, as

the nation sought to establish itself on the international stage. With the prospect 

of fur wealth, American merchants arrived on the coast with an entrepreneurial

tenacity that rivaled the British and prepared them well for the coast’s complex 

laissez faire trade, involving multiple Native and European nations vying for the

same increasingly limited resources. With ample industrial and shipping capacity, it

was the merchants of Boston who were best positioned to enter the Pacific fur trade.

Among those merchants was Charles Bulfinch, who began reading Cook’s journals,

released only a year after the end of the Revolutionary War. By 1787, Bulfinch and

other investors arranged for the launching of two ships that would embark on one of

the earliest successful American fur trading journeys to the Pacific coast. One of

these ships was the sloop Washington (or Lady Washington) commanded by Captain

Robert Gray of Boston, a veteran of the triangular trade and the Revolutionary War 

(Howay 1941).

Gray oversaw a number of successful trade voyages along the Pacific coast in the

years ahead, but found the traffic in some well-known parts of the coast to be 

problematic. Certain areas, Nootka foremost among them, were crowded with 

European ships following in the path of Cook. In these places, Native traders could

sometimes monopolize the supply while European buyers bid prices ever higher;

moreover, on such parts of the coast, local sea otter populations were beginning to

dwindle, shifting attention to beaver and other less lucrative furs. With the support

of Boston investors, Gray was able to add ships to his fleet, including the Columbia

Rediviva (“America reborn,” but sometimes translated as “Columbus reborn”), 

reputed to be the first American ship to have circumnavigated the globe, which was

sailed by Robert Haswell, his second in command. Sailing in command of the Lady

Washington and Columbia Rediviva into the early 1790s, Gray was eager to find lesser

known and exploited parts of the coast. Establishing their own fort on Clayoquot

Sound (on Vancouver Island many miles south of Nootka) late in 1791, Gray and his
crew resolved to carve out new trading areas on the North Pacific coast, embarking

on a more detailed investigation of hitherto untapped trading places and partners. 

The following spring, Gray traveled south. In May 1792, sighting the shoals that had

frustrated mariners from d’Aguilar to Meares, but also open channels leading into

the mouth of the Columbia River, Gray successfully crossed into the Columbia 

estuary aboard the Columbia Rediviva, becoming the first non-Native person 

confirmed to have entered the Columbia estuary. It had taken exactly 300 years from

Columbus’ first voyage for a Euro-American, his ship bearing Columbus’ name, to

cross into the mouth of the Columbia. As reported in Gray’s journal, the land along

the river was inhabited by “vast numbers of natives,” who were eager to trade:

Figure 3.5 – “Discovery of the Columbia River by Robert Gray,” a painting by Fred Cozzens. As was

true of most ships of the late 18th and early 19th century, when confronting the complex 

and dangerous bar of the Columbia River, Gray found it easiest to enter the river along its north

shore, finding shelter in the lee of Cape Disappointment (in the background) and then proceeding to

Chinook Point, where ship-borne encounters with the Chinook people of Middle Village (today’s 

Station Camp) would become commonplace. Image courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

— 39 —

The Unknown Coast
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 40 —

May 11th – At eight, a.m., being a little to wind-ward of the entrance of the Harbor, bore

away, and run in east-north-east between the breakers, having from five to seven fathoms

of water. When we were over the bar, we found this to be a large river of fresh water, up

which we steered. Many canoes came along-side... a village on the north side of the river

west by north, distant three quarters of a mile. Vast numbers of natives came along-side; 

people employed in pumping the salt water out of our water-casks, in order to fill with fresh,

while the ship floated in (Gray 1941: 435).

Gray anchored near the vast Chinook village, so as to trade and find shelter from the

waves. While his anchorage is conventionally designated as “Chinook Point” it is

clear that this anchorage may have sat somewhat upstream from the place now

bearing this name, by Middle Village. (The location of “Chinook Point” has changed;

until the late 19th century, the term was applied to the general point of land on

which Middle Village sat, but was later applied to the promontory on which Fort 

Columbia now sits.) By May 13, finding that the ship was still exposed to the current,

wind, and waves, the crew sailed upriver to the waterway now called Gray’s Bay. On

May 16, the Columbia Rediviva returned downstream, anchoring very close to Megler,

in or very near the cove where the National Park Service (NPS) Dismal Nitch unit is

located today. Each day of this journey, Gray noted “many natives alongside,” 

always curious and willing to trade furs; on some days he reported “many natives

from different tribes” as well as a fair amount of “rainy, dirty weather.” 

On May 18, the crew attempted to depart the river but found the bar menacing and

anchored once again, very near Fort Columbia and Middle Village. The following day,

“Captain Gray gave this river the name of Columbia’s River, and the north side of the

entrance Cape Hancock, the south, Adam’s Point” (Gray 1941: 437). On the 20th, the

Columbia Rediviva returned to sea, having made no lasting marks on the landscape

during roughly a week in the lower Columbia River region, but changing its history

forever. The Native people of the river also have written record of the visit, which

was understood to be “an omen of the coming of a new epoch” (in Miller 1958: 28;

Boas 1894).

Encountering the Spanish at Nootka later that summer, Gray related his discoveries,

providing both an account of the lower Columbia and his own rough charts of its

mouth. In turn, Bodega y Quadra shared Gray’s findings with Vancouver. Vancouver,

who had traveled the coastline offshore from the Columbia earlier that year, was 

reluctant to take Gray’s account at face value or to allow an American merchant to

make uncontested claims to such a prominent landmark. In late October 1792, 
— 41 —

The Unknown Coast

Vancouver returned to the river’s mouth. Finding the bar too perilous for the 

Discovery, he sent across the smaller Chatham, under the command of Lieutenant

William Robert Broughton, to explore the river. The Chatham came across the bar

with difficulty. Like Gray before, and many mariners who would follow, Broughton

followed the north shore, the most readily navigated part of the estuary at the time,

visiting all of the prominent northern shore landmarks now within Lewis and Clark

National and State Historical Parks. Initially taking refuge on the protected eastern

side of Cape Disappointment, the Chatham finally anchored off what was termed

“Village Point” (apparently Chinook Point, now known as Middle Village), which was

largely unoccupied in that season, as many residents were at villages on Willapa Bay

and beyond. Yet the river’s mouth was not vacant. Indeed, the crew of the Chatham

was astonished to find themselves in the presence of large numbers of skilled

traders, who seemed to already understand the value of sea otter pelts to 

visiting mariners:

One very large Canoe with about five & twenty Indians in her (the second we saw since we

entered the River) came along side and brought some Salmon which we eagerly bought of

them on reasonable terms; they also brought two or 3 Otter Skins for sale and seem’d to

know the value of them very well (Bell 1932: 39).

After some initial trading, Broughton determined to survey the mouth of the river,

recording some of the first detailed written accounts of places now within LEWI.8

Returning to the Chatham, Broughton then anchored the ship somewhere in the

vicinity of the waters offshore from the NPS Dismal Nitch wayside and ventured 

upstream in the ship’s small cutter, mapping the shoreline and trading with 

Chinookan people who greeted and aided Broughton’s party as they traveled almost

100 miles upstream. The expedition proceeded east of modern Portland and within

sight of the Columbia Gorge. Returning to the Chatham on November 4, the crew 

departed a few days later, rejoining Vancouver in San Francisco Bay with a full 

account of their observations (Mockford 2005). By 1794, Vancouver’s accounts of the

mouth of the Columbia were gaining the attention of British traders. In that year,

Vancouver would also officially declare the existence of the Northwest Passage 

disproven, ending roughly 200 years of speculation by European explorers. In the

years that followed, both Gray’s and Vancouver’s accounts would be used by the

Americans and the British, respectively, to assert national claims to the lower 

Columbia and to the entire Northwestern region.
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 42 —

Once Gray’s and Vancouver’s observations were reported to the Anglophone world

through journal and press accounts, the Columbia River estuary soon became a 

popular stopover for merchant ships plying the coast in search of furs. Much less

crowded or contested than Nootka, and far less overhunted as yet, the river became a

thriving center of trade, primarily for American and British ships. Most did not treat

the Columbia as their final or sole destination, but as one of several places within a 

circuit of tribal entrepots visited along the coast before departing across the Pacific

to Asia or back to the Atlantic with holds full of furs. 

Figure 3.6 – Broughton’s sketch map of the entry of the Columbia, showing the large Chinook 

settlement at Middle Village as well as the Clatsop settlement at Point Adams. From 

Vancouver 1801.

So began the era of the maritime-based fur trade in the Columbia-Pacific region, a

period lasting a mere 20 years, from 1792 until roughly 1812, by which time Astoria

was beginning to hold a centralized role in the Columbia-Pacific fur trade. Though

the exact number of ships that visited the Columbia remains conjectural, it’s clear

that the number escalated with time into the early decades of the 1800s. By 1795,

Charles Bishop reported that the Chinooks at the mouth of the Columbia apparently

had a system of alerting one-another to the arrival of traders: “at Sunset a Gun was

fired by desire of some of the Natives to inform their bretheren up the River of the Arrival of
— 43 —

The Unknown Coast Region

the Ship” (Bishop 1967: 56). (British ships were numerous, while no fewer than fifty

separate American trade expeditions embarked for the coast between Gray’s and

Vancouver’s voyages of 1792 and the Corps of Discovery’s stay in the winter of 

1805–06, and that estimate certainly falls short of the actual figure). Almost all of

the American ships in the trade were from Boston, so that in Chinuk wawa, the term

for American became “Boston,” to distinguish these traders from the “King George”

men. Lewis and Clark found that the Chinook and Clatsop could recount the names

of many of these ships and describe their cargoes and crews: “they possess good 

memories and have repeeted to us the names capasities of the Vessels &c of maney traders

and others who have visited the mouth of this river” (Clark, in Moulton 1990: 190). 

Indeed, the Lewis and Clark journals mention no less than thirteen ship captains

who were reported to be not just one-time visitors but regular traders on the lower 

Columbia by that time (Lang 2008; Moulton 1990; Swan 1857).

Very little hunting was attempted by these visiting fur traders, so far as can be 

discerned from the written record. Instead, they obtained most of their furs through

trade with the Chinook along the readily navigable northern bank of the river, in

particular, but also with the Clatsop on the southern bank. These peoples obtained

sea otters by hunting the rocky shorelines in places like Cape Disappointment and

Tillamook Head, but also in the open ocean where otters could be found in nearshore

kelp beds. Furthermore, these tribes hunted beaver, fox, and other species that 

became increasingly important in trade over time. By going directly to these large

and powerful nations—so eager to trade and so wealthy in furs and other material

goods—European and American traders were able to tap into large and wellestablished tribal trade networks that sustained the Native and non-Native fur

trades alike. For the Native peoples of the Columbia-Pacific region, the increased 

attention from the peoples of Europe brought growing access to imported goods

such as metal, tools, fabrics, and porcelain, especially within the two major village

complexes on either bank. As William Clark noted in January 1806, “there is a trade

Continually Carried on by the nativs of the river each tradeing Some articles of other with

their neighbors above and below them, and those articles which are Vended by the whites at

their enterance of this river find their way to the most distant nations inhabiting its waters”

(in Moulton 1990: 199).

Augmenting their prodigious significance in Northwestern trade networks, these

people had access to goods that were largely unknown along the adjacent coast and

through much of the interior Northwest and could be traded with other tribes for a

considerable price. The Chinook, in particular, occupying the most readily accessible

part of the estuary, achieved a kind of economic and social ascendance that would be
unmatched on the Columbia-Pacific’s expanding fur trading frontier. Yet the 

growing number of ships also carried diseases to which the Columbia-Pacific’s 

Native people had limited immunity. They thus brought a series of epidemics that

would reach epic proportions in the decades ahead, as fur traders built permanent 

establishments on the Columbia’s shores.

In the end, the Russians would control little more of North America than those 

portions already in their possession at around the time of Lewis and Clark, and the

Mexican empire would control somewhat less, with the whole of the middle being

taken by the English or their American progeny. The abdication of the Spanish

throne in 1808 plunged that nation slowly into chaos. This contributed in part to the

launching of the Mexican War of Independence in 1810. Overtaxed by the war and

events at home, the Spanish ceased all claims to the shoreline north of modern 

California by 1819 in the Adams-Onís Treaty between the United States and Spain,

even as the Mexican revolution was still underway. By the time Mexico achieved 

independence some 11 years later, the nation had lost much of Spain’s colonial 

ambitions. Moreover, by this time the Columbia-Pacific region was home to permanent trading posts and was firmly in the control of British and American interests. 

The Russians retracted their claims to the Northwest coast for reasons similar to

those of Spain. The Russians long claimed the coast as far south as California,

though they were in no position to defend their claims from British and American

interests from their remote Alaskan outposts, some 1400 miles away from the 

Columbia-Pacific region. Russian outposts on the Northwest coast literally sat on

the opposite side of the globe from St. Petersburg, roughly 7000 miles away, over

vast and largely undeveloped terrain that lay frozen a good portion of the year. 

Russian supply lines were severely overstretched. The shipping of furs and supplies

from these outposts to the markets of Europe was ominously slow and expensive. As

a land rather than a sea power, Russians often found themselves having to construct

their own ships in Alaska, while also occupying a precarious security environment.

While sometimes serving as trading partners, the Tlingit—distant cultural relatives

of the Chinook and Clatsop—were so numerous, technologically advanced, and 

organized that they could (and sometimes did) combat or embargo the Russians,

leaving the fur traders feeling an isolated and vulnerable minority indeed. The

prospect of having to occupy and somehow control the sprawling Northwest coast

region from Sitka to the mouth of the Columbia and beyond was simply more than

the Russians could contemplate. Occasional hunting expeditions plied the coast, and

a fur trading outpost was established near prime sea otter hunting grounds north of

modern San Francisco at Fort Ross, California, in 1812. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 44 —
So in spite of occasional diplomatic efforts to claim the larger coast and attempted

alliances with the Spanish to repel the British and Americans, the Russian presence

on the Columbia-Pacific coast was at most fleeting and ephemeral (Gibson 1993).9

The Russians passed the mouth of the Columbia many times. Though they did land

occasionally, most ships only witnessed this coastline from the sea (Mackie 1997).

Pressures to discover and claim the Northwest coast would soon precipitate 

expeditions by land. The first to succeed was the Alexander Mackenzie Expedition

that traveled across land with the support of the North West Company. A year after

Gray’s and Vancouver’s visits to the Columbia, the Mackenzie Expedition completed

the first transcontinental journey of exploration, reaching saltwater inlets near what

is today Bella Coola, British Columbia, in July 1793. Though Mackenzie encountered

hostility from local tribes and did not proceed to the open ocean, the success of that

expedition bolstered British claims for what became the British Columbia coast. The

expedition built on the work of Vancouver, who had passed Bella Coola only 48 days

earlier. Some 12 years after Mackenzie, Lewis and Clark would find their way to the

Pacific, too, guided by similar objectives in the Columbia-Pacific region.10

— 45 —

The Unknown Coast
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 46 —
— 47 —


 30*42/&4)(2,42/&4.-34)1,$*41#40*+13,

Explorations on the Pacific Shore

o much has been said about the Corps of Discovery expedition and outcomes

that it’s presumptuous to say much more. Local historians and nationally

known scholars have sifted through the written record of the journey, 

expounding on its implications until, it seems, little more can be gleaned from the

topic. Moreover, the recent bicentennial of the Lewis and Clark expedition prompted

the development of an entirely new literature on the epic journey and a reissuing of

classics addressing the same (e.g., Josephy 2006; Ziak 2005; Ronda 2002; Duncan

and Burns 1999; Ambrose 1997; DeVoto 1997; Moulton 1990). The story of the Corps

of Discovery members is so central to the mission of the Lewis and Clark National

and State Historical Parks that some staff have a nearly photographic recollection 

of the journey’s details and can recite and interpret passages from the journals 

like they’re reciting a core canonical text. With this in mind, we do not seek to 

significantly retell or recast the Lewis and Clark story as part of this broad historical

narrative. Instead, our aim is to provide a sketch of the key places associated with

the Corps of Discovery’s tenure in the region, linking key historical themes with

events that precede and follow their stay in the Columbia-Pacific region.

Thomas Jefferson was in most respects the architect of the Corps of Discovery.

Deeply influenced by both a patriotic fervor for the fledgling American nation and

the Enlightenment intellectual currents of his time, his vision of a grand expedition

involved striking a balance between seemingly incompatible objectives. While this

balance of scientific inquiry and nationalism defined the history of exploration in

Jefferson’s time, it was not unique. Such compromises have a long and venerable

history in the enterprise of exploration, from Columbus to the Wilkes expedition to

the U.S. space program of the mid-20th century and beyond. The Louisiana Purchase

of 1803 provided Jefferson with a territorial basis for westward exploration and a

foundation for the sometimes delicate diplomacy surrounding the Corps of 

Discovery when explaining his motives to other nations that held claim to western

North America—in particular, Spain (DeVoto 1997). Yet he was eager to have a 

land-based expedition push to the Pacific shores, recognizing that such a journey
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 48 —

might bolster American claims to the Northwest and provide information allowing

for successful American occupation and resettlement. Accordingly, “guided by 

Jefferson’s vision, shaped by Enlightenment agendas, the Corps of Discovery was at once a

marathon scientific mission, diplomatic junket, and an act of territorial conquest” (Deur

2008: 9). Jefferson’s complex and lofty goals for the expedition converged on the

banks of the lower Columbia—as the Corps of Discovery surveyed the coast, 

documented its myriad plants and animals, and chronicled information on the 

region’s Native peoples on the basis of direct observation with a degree of detail that

had never before been attempted. Under the highly skilled Captains Meriwether

Lewis and William Clark, from early November 1805 until late March of the following

year, members of the Corps of Discovery brought these values and agendas to the

shores of the Columbia-Pacific region.

Figure 4.1 – Portraits of Lewis and Clark, as depicted by prominent American portrait painter Charles

Wilson Peale in 1807 and 1810, respectively. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons. 

Yet despite its grander goals, it is astonishing how much of the Corps’ story in the

Columbia-Pacific region was defined by simple matters of survival. After nearly 18

months crossing the continent by foot, horseback, and canoe, coupled with the bad
— 49 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery

fortune of arriving on the coast at the onset of a particularly dark and rainy winter,

the Corps of Discovery were dangerously low on provisions. They were, as the 

captains’ journals often observed, “very pore & weak for want of Sufficient food” during

much of their time on the Pacific (in Moulton 1990: 181). Many of the key decisions

made during their stay on the Columbia estuary and many of the sites now within

National Park Service management centered on matters of finding adequate shelter

and food to recuperate and to prepare themselves for the journey home. The Salt

Cairn was critical for the preservation of meat, which was scarce and spoiled rapidly

in the heavy winter rain. Travel over Tillamook Head through the Ecola Park villages

to the village at present-day Cannon Beach, was motivated in no small part by a 

desire to secure meat and blubber from a stranded whale. Indeed, food quests had a

critical bearing on the choice of the Fort Clatsop site, the most critical geographical

decision of their stay in the Columbia-Pacific region. The northern banks of the 

estuary are steep, and those parts that were not heavily forested were densely 

occupied with tribal settlements. The south side, as Broughton and Vancouver’s

crew noted in 1792, was a relatively forgiving place, with “low meadows” and “marshy

edges of the river” with wild geese and ducks in abundance (Vancouver 1801: 55). The

famous vote by the Corps of Discovery to relocate to the estuary’s south bank, a 

historic event involving votes by all expedition members including a woman 

(Sacajawea) and an African-American slave (York), was probably not a difficult or 

divisive one in the end.

For the Native people of the area, the arrival of the Corps of Discovery clearly 

signaled a transition in their relationship with the non-Native world. As the first

party to arrive by land and from the east—a sizeable and disheveled group of men,

who were low on provisions and eager to construct a fortified base camp—the Corps

of Discovery was seen as both a novelty and a potential threat. As Clatsop matriarch

Jennie Michel reported of her tribe’s oral traditions regarding the Corps,

“When Lewis and Clark first came and camped on Tongue Point, the Indians believed

they came to make war on them and they cut trees across the rivers near their town so

the women and children could run to the woods and hide, and came down [to Seaside

on] the Neahcoxie and Necanicum and hid in their canoes” (in Cox 1900: 17).

In time, these concerns largely evaporated as tribal communities began to interact

and trade with expedition members. Indeed, the time spent on the lower Columbia

proved among the longest and most congenial periods of interaction between the

members of the Corps of Discovery and tribes encountered along the trail, 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 50 —

comparable only to the Corps’ stay the prior winter among the Mandan. In spite of

the fact that it was winter, when many of the largest Columbia estuary villages sat

all but unoccupied, interaction was nearly constant, allowing for a steady supply of

trade goods and information flow in both directions. The captains’ journals from

this period were rich with detail, reflecting the candid sharing of information by the

Clatsop, Chinook, Tillamook, and others as they huddled in the dimly lit interior of

the fort, the rains pounding on the rooftops during one of the wettest winters on

record. Both the journals and tribal oral tradition suggest that the Native people

were underwhelmed with the Corps’ trade goods, accustomed as they were to 

seafaring traders—both Native and non-Native—with rich cargoes that dwarfed 

the Corps’ meager supply. Still, the Corps’ larders were filled in part by the 

intervention of Native peoples, who brought a steady supply of foods, furs, and 

other items to trade for metal tools and ornaments, knives, fishhooks, beads, cloth

and clothing, and what few other items the Corps had in their possession after a

long trek across the continent.

The Corps of Discovery effectively entered the study area in the beginning of 

November, as the winter storms commenced. On November 7, near Pillar Rock in

Wahkiakum County, Clark reported (with characteristically inventive spelling)

“Great joy in camp we are in View of the Ociean, this great Pacific Octean which we been So

long anxious to See” (in Moulton 1990: 33). Though it’s likely their view consisted

mainly of open estuary, it was clear to the Corp that it emptied uninterrupted into

the sea and their journey was nearing its westernmost destination.

Yet this elation evaporated when they descended into the Columbia estuary and 

saw how unforgiving the Columbia-Pacific’s environments could be—especially 

in a stormy winter season. By November 10, the entire party found themselves 

unhappily marooned at Clark’s “Dismal Nitch,” where most of them would remain

for six disheartening days. The characteristic cyclonic south winds of the wintertime

coast had begun by this time. With only a few miles to go before reaching their 

ultimate destination, the Corps was trapped on a steep, rocky shoreline on the 

Columbia’s north shore, fully exposed to the south winds, but also the considerable

swell that builds on the north banks of the estuary during such storms—waves that

were navigated by some Indian canoes visiting the Corps, but swamped others: “the

highest waves I ever Saw a Small vestles ride,” as Clark observed (Moulton 1990: 41). The

Corps was trapped in this location from November 10 to 15, unable to escape using

their own canoes, hemmed in by steep banks, camping atop driftwood logs that were

buoyed and became unnervingly mobile on the highest tides. Their gear and clothing

were soaked and food was scarce, causing the Corps to break into a supply of
— 51 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery

pounded, dry fish that was kept for emergency purposes. Writing in his journal on

November 12, 1805, Clark noted, “a hard rain...with a hard wind which raised the Seas

tremendiously high braking with great force and fury against the rocks & trees on which we

lie, as our Situation became Seriously dangerous,” only the second time in the entire 

expedition that Clark explicitly mentioned the Corps being endangered 

(Moulton 1990: 42–43).

After the sixth day of being stranded at Dismal Nitch, the storm broke and the Corps

was able to move onward to the Pacific Ocean. A small team from the Corps, led by

Lewis, proceeded over land in the direction of Cape Disappointment. The majority,

remaining under Clark’s command, proceeded westward by canoe, bringing all of the

canoes and gear downstream toward the sea. On November 15, 1805, Clark wrote,

“I had the canoes loaded in great haste and Set Out, from this dismal nitich where we have

been confined for 6 days passed, without the possibility of proceeding on, returning to a 

better Situation, or get out to hunt, Scerce of Provisions, and torents of rain poreing on us all

the time” (in Moulton 1990: 49).

Leaving Dismal Nitch, Clark’s party moved westward to escape their predicament,

view the sea, and locate both food and a desirable location for a winter camp. Clark

reported that they “proceeded on passed the blustering point below which I found a 

butifull Sand beech” (Moulton 1990: 50). Here, on the eastern edge of Middle Village

and within a half-mile of today’s Chinook Point, they established Station Camp,

which served as the base of operations for the Corps of Discovery from November 15

to 25. After a precarious six days at Dismal Nitch, the Corps was relieved to settle

into shelters built from boards taken from the Chinooks’ sprawling Middle Village,

which was largely unoccupied this time of year. Captain Lewis and the remainder 

of the Corps joined Clark’s group on November 17 from their trek to Cape 

Disappointment. Not only did they find the sandy shoreline much more 

accommodating than their prior quarters on Dismal Nitch, but—as the Chinooks

knew well—the location of Chinook Point and Station Camp gave the Corps of 

Discovery a commanding view of the river in many directions. In the days that 

followed, the Corps would make the most of this position, taking their first detailed

surveys of the Columbia estuary shoreline. Chinooks visited the encamped group

occasionally, including visits from some portion of the Chinook chieftainship, and

canoe-loads of Chinooks brought food both as gifts and for trade. Based on the 

information now available, there seems to have been little objection to these 

temporary visitors setting up camp on the edge of town.
At this time, both Captains Lewis and Clark brought separate groups on exploratory

side trips to Cape Disappointment, with Lewis going before his arrival at Station

Camp, and Clark making a detour to the cape in the middle of his Station Camp stay.

As mentioned, Lewis brought a group of four men from Dismal Nitch on what must

have been an arduous and damp overland journey—leaving a day before Clark’s

party on November 14. After camping at Cape Disappointment, this group 

backtracked to Station Camp on November 17, to the camp already established 

by Clark and his group. Clark then traveled with eleven men overland to Cape 

Disappointment between November 18 and 20. Allowing members of the Corps to

behold the open sea, the ultimate geographical objective of their long journey, these

trips boosted the morale of the group, which had dipped quite low during their stay

at Dismal Nitch. According to Clark’s journal entry dated November 18, 1805, “men 

appear much Satisfied with their trip beholding with estonishment the high waves dashing

against the rocks & this emence ocian” (Moulton 1990: 67). Clark and his men ascended

one of the flanks of Cape Disappointment, probably McKenzie Head, and camped

there. They also explored a few miles north of the cape, venturing into the vicinity of

modern Long Beach, carving their name on a tree at their northernmost stop along

the peninsula (NPS 2004a, 2004b, n.d.). On November 20, Clark’s party returned to

Station Camp, meeting and trading with many Chinooks en route, including the

chief, Concomly, who would become powerful along the lower Columbia in years 

to come (NPS n.d.).

During their stay at Station Camp, members of the Corps explored options for a 

favorable winter encampment location. Game was scarce near their northern shore

camp. And they learned in discussions with visiting Chinook that food was more

readily available on the southern shore of the river: “They generaly agree that the most

Elk is on the opposite Shore, and that the greatest numbers of Deer is up the river at Some

distance above” (Clark in Moulton 1990: 85).

Though there was some discussion of returning upstream on the Columbia for the

winter, provisions were low and the weather not improving. On the coast they had

game, potential for salt making, and the chance that a visiting ship could arrive 

with needed supplies. On November 24, with only one dissenting vote, the group

consented to cross the river. The following day, the entire Corps of Discovery 

departed Station Camp heading towards the opposite shore of the Columbia, in

search of a winter campsite (NPS 2004b, n.d.). Finding the wide, open estuary too

turbulent to cross, they tracked upstream, crossing at narrows near Pillar Rock. 

Between November 25 and 29, they slowly moved downstream, intermittently 

delayed by storms, from modern-day Svenson, Oregon, to Astoria. Quite low on 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 52 —
provisions, Lewis and Clark sent out several hunting parties when they arrived,

sending them to Youngs Bay and the Lewis and Clark River estuary, where they

found waterfowl abundant. 

After a few days’ exploration, Captain Lewis chose the location of their winter

campsite in the first days of December 1805. The fort site sat on a clearing atop a

small hill. It was of strategic value, defensible, and boasted commanding views of

the surrounding waters. Yet it was also rich in the natural resources required to

sustain the team for the winter. In particular, the site had a spring and was close to

good hunting grounds: “extencive marshes at this place of Encampment We propose to

build & pass the winter, The situation is in the Center of as we conceve a hunting

Countrey” (Clark in Moulton 1990: 112). Captains Lewis and Clark ordered that a log

structure be built on the site, with palisades and other defensive features echoing

the design of Fort Mandan, built by the Corp the prior winter. The captains moved

into the fort, which they named Fort Clatsop in honor of their host tribe, by 

December 23, with the rest of the Corps settling in by Christmas Day. The men

were clearly eager to get indoors and out of the elements as the fort remained 

incomplete at this date. Portions of the fort, including its defensive pickets, were

completed several

days after its 

initial occupation.

Figure 4.2 – A sketch 

from William Clark’s

journals, showing the

configuration of Fort

Clatsop’s rooms and 

exterior palisades.

Clark’s sketches and

notes have served as

the principal source 

of guidance in the

construction of the

Fort Clatsop replica,

and in other 

representations of the

fort. Image courtesy

Oregon Historical 

Society. 

— 53 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 54 —

Fort Clatsop would serve as the principal home, work space, and trade center for the

Corps of Discovery from Christmas of 1805 until they commenced their journey

home on March 23, 1806. Situated at Fort Clatsop, the Corps entered into a routine

that is familiar to students of Lewis and Clark history. Hunting parties from the

Corps spent much time pursuing game in the vicinity of Fort Clatsop, no doubt in

many places now situated within the park, including elk, deer, and waterfowl, as

well as fish.

They processed large quantities of meat both for immediate use and in anticipation

of the long journey home. While at Fort Clatsop, the Corps frequently engaged with

local Clatsop and Chinook people, trading goods and sharing information. The Corps

was especially interested in documenting the size, location, and demeanor of these

and other tribes near the mouth of the Columbia, as well as the fundamentals of

local flora, fauna, and geography. Large quantities of food were supplied to the fort

through trade with the Clatsop, in particular, who brought fish, deer and elk meat,

waterfowl, whale meat and blubber, and a diverse assortment of edible roots and

berries. Serving as the principal host to the Corps was Coboway (also reported as

“Comowool” in the journals), who the Corps found generally agreeable and 

generous. Other Clatsop chiefs, such as Kotata and Twilch, were reported to have

visited with the Corps and participated in joint hunting expeditions (Cox 1900: 17).

Both captains kept detailed journals during this period, as it was here that Lewis 

returned to writing after a three-month hiatus. They also developed maps of the

coastline and, to the extent conditions allowed, collected samples of plants and 

animals to carry back to Jefferson and the scientific community of the United States.

From time to time while based at Fort Clatsop, the two captains and other members

of the Corps explored the surrounding countryside, not only to hunt and fish, but

also to gather items, to meet Native peoples in their own communities, and to 

survey the landscapes of what is today coastal Clatsop County. The journals include

several mentions of travel in the direction of the ocean or south and into the 

interior, but the precise geography of the references is often vague. Point Adams,

within what is today Fort Stevens State Park, figures prominently throughout the

Lewis and Clark journals, though it is not clear how much time was spent there, or

indeed if the village was visited at all. There are cryptic references to Lewis exploring

the Point Adams area at one point in the journals, but no geographically specific 

observations. There are also references to hunting parties being sent to the area

from Fort Clatsop, and the salvaging of boards from unoccupied houses either at the

Point Adams village or very nearby. Detailed discussions of Clatsop longhouses may

have been influenced by visits to the village, though this too remains unclear 
— 55 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery

Figure 4.3 – An artist’s rendition of Fort Clatsop, by Rolf Klep, drawn during the Lewis and Clark

Sesquicentennial celebrations of 1955-56. Courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

in the journals. Some scholars determine that the village was never visited by 

the Corps.11 Still, it is clear that Point Adams is mentioned often, especially as a 

navigational landmark of prominence, as would be the case in the many accounts of

explorers and mariners who passed through the Columbia estuary before and after

the visit of Lewis and Clark.

From their Fort Clatsop base, members of the Corps of Discovery also traveled

southward along the coast, well beyond the shores of the Columbia estuary. 

During their time stationed here, the Corps needed salt to preserve food—meat, 

in particular. On the humid coast, meat spoiled quickly and was difficult to dry. 

Recognizing an urgent need for preserved food, both for use at the fort and for the

return journey home, the captains dispatched a group of Corps members to develop

a salt-making camp, a group initially consisting of expedition members Fields, 

Bratten, Gibson, Willard, and Wiser.

The location of a suitable site for the salt-making operation presented challenges

for the group. The salinity of the Columbia estuary is low, as is the portion of the
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 56 —

ocean immediately adjacent to its mouth, it was determined that the camp should be

located on the open ocean coast, several miles distant. The group left on December

28, 1805, only three days after the Corps took up residence in the fort, packing “5 of

the largest Kittles” across the dune fields of Clatsop Plains. The Corps had recently

developed a trail to the ocean coast on what probably included portions of a 

preexisting tribal trail network running somewhat north of the present Fort-to-Sea

Trail. Following this trail to its outlet somewhere near Sunset Beach, the crew then

hiked southward along the beach. Their challenge was to find a place on the outer

coast that possessed sufficiently saline ocean water to support their operation, while

also having a nearby freshwater source for drinking. They found this combination at

what is today Seaside, on the distant southern end of the Clatsop Plains. Here the

crew established an encampment in close proximity to a village of mixed Clatsop and

Tillamook speakers. They established a cairn, a pile of rocks that allowed them to

build a fire below in the recessed spaces while perching kettles on top to heat. The

group made salt by repeatedly boiling sea water on these rock structures until they

rejoined the expedition at Fort Clatsop on February 21, 1806 (Cannon 1995).

During the salt-makers tenure on the coast, members of the Corps occasionally

traveled back and forth from Fort Clatsop to the salt cairn, presumably using the

trail between fort and sea. Apparently this route was also taken by Clark and his

party when traveling to what is present-day Cannon Beach to retrieve whale meat

and blubber. The trail was difficult to use in places due to brush, stream fords and

swampy conditions, and at times groups chose different paths or traveled by canoe

for portions of the trip. For example, on a journey from the fort to the salt cairn on

January 3, Sergeant Patrick Gass and George Shannon avoided the trail altogether,

choosing instead to travel along a ridgeline. The captains’ journals make it clear that

they often felt “uneasy” about the safety of the salt-making team, but also took

comfort in the congenial relationship the team established with the residents of the

adjacent village, “4 houses of Clatsops & Killamox, who they informed me have been verry

kind and attentive to them” (Clark in Moulton 1990: 177). The location of the salt cairn

was later overgrown and largely forgotten, but the site was identified in 1899 by

Clatsop elder Jennie Michel, who as a child knew many of the Clatsop chiefs who 

had hosted Lewis and Clark. She identified the site for an expedition of the newly 

established Oregon Historical Society, led by half-Clatsop attorney and grandson of

Chief Coboway Silas B. Smith (Cox 1900).

Yet from Seaside, the Corps of Discovery travelled further southward. In early 

January of 1806, Captain Clark and twelve other Corps members, including 

Sacagawea, traveled beyond the salt-making camp to see a beached whale south of
— 57 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery

what is present-day Ecola State Park. Blubber from the whale at Cannon Beach had

already been transported to the fort by Native traders in the first days of January. 

According to Lewis’s journal, dated January 5, 1806, the portion of this blubber they

had received at the fort was “not unlike the fat of Poark...I had a part of it cooked and

found it very pallitable and tender, it resembled the beaver or the dog in flavor” (Moulton

1990: 166). The men of the Corps had acquired a taste for whale blubber during 

their journey and, still being low on provisions, the captains agreed they should 

send a party to obtain whale meat and blubber from people living in the vicinity 

of the whale.

The steep and muddy condition of the tribal trail leading over Tillamook Head

(roughly approximating the route of the modern park trail) made for slow and 

difficult travel, but the setting was spectacular (Dicken 1978). Near the summit of

the trail, at a place designated by Lewis as “Clark’s Point of View,” Clark and his

party marveled at the scenery, which encompassed much of the entire ColumbiaPacific region:

“we Set out early and proceeded to the top of the mountain next to the which is much the

highest part and that part faceing the Sea is open, from this point I beheld the grandest and

most pleasing prospects which my eyes ever surveyed, in my frount a boundless Ocean; to the

N. and N.E. the coast as far as my sight Could be extended, the Seas rageing with emence

wave and brakeing with great force from the rocks of Cape Disappointment as far as I could

See to the N.W. The Clatsops Chinnooks and other villagers on each Side of the Columbia

river and in the Prairies below me . . . and on the other Side I have a view of the Coast for an

emence distance to the S.E. by S. the nitches and points of high land which forms this Corse

for a long ways added to the inoumerable rocks of emence Sise out at a great distance from

the Shore and against which the Seas brak with great force gives this Coast a most romantic

appearance” (in Moulton 1990: 182).

While atop Tillamook Head, Clark also marveled at the massive mature Sitka spruce

that dominated the headland in dense, cathedral forests. As Clark noted, the spruce

“on the top of the Point of View rise to the emence hight of 210 feet and from 8 to 12 feet in

diameter, and are perfectly Sound and Solid” (Moulton 1990: 183). 

Descending down the southern face of Tillamook Head, Clark and his party visited

the abandoned village at what is today called Indian Beach, in Ecola State Park:
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 58 —

“I proceeded on down a Steep decent to a Single house the remains of an old Kil a mox Town

in a nitch immediately on the Sea Coast, at which place great no. of eregular rocks are out

and the waves comes in with great force. Near this old Town I observed large Canoes of the

neetest kind on the ground Some of which appeared nearly decayed others quit sound, I 

examoned those Canoes and found they were the repository of the dead” (in Moulton 

1990: 182).

Interestingly, Clark made no mention of the Ecola Point Village, which was likely

larger than the remnant Indian Beach community, and probably still occupied (at

least seasonally) at the time of their travels. It is possible to bypass that community

while traversing this part of the coastline, which may explain the omission.

By the time the party arrived at the mouth of Ecola Creek, according to Clark’s 

journal, the resident Tillamook and visitors from nearby communities had already

harvested most of the whale’s meat and blubber, presenting Clark with a largely

skeletonized animal and little prospect of the group harvesting any part of the whale

independently. His January 8, 1806, journal entry reads, “the Whale was already 

pillaged of every valuable part by the Kil a mox Inds. in the vecinity of whose village’s it lay

on the Strand where the waves and tide had driven up & left it” (in Moulton 1990: 183).

Clark estimated the whale to be roughly 105 feet in length, suggesting that it was a

blue whale (Balaenoptera musculus), which is the only whale to reach such 

proportions on this coast. The Corps found that the Tillamook prized the whale

products and did not part with them lightly. In the end, they were able to trade for

roughly 300 pounds of blubber and a few gallons of rendered whale oil. Clark 

declared the name of the creek to be “Ecola,” the Chinook jargon term for a

whale, which was probably heard incessantly by the Corps during their stay—a

name that would, many years later, be applied to the state park occupying the 

lands the Corps crossed to get there.12

While overnighting across from the main Tillamook village at the mouth of Ecola

Creek, certain members of Clark’s party were in an altercation with Native visitors to

the village, at least some of them Chinook, but left the following morning without

incident. On the way back over Tillamook Head, they encountered several Clatsops

and Chinooks returning home with “emence loads” of blubber and meat from 

the whale.

Though most historians would agree that the Corps of Discovery’s stay at Fort 

Clatsop was successful, it was clearly a difficult period for the expedition. The 
Figure 4.4 – A map from the journals of Lewis and Clark, showing much of the Columbia-Pacific 

region. The tribal villages at such locations as Chinook Point (today’s Station Camp) and Point Adams

(today’s Fort Stevens) are visible – labelled “Old Chinnook Village” and “Clott Sop Nation” respectively.

Near the Salt Cairn, the map notes “Clott Sop & Ki-la-mox Indians at a portage in abt 7 houses.” In

what is today Ecola State Park, Tillamook Head is marked “Clark’s Point of View,” while Indian Beach is

marked “old village – squar coffins in canoes.” Image courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

— 59 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery
Figure 4.5 – Through much of the 19th century, Fort Clatsop continued to serve as a landmark, even 

as it rotted away into oblivion and its last surface remnants cleared to make way for farming in the 

mid-19th century. Here, a mid-19th century field survey map continued to reference the site, in spite 

of few recognizable surface features by this date. Image courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

journals suggest that both captains worked hard to maintain morale at the fort,

which was continually undermined by fleas, poor diet, sickness, the hard labor and

challenging conditions of their preceding months on the trail, and the nearly 

incessant winter rains. To cite one of many examples, in a December 28, 1805, 

journal entry, Clark remarked that “york [is] verry unwell from violent Colds & Strains

Carrying in meet and lifting logs on the huts to build them... rained all day moderately 

without intermition” (in Moulton 1990: 140). Though the group was originally 

intending to depart for home on April 1, 1806, an excitement for home, coupled with

growing fatigue with the discomfort of the fort, prompted the group to set off a week

early, on March 23, 1806 (Cannon 1995). The journals, as well as local oral tradition,

agree that the captains gave Coboway medals upon their departure and formally

transferred to him ownership of Fort Clatsop: “upon their departure gave the Fort to 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 60 —
Figure 4.6 – Members of the 1899 expedition from the Oregon Historical Society stand on the 

former Fort Clatsop site. They include Silas Smith, grandson of Lewis and Clark’s host, Clatsop Chief

Coboway. The expedition was guided to the site with the assistance of the resident Shane family,

who homesteaded the site, clearing some of the fort’s last wooden remains, and P.W. Gillette, a 

former homesteader from the opposite shore of Lewis and Clark River. Identified in this manner, the

fort location was later used for the construction of the replica that is the centerpiece of today’s Fort

Clatsop sub-unit of Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks. Photo courtesy Oregon 

Historical Society.

Chief Cobiway of the Clatsop tribe, who lived here from time to time” (Brallier 1957; 

Moulton 1990). The members of the Corps, not having enough canoes to make the

return trip and finding the Clatsop unwilling to trade for one of theirs, took a canoe

“in lieu of 6 Elk which they Stole from us this winter &c” (Clark, in Moulton 1990: 428).13

In recent times, both the Clatsop-Nehalem and Chinook tribes have held 

ceremonies—linked loosely to the Lewis and Clark bicentennial—involving a 

traditionally carved canoe being symbolically returned to their respective tribes 

to compensate for this loss.14

— 61 —

Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 62 —
— 63 —

	 !-34"0*342/&42((41#4 $0,3*41/4.-34)1(% 022+0+

Native Nations and the Fur Traders of the Early 19th Century

he history of Astoria and the larger Columbia-Pacific region has been 

shaped in no small part by the circumstances of the fur trade. Indeed, when

considering the two-century history of Euro-American settlement on this

coast, it is important to recall that the first quarter was played out within the 

context of the fur trade. And while for two decades almost all of this trade was 

carried out by passing ships that left little permanent imprint, the arrival of 

permanent land-based trade, with forts at Astoria and beyond, would reshape the

human and natural landscape in profound and lasting ways. From the Pacific Fur

Company’s founding of the fur trading post known as Astoria in 1811, to the 

consolidation of American claims in the late 1840s, fur trading empires dominated

the coast. Non-Native peoples became a permanent part of the region’s cultural 

geography, and interethnic ties sustained both Native and non-Native economies.

The communities that emerged on the banks of the Columbia-Pacific were 

comfortably, even enthusiastically, multi-ethnic, and interethnic families were

commonplace—points too often forgotten in retellings of regional history. And, 

like the historical events that preceded and followed this period, many critical 

moments pivoted on places now within the management of the Lewis and Clark 

National and State Historical Parks. 

In many respects, the great transformation of the Columbia-Pacific began in 1811,

with the arrival of a single ship and an overland expedition, converging at Astoria

almost simultaneously.15 Consisting of fur traders and associated staff, these men

were representatives of the newly-formed Pacific Fur Company. Founded by John

Jacob Astor, a German-born and omnivorously capitalist New Yorker, the Pacific Fur

Company was one of several new American operations spawned by the investment

interests of Northeastern businessmen. Operating fur stores and shipping facilities

in New York, Astor was well aware of the booming trade in otter and beaver on the

Northwest coast. He had served as an importer of furs obtained from the Montrealbased North West Company, which he resold on the American and European 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 64 —

markets at a considerable profit. Tariffs and international frictions between the

United States and Britain frequently complicated his operations, however, causing

supply interruptions that idled his workers and cut deeply into his profits. 

In response, Astor decided to incorporate fur trading into his operations, allowing

him to have a more direct hand in controlling fur supply while also circumventing

international barriers to trade. In 1808, he founded the American Fur Company, a

holding company with subsidiaries each focused upon different fur-trading regions

and products, allowing Astor to tap into regions and markets previously dominated

by British Canadian interests. Yet Astor was eager to recruit experienced fur traders,

and had few qualms hiring men from the British fur trading companies to achieve

that end. Recruiting labor from the North West Company in particular, Astor 

determined to develop his own trading depot on the west coast, creating the Pacific

Fur Company with outside investor support in 1810 as a subsidiary focused on the

lower Columbia River region. (There is evidence to suggest that some portion of the

Astor Expedition leadership operated under the impression that the North West

Company was a partner in the Astor enterprise.) Mobilizing the assets of this new

Company, Astor sent an overland expedition, the Astor Expedition (1810-12) to the

mouth of the Columbia—the first such American expedition since Lewis and Clark.

There it was to be met by a supply ship, the Tonquin, which would rendezvous at the

mouth of the Columbia in 1811 with all the supplies needed to build a permanent

trading post. 

The Tonquin left New York in September of 1810, an American ship with a largely

British crew. The ship passed around South America, traveling then to Hawaii—

anchoring at Kealakekua Bay, the exact spot where Cook died decades before and a

perennial stopover point for fur trading ships that followed. Here the crew traded for

livestock and recruited Native Hawaiians to join them. Arriving at the Columbia bar

in March 1811, the notoriously caustic captain of the Tonquin, Lieutenant Jonathan

Thorn, demanded that members of the crew attempt to cross the bar in small boats,

in order to find a channel suitable for the ship. After three failed attempts in the

rough surf, resulting in the loss of three boats and no less than eight crew members,

the crew identified a suitable channel and the Tonquin crossed to safety. Among the

crew members who were lost was a Hawaiian man, who was buried where one of the

boats containing his body had come ashore. His fellow Hawaiians dug a grave in the

sand of the beach on the northern end of Cape Disappointment, a place that has

since been known as “Waikiki” in honor of their homeland.16
— 65 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific

Arriving on the waterfront of what is today Astoria, the crew unloaded building 

supplies, livestock, and other provisions. Construction of a permanent fort, 

“Astoria,” commenced almost immediately in a small clearing—probably a Native

American campsite of some kind. In June, the Tonquin departed for Nootka to 

trade for furs, leaving the permanent Astoria crew behind. En route, Thorn stopped

at Clayoquot Sound, where he accosted prominent Nuu-chah-nulth chief 

Wickaninnish in a dispute over fur prices, prompting an attack that left the ship 

in smoldering pieces, and the crew likewise; the one survivor was Lamazee (George

Ramsay), a half-Clatsop (or half-Chinook) interpreter who found his way home to

the lower Columbia to inform the fort’s inhabitants of the Tonquin’s fate. A land

party led by longtime North West Company employee David Thompson arrived a

month after the Tonquin’s departure, being greeted enthusiastically by his former

colleagues now living at the fort in spite of his expedition’s British backing. The

land-based Astor Expedition, under the command of William Hunt, successfully

passed through the interior Northwest, arriving at the fort by the following January

(Gibson 2001; Seton 1993; Bancroft 1890; Franchère 1851; Irving 1836; Ross 1832).17

Figure 5.1 – An idealized image of the fort at Astoria, as it appeared in 1813, situated in a modest

clearing and surrounded by a stockade. From Franchere (1854). 

In addition to building and organizing the fort, the Astorians set about building the

trading system with local tribes that would come to define the lower Columbia fur

trade for decades. As experienced former North West Company employees, the 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 66 —

Astorians appreciated that in order to succeed they would need to tap into, and in

some ways co-opt, Native trade networks. In a quintessentially British pattern, 

they did not seek to obtain furs independent of tribal societies, but to foster the 

“investment” of Native leadership and labor in the enterprise. Such investment

compelled them to supply furs through their existing hunting territories and 

intertribal trade partners. Furthermore, stakeholders would wish to support, rather

than undermine, Company interests. The residents of the fort purchased furs from

surrounding tribes, loading them into a warehouse within the fort that would 

repeatedly be unloaded onto ships. The ships, in turn, brought an array of trade

goods that were stockpiled at the fort to exchange with Native people. While furs

were sometimes obtained during traders’ visits to villages, an increasing proportion

of the fur trade was carried out at a fort store, where Native traders came and 

exchanged furs for a growing cornucopia of imported goods. A stockade and 

blockhouse were constructed for defensive purposes, but with time, became 

increasingly irrelevant to the fort’s security. It was the tribes’ eagerness to trade

coupled with their growing social ties to the fort community that proved the best

defense, more effective than any wood palisade could ever be. 

Into this context stepped Concomly, once of the most skilled traders of his 

generation. Identified by Lewis and Clark as the second-ranking Chinook chief 

during their stay in 1805-06, Concomly only increased in rank and status in 

intervening years (Moulton 1990). In their first days on the lower Columbia, two 

of the leaders of the Astoria party, Duncan McDougall and David Stuart, visited 

Concomly in Middle Village to introduce themselves and initiate what would become

a golden era of interethnic trade. In chiefly style, Concomly fed them well. When

their boat capsized on their paddle back to the Tonquin, Concomly rescued the party

from the cold water, gaining a sort of cachet that endured for years to come. (During

these early visits, the Astorians also visited the villages on the south side of the

river, including “the natives who occupy Point Adams, who are called Clatsops [and] 

received our young gentlemen very amicably and hospitably” [Franchère 1967: 44]). 

Leading from his Middle Village home, Concomly became an increasingly prominent

presence at the fort, organizing vast shipments of furs obtained by the Chinook both

directly by hunting, and through the sprawling tribal trade networks maintained 

before Europeans came to the Columbia. Under Concomly, there was a consolidation

of the power, influence, and identity of certain Chinookan peoples, fueled by their

unique position relative to the Astoria traders and by the unique imported goods

that flooded the region through their fort. 
— 67 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific

Concomly represented himself to Astoria’s traders, and the ships that visited their

fort, as the representative of not only the Chinook proper, but most other lower 

Columbia tribes. Meanwhile, he represented himself to Native peoples of the 

region as the principal intermediary to the fort. In this way, he became an adept

middleman, profiting from a sizeable portion of the early exchanges between Astoria

and area tribes. (Fur traders, for their part, often tried to overcome the monopolistic 

vision of Concomly by reaching out to other tribes and exploiting divisions between

them.)18 In time, Concomly would marry his daughters into the non-Native 

fur trading community, forging relationships of unique depth (and the many 

descendants of these marriages still inhabit the region today). While the rising 

affluence of certain chiefs and villages at times had destabilizing effects in the 

balance of power between tribal communities, which the Astorians and their 

successors sometimes sought to counterbalance, it was generally in the traders’ 

interest to have these leaders maintain positions of great prominence. They could

thus marshal the vast resource wealth of the Northwest in a manner that would

profit the new traders.19

Meanwhile, other leaders watched Concomly’s ascendance with what seems to 

have been a mixture of enthusiasm and concern. On the south side of the river, the

Clatsops led by Coboway, his successor Tostom, and secondary chiefs, also played 

an active role in the Astoria trade from the village complex in modern-day Fort

Stevens, sometimes collaborating with, and sometimes chafing under, Concomly’s

growing influence. (Tribal oral traditions recounted in the Hussey [1967] report 

that a large rock promontory stood atop the hill above Fort Columbia and was

prophesized to be linked to Concomly’s power. As long as the rock stood, it was said,

Concomly and his kin would reign in the region. Clatsops from the opposite side of

the river were reported to have paddled over to the Fort Columbia point in the night,

toppling the stone into a ravine, where it is reported to sit today.) 

Matters of intertribal power relations aside, all tribes of the Columbia-Pacific 

region played an important role in the land-based fur trade—sometimes 

independently and sometimes with Concomly as their intermediary. Through this

frenetic trade, Chinook, Clatsop, and other tribes of the immediate area acquired 

an unprecedented diversity of trade goods—blankets, beads, tools, guns and 

ammunition, fine china, and any number of other goods—that served to display 

and reinforce the prominence of Columbia-Pacific tribes within the larger Pacific

Northwest. Together, the tribes of the lower Columbia and the Astorians initiated a

period of sometimes awkward mutual interdependence that would persist for

decades to come. 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 68 —

The fur trade frontier on the lower Columbia was a place of surprising ethnic 

diversity, reflecting a variety of sometimes awkward alliances meant to both 

reduce the threat of conflict and to give the North West Company and Hudson’s Bay

Company (HBC) unique access to tribal trading partners. Interethnic marriages were

part of the fur trading experience from long before the arrival of Europeans on the

lower Columbia River. On the lower Columbia, the success of fur trading operations

was often contingent in no small part on the alliances created by fur traders’ 

marriages of Native women. Kinship allowed traders to pass from “outsider” status

to “insider” status almost instantaneously. Marriages into tribal families, especially

the families of prominent leaders, opened up a world of trade opportunities to the

fur trading companies in this ethnographic context, in which familial ties insured an

“inside track” when trading with the woman’s home community. Thus, many—

though by no means all, or even a majority—of the women who married into the 

fort communities were from high-status families.20 Visiting the territories of the

women’s tribes to seek furs, the Companies could receive special dispensation, the

hospitality afforded esteemed guests, and preferential treatment relative to any

competitors—such as the Americans visiting by ship or sometimes building 

temporary forts—who might seek to trade there. (American venture capitalists did

attempt to build small operations on the lower Columbia during the height of HBC

influence; most notable was the Nathaniel Wyeth party, who attempted to establish

their own fur trading posts in 1832 and 1834, failing both times due in no small part

to the tactical advantages of the HBC.) 

Native women, with their knowledge of tribal languages and territory, were an 

indispensable source of information to HBC traders too. With women married into

the fort community, there was a greater opportunity for diplomatic relationships

with the woman’s home community, and a reduced chance of violent attacks from

her countrymen both at the fort and while on trading expeditions. There is ample

evidence that the North West Company and the HBC sought to induce young men in

their service to marry into the Chinook, Clatsop, and other local tribes—not always a

difficult task as single men were stationed for years at a time. Meanwhile, the tribes

of the region—accustomed to strategic inter-village and inter-tribal marriages for

similar purposes—fully understood and often embraced the idea of having young

women marry into the fort communities.21 Women from multiple tribes were clearly

part of the Astoria community, and dwelled within the walls of the fort.

There were not only Chinooks, Clatsops, and other tribes from the immediate area

represented at the fort. There were also tribes that gathered with these Native hosts

to fish and trade, many of whom came to trade with Chinook and Clatsop villages
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The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific

with an “inside track” to the fort, or to attempt to trade with the fort directly. Oral

traditions of long paddles to Fort George from distant Native communities are still

found among the region’s tribes today.22 There were also slaves. The practice of 

Native slavery brought to the vicinity of the fort a pronounced diversity of tribal

members who had arrived on the lower Columbia through a vast slave raiding and

trading network. Many Chinookan people of high status held slaves, obtained 

especially through trade with other tribes along the coast and in the Northwest 

interior—Shasta, Achomawi, Quilleute, Yaquina, and others, who were just a 

sampling of those reported as slaves on the lower Columbia. Alexander Ross 

commented on the women he saw arriving to trade in the early days of Fort George: 

“Slaves do all the laborious work; and a Chinooke matron is constantly attended by two,

three, or more slaves, who are on all occasions obsequious to her will. In trade and barter the

women are as actively employed as the men, and it is common to see the wife, followed by a

train of slaves, trading at the factory, as her husband” (Ross 1849: 92).

Once Chinookan women and fur traders began to marry, these slaves were then

owned by multiethnic households, sometimes living in or immediately beside 

the forts.23

The ethnic makeup of the Company employees was similarly complex. In the early

years of the North West Company and HBC, most of its European employees were

Scottish, and many of these men hailed from the Orkney Islands. Over time, as the

Companies evolved, they maintained an English and Scottish-born managerial staff,

such as Astoria’s Alexander Ross and Alexander MacKay. In the HBC, they had long

maintained a mixed employee population of lower-class British and FrenchCanadian men, as well as Native peoples. To some degree, the organization of the

Company recapitulated the class structure of contemporaneous British society.

French influences continued to grow, however. By the time the fur trade had arrived

on the lower Columbia, the larger industry was increasingly centered on Montreal

and Quebec, with the North West Company employing English or Scottish managers

and French-Canadian voyageurs serving as the principal field staff. 

In the consolidated Hudson’s Bay Company, the administrative culture was 

decidedly British: duties and status were differentiated by race, and administrative

positions, divided among white employees, were shaped by preexisting class 

distinctions to no small degree. In this new Company, the men of the British Isles

were disproportionately represented in the fort’s Officers and clerks. These men
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 70 —

commonly married Indian or Métis “half-breed” women. The lower-status 

“employees” or “servants” of the fort were more commonly French Canadian or

Métis, often descended from previous generations of fur trade employees who had 

intermarried with Native women. “Laborers” or “canoemen” who were temporarily

employed for specifics tasks often consisted of local Indians, Iroquois and other

eastern Indians, French Canadian, Métis and—by the time Astoria was founded—

Native Hawaiians.24 While the hierarchical organization of the Company thus still

recapitulated British society, it did so within an increasingly multicultural milieu,

with race and class clearly defining one’s position and one’s potentials within the

Company in a way that might trump the merits of individual employees. It is clear

that Company officers maintained strict control over some aspects of daily life and

often punished transgressions of lower-status employees severely. The manner of

punishment reflected not only employment relations, but the larger relations of 

race and class which served as the context of Company employment.

While the North West Company and HBC were eager to trade with local tribes, they

were reluctant to hire them for anything more than temporary assignments, fearing

their local and tribal loyalties might supercede loyalties to the Companies. For this

reason, the Companies hired Native labor taken from distant lands, who maintained

no local loyalties aside from loyalties to the Company. For example, prominent

among the workers at Astoria, and later Fort Vancouver, were Native Hawaiians. 

Detours to the Hawaiian Islands had been commonplace from the beginnings of 

the fur trade, as a resupply point and minor trade outpost visited during the 

monumental ship journeys between the Northwest, Asia, and eastern North 

America—Cook’s terminus at Kealakekua Bay being an especially popular place

(Corney 1932; Bishop 1967). Within a decade of Cook’s journeys, Native Hawaiian 

laborers were being recruited as labor on ships, both British and American, traveling

on fur trading expeditions between the Pacific Northwest, Hawaii, and China. 

Thus it came to be that Native Hawaiians, including the young chief named Attoo

from the island of Niihau, were on board Robert Gray’s ship the Columbia when it

made history as the first foreign vessel to enter the lower Columbia (Bona 1972).

Roughly one-dozen Native Hawaiians were among the Astorians who arrived at the

mouth of the Columbia River in 1811 aboard the Tonquin and contributed to the 

construction of Fort Astoria. A small group of Native Hawaiians were involved in fur

trade from this outpost, becoming important to the North West Company operations

throughout the region. The men who were employed on the lower Columbia at this

time included a few of the men who would arrived on the Tonquin in 1811, including

Naukane or “John Cox” and Paul Poah. They also included James Coah, who had 
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The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific

arrived at Astoria in 1812, and Jimo, Frank Kanah (or Kanak) and Henry Bell Noah

who arrived in 1814. The remainder appear to have arrived on a voyage of the Beaver

in 1813 or aboard the Columbia in 1817—the latter ship bringing a reported 60 

Hawaiian laborers to the lower Columbia. In time, the HBC established its own 

depots in the Hawaiian Islands, selling goods locally but also warehousing furs and

other items to supply their vast intercontinental shipping efforts. By this time, 

Native Hawaiians were integrated into most of their major operations on the Pacific

(They were, however, the only group to be formally quartered outside the protected

stockade at Fort George.) (Barman and Watson 2006: 62; Bona 1972: 166). 

On the lower Columbia, the Hawaiian men were widely admired as members of boat

crews working in support of fur trade operations. Many fur trade journals make

passing reference to highly competent boat crews of Native Hawaiians. Alexander

Ross quipped that, on “water...they are as active and expert as the reverse on dry

land” (Ross 1855: 193). These Hawaiian men were also seen as essential to the early

defense of fort and fur trading brigades—especially in the early years of the landbased fur trade, when new tribal territories were being explored and relationships

with many Indian communities were still tentative and uncertain. These Native

Hawaiian men were often brought along on voyages to serve as guards or 

paramilitaries in support of fur trade operations. As Ross noted, 

“They are submissive to their masters, honest and trustworthy and willingly perform as

much duty as lies in their power...They are not wanting in courage; particularly against the

Indians, for whom they entertain a very cordial contempt. And if they are let loose against

them, they rush upon them like tigers. The principal purpose for which they were useful on

Columbia was as an array of numbers in the view of the natives especially in the frequent

voyages up and down the communication....on every occasion they testify a fidelity and zeal

for their master’s welfare and service...It was from this people that captains, in their coasting

trade, augmented their crews in steering among the dangerous natives from Columbia River

to Behring’s Straits” (Ross 1855: 193-94, 293).

Also in their number were a number of Iroquois who, according to Alexander Ross

(1855: 85) were “chiefly men from the vicinity of Montreal,” who had originally been

employed by the North West Company. The North West Company, at the time of the

establishment of their Columbia basin operations, recruited labor most actively in a

handful of Indian communities in close proximity to their Montreal headquarters.

Many of the Iroquois recruits appear to have been associated with the Caughnawaga

area, immediately across the Saint Lawrence River from Montreal. Other Iroquois
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 72 —

populations from the Oka and St. Regis communities, sitting a few kilometers’ 

distance east and south of Montreal respectively, were recruited into Northwest

trade as well (Jennings 1885: 71; Mackie 1997; Nicks 1980). These men were 

considered great assets to the Company, hunting, trapping and serving as boatmen.

Many did not return home, but married Native or Metis women, staying in the

Northwest permanently—often “on Indian reservations established in the United

States from 1856 onward” (Lang 2008: 93). 

Also among the fur traders, especially after the arrival of the HBC in 1821, were 

the Cree. The shoreline of Hudson Bay in Canada consisted significantly of Cree 

territory, as did adjacent lands of the Canadian interior east and west of the bay. 

The term “Cree” is generally applied to Algonquian-speaking people whose 

traditional territories have ranged from Atlantic Canada to the eastern edge of the

Rocky Mountains in Canada. The Cree traded actively with the HBC beginning very

early in that Company’s history, and gradually took on roles as trappers for the

Company. Simultaneously, for well over a century prior to the development of 

Astoria, the policy of encouraging intermarriage with native communities had been

tested and developed squarely within the heart of traditional Cree territory. By the

time the HBC ventured into the Pacific Northwest, Company employees included a

population of Cree descendants who were, in some cases, more than fourthgeneration descendants of the original cross-cultural marriages between Cree 

and Euro-Canadian Company employees. New Cree employees were being recruited

constantly throughout much of the Company’s operations north of the 49th parallel

in the early 19th century, and some portion of this population was recruited to 

assist in the early development of operations in the Columbia District

(Hale 1846; Lang 2008). 

While succeeding at its commercial objectives in many respects, the fort at Astoria

had turbulent beginnings. At the onset of the War of 1812, only a few months after

the fort was constructed, British forces dispatched the sloop Raccoon to assert British

claims to American holdings on the north Pacific coast, and to take possession of

Astoria’s assets for wartime “prize money.” Before the ship arrived, however, Astor

decided to sell his fort and other Pacific Fur Company holdings to the North West

Company. (Displaced from his Northwest Coast operations, Astor would continue to

operate ships along the coast, while developing his interests in other sectors, such

as opium smuggling and real estate, the latter elevating him to great wealth and

fame in East Coast circles [Ebeling 1998, Smith 1929].) Arriving at Astoria, 

meanwhile, the Raccoon found that the fort already consisted of a largely British

crew working under the British-chartered North West Company. The crew carried
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Empires of the Turning Tide

Figure 5.2 - A watercolor image of Fort George (also known as Astoria) during the British period of

1813-18. From National Archives of Canada, W.H. Coverdale collection of Canadiana. Image courtesy

Wikimedia Commons. 

out a small “possession” ceremony and rechristened the fort “Fort George” to

honor King George III all the same. For the men stationed at the fort, most of them

British subjects, the event was of minor and largely symbolic significance. In 1818,

at the conclusion of the war, the Treaty of Ghent required the British to return their

spoils of war to the Americans, including its former Pacific Northwest possessions,

leaving the fort’s status ambiguous. The United States sent a U.S. navy ship, the 

Ontario, to the coast to formally retake possession of the territory and of Astoria.

Taking shelter on the eastern side of Cape Disappointment, the commander, Captain

James Biddle came ashore with his crew, held a brief ceremony and nailed a plaque

to a tree—an event that was largely ignored by the region’s inhabitants—while also

raising the American flag over the fort (Long 1983). Two months later, British 

officers on the HMS Blossom apparently conducted similar proceedings on the 

same spot at Cape Disappointment, admitting the transfer of “Fort George” back 

to the Americans but asserting continued British dominion in the territory.25 The

convention of calling the fort “Astoria,” “Fort Astoria,” or “Fort Astor” rebounded,

and an American flag sometimes flew over this British fort, creating an existential

basis for the joint national occupation of the Northwest that would follow (Hussey

1957; Elliott 1918a, 1918b).
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 74 —

In 1821, the HBC merged with the North West Company, effectively absorbing its 

operations and bringing with it a very different, hierarchical business culture. The

arrival of the HBC on this coast was the realization of roughly 150 years of Company

ambition, initiated when the Company was incorporated under a British royal 

charter in 1670 as “The Governor and Company of Adventurers of England trading

into Hudson’s Bay,” with the aim of bringing the furs of North America to European

markets for a considerable profit. Since its inception, the Company’s operations

had spread across the expanding frontiers of British North America, especially 

eastern Canada. Their arrival on the famously fur-rich Northwest coast, within

shipping range of Asia, was a move of great strategic importance to the Company,

making the North West Company merger a critical step in their global business

strategy. Optimism about the Company’s future abounded, and the value of shares

in the Company soared in the early years of Northwestern operations.26 The rise of

the Company’s fortunes in this distant corner of North America temporarily gave

credibility to British territorial claims to the Oregon country and gave hope to those

who envisioned British colonization of the region. However, for both of these 

ambitions—pecuniary and nationalistic—to be realized, the Crown and the 

Company had to proceed cautiously and strategically with the resident population of

tribes in the region, building upon relationships established by the North West

Company. Astoria staff were retained and even promoted within the new company,

and trade relationships with area tribes did not appreciably change in the HBC’s 

first year or two on the lower Columbia (Deur 2011). 

Soon, however, the shortcomings of the Astoria fort became a source of concern to

HBC officers and governors hoping to expand their presence in the Northwest. By

early 1824, HBC Governor George Simpson ordered that the Company move from

Fort George to Fort Vancouver—roughly 100 river miles inland. This was done as 

the HBC restructured their “Columbia Department” following Simpson’s tour of the

region in 1824-25, in order to make operations more efficient and to adapt to the

changing realities of the Northwestern fur trade (Simpson 1931). Fort Vancouver 

was chosen for its strategic location relative to the developing fur trade of the

Northwestern interior. By 1824, the sea otter population of the outer coast had been

largely exhausted, and the supply of locally available terrestrial furbearers on the

Columbia estuary and adjacent coastline was in abrupt decline. (Various lines of 

evidence suggest the decline of the kelp forests offshore and a resulting change in

the nearshore ecology—an effect of the fur trade that has never been remedied.)

Land-based fur trade was quickly eclipsing ship-based maritime fur trade. Thus,

HBC leadership looked eagerly toward the Northwestern interior as a source of
beaver and other furs. By necessity, the HBC expanded its commercial operations

into a widening sphere of tribal trade networks in the Northwestern interior, and

Fort Vancouver sat at an advantageous intersection of the principal avenues of tribal

trade running east-west along the Columbia River and north-south along the

Willamette Valley and Puget-Cowlitz Lowland. 

Simultaneously, food security was a critical consideration. While there were many

reports of Fort George’s general success in early agriculture, in truth agricultural 

potential was limited. Clearing the dense spruce-hemlock forest was no small task.

After working all day chopping a single tree, Alexander Ross noted, 

“it seldom came to the ground. So thick as the forest, and so close the trees together, that in

its fall it would often rest its ponderous top on some other friendly tree...giving us double

labor to extricate the one from the other, and when we had so far succeeded, the removal of

the monster stump was the work of days. The tearing up of the roots was equally arduous...

Nearly two months of this laborious and incessant toil had passed, and we had scarcely yet

an acre of ground cleared” (Ross 1832: 73-74). 

Clearings around the fort were understandably small. Crops were few in number,

and often struggled in the small forest clearing housing the fort, with its acidic soils,

long winters and north-facing slopes. Lacking large fields for grazing, livestock 

(except perhaps pigs) tended to suffer high mortality from cougars, bears, wolves

and other predators while grazing the forest. For these reasons, traders had been

largely dependent on the Clatsop and Chinook to acquire much of their food 

supply—salmon in particular. This created dependence on local tribes, undercutting

not only the fort’s security, but also the negotiating power of its traders who 

bargained with these tribes for each pelt arriving at the fort. At Fort Vancouver, in

contrast, the land was relatively level and south-facing, with vast meadows cleared

of forest by an apparently long history of Native burning. With its verdant fields 

and southern exposure, the site had agricultural potential arguably unsurpassed

along the entire lower Columbia River shoreline, and was Fort Vancouver’s most 

important strategic asset. So too, the fort was located on the north bank of the river,

based on expectations that the south side might someday fall into American control. 

As early as April 1824, visitors depict Fort George as largely abandoned, with most of

its residents assisting in the construction of Fort Vancouver far upstream.27 By April

of 1825, all of the operations of Fort George had been moved to the new facility in

what is today Vancouver, Washington, bringing all of Fort George’s storage, trade,

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The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific
and other functions to one centralized facility. Here, Fort Vancouver became 

hugely important in the region, the heart of the Columbia District and the central

headquarters of a network of fur trading posts throughout modern-day Washington, 

Oregon, Idaho and British Columbia. Meanwhile, Fort George was largely 

unoccupied for the next four years, being used mostly for storage and as a depot 

for shipments moving up and down the river (Deur 2011). 

In spite of the HBC’s decision to vacate the Columbia estuary, the landmarks of the

estuary remained of great importance to the Company’s operations. For mariners

entering and leaving the river, Cape Disappointment and Chinook Point (both Fort

Columbia and Middle Village) remained the principal landmarks used to establish

their bearings. Meanwhile, Cape Disappointment was commonly used as a lookout

by men sent to watch for ships attempting to enter the river, or to see if winds and

the bar were right for vessels attempting to leave (Hussey 1957). Indeed, once

Americans started moving into the area, Chief HBC Factor Peter Skene Ogden spent

a total of $1,000 of his own funds (later reimbursed by the Company) to purchase

American claims to the cape. He did this so the Company could establish a trading

post and a “pilot’s lookout” at the site to aid in navigation—actions that anticipated

the construction of lighthouses and other navigational infrastructure several

decades later.28 Meanwhile, the rotting remnants of Fort Clatsop, still occasionally

used by Coboway and his family as an outpost, became a curiosity visited by 

traders traveling up and down the river en route to the forts—a kind of early 

historical tourism.29

While these changes in HBC operations were greeted with a mix of concern and 

enthusiasm by Portland Basin Chinookans, the move was understood as a potential

threat to tribal trade interests on the estuary. Concomly worked to remain relevant

now that he was skipped over by the shifting geography of the land-based fur trade,

and worked to demonstrate to Chief Factor John McLoughlin and other HBC 

leadership that he was the preeminent leader of the lower Columbia who should yet

be the conduit for regional trade. Concomly made several visits upriver to Fort 

Vancouver, often with flotillas of canoes mobilized as much for dramatic effect as

fur-carrying capacity. Arriving at the new fort, Concomly was reportedly preceded

by 300 slaves and, as reported by deSmet, “he used to carpet the ground that he had

to traverse, from the main entrance of the fort to the governor’s door, several 

hundred feet, with beaver and otter skins” (deSmet 1905: 443). This demonstration

of his wealth and power had multiple audiences, both Native and non-Native—

helping to inspire loyalty among his own people and commercial enthusiasms

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 76 —
— 77 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific

among the Company officers. He thereby insured the continuation, and perhaps

even the expansion, of his influence. 

Indian-white relations on the Pacific Northwest fur trade frontier were 

surprisingly peaceful, aided by mutual economic interests and intermarriage. 

However a few exceptions mar this history of interethnic cooperation. One such 

incident took place in the Columbia-Pacific region. The HBC fur traders had a keen

interest in developing binding relationships with the tribes as a means to economic

ends, and yet were also wracked—especially in the 1810s and 1820s—by a sense of

vulnerability and dependence on the tribes, who outnumbered Company staff by a

vast margin. Clearly, the threat of violent attacks from the Indians was of great 

concern to HBC officers in the early years of Astoria and Fort Vancouver. The 

example of the 1811 Tonquin disaster was still fresh in the minds of many HBC 

employees, some of whom (including HBC Chief Factor, John McLoughlin) had

adopted the children and married the widows of those killed in the conflict. 

Recognizing that even the perception of Indian troubles was a threat to their 

enterprise, the HBC employed a policy of what we might today call “massive 

retaliation,” responding severely to any hostile act by the region’s tribes in order 

to make a highly visible example of it. Clearly, attacking and razing entire villages

was a retaliatory tactic employed by HBC employees throughout the Columbia 

District, and one of the most widely known examples occurred at the mouth of the

Columbia (McLoughlin 1843b).

Figure 5.3 – Hudson’s Bay

Company Chief Factor, John

McLoughlin, who oversaw the

Company’s operations on the

lower Columbia River for most

of its almost three decades of

dominance in the region’s fur

trade. Image courtesy Oregon

State Library, Salem.
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 78 —

When a ship called the William and Ann carrying HBC cargo and crews foundered in

the surf at the mouth of the Columbia in 1828, sinking and killing all aboard, the

Clatsop salvaged the cargo along the shoreline, as was their custom. Rumors 

surfaced that the Clatsop had killed survivors and John McLoughlin dispatcheda

team from Fort Vancouver to recover property and make an example of the 

Clatsop. The team shelled the main Clatsop village in what is today Fort Stevens 

and burned it to the ground. While McLoughlin indicated in official correspondence

that four Indians were killed, tribal oral tradition suggests that the attack killed

many more residents of this village, as well as guests from other tribes (Deur and

Thompson n.d.).30 Only later did McLoughlin determine that there was no evidence

of Clatsop murdering the crew of the William and Ann (though there was evidence

that tribes who competed with the Clatsop for Company trade had been involved in

the spread of the rumors). Still, in light of the realpolitik of the Northwestern fur

trade, McLoughlin depicted this action as a strategic necessity. In his letter to the

Governor and Committee of the HBC, dated August 13th, 1829, McLoughlin explained

his actions. He noted that the Clatsops had not killed the crew but had obtained its

cargo, and that the Company had to make an example of them for larger, 

strategic reasons:

“the Indians considered the [salvaged] property as ours...if we had not made a demand of it

we would have fallen so much in Indians Estimation that whenever an opportunity offered

our safety would have been endangered... our people [had] no alternative but to attack the

Indians and act towards them in the manner they did“ (McLoughlin 1829e: 41).

The Clatsop rebuilt what was left of their village, with no apparent retaliation

against the well-armed Company—the Clatsops’ longtime trading partners now

stationed in Fort Vancouver. The HBC did not provide reparations, though 

McLoughlin’s correspondence makes it clear he was ultimately convinced of the

Clatsops’ innocence in the matter of murdering William & Ann crew. 

The lower Columbia generally, and Astoria and Fort Vancouver in particular, were

gathering places for people traveling through the region by land and by sea. As

such, the forts and villages at the river’s mouth became vectors for diseases carried

by people arriving by ship. With ship traffic arriving regularly, originating from

ports in Asia, the Pacific Islands, coastlines throughout the Americas and the British

Isles, a steady procession of diseases struck the lower Columbia from Robert Gray’s

arrival on, and it was probably a matter of time before a major epidemic came to the

bustling trading center. 
In the year 1830, that major epidemic arrived. This year brought a devastating 

sickness to the lower Columbia River that would radically and permanently change

the regon’s demographics. The “fever and ague” or “intermittent fever,” as it was

often called in journals of the time, is first reported at Fort Vancouver in 1830—the

first major epidemic witnessed directly by non-Indians. Most sources concur that

the disease was, in fact, malaria. While the specific path of introduction remains 

unclear, most sources acknowledge that the fort was likely its first point of arrival in

the region. The American ship Owyhee is sometimes implicated in historical sources,

though some authors suggest that the rumor of this ship’s responsibility had been

broadcast by HBC employees to undermine tribal confidence in their American 

competitors (Cook 1955: 38-39; Boyd 1999, 1990: 85-88, 1985: 112-145; Salleeby 1983). 

The epidemic spread through the region from its lower Columbia core, ultimately

appearing in the interior of Oregon and well into central California, continuing to

plague the lower Columbia for much of the decade. Outbreaks rebounded each

year—typically in the summer when mosquitoes rapidly spread the sickness along

the marshy margins of the Columbia. Despite its geographically wide influence, the

epidemic’s effects were most lethal on the densely settled tidal reaches of the 

Columbia River. The demographic consequences of the epidemic for the Chinookan

peoples of the lower Columbia were severe, while the personal, social and cultural

consequences for tribal communities was horrific—a point on which there is 

regrettably little record reflecting the contemporaneous perspectives of the Native

people themselves. Clearly, the loss of this scale—roughly 90 percent of the total

population—from the ranks of any society would be apocalyptic and cause 

contractions and transformations throughout every aspect of community life.31

Among the major consequences of the epidemic was an almost immediate change in

the relative size and influence of individual Chinook populations. The lower river

Chinook—once the largest and most prosperous population in the region—were

abruptly eclipsed in their scale and regional significance by interior tribes. As French

explorer Eugene Duflot de Mofras observed toward the end of the epidemic, “Upper

Chinooks still number about 1,000 individuals. However, the Lower Chinooks, who a few

years ago had nearly 100 huts, today do not exceed 300 persons. Malignant fevers have 

decimated entire villages” (Duflot de Mofras 1937: 182). Concomly and many of his kin

were among the dead. In 1830, HBC employee Francis Ermatinger reported of these

lower river populations that 

“we were visited by a most malignant intermittent fever some time ago, and of which we

are not totally recovered yet. It carried off King Concomly with most of his subjects and 

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The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 80 —

Figure 5.4 – Concomly’s gravesite, as depicted by Alfred Agate of the Wilkes Expedition, in 1841. Concomly’s death in 1830 came at a time of unparalleled suffering in the tribal communities of the region resulting from the arrival of diseases on ships traveling to the fur trading posts at Astoria and

Fort Vancouver. A monument to Concomly, echoing the design of this burial, would later be constructed on Coxcomb Hill in Astoria. From Wilkes (1845).

those of the tribes about him. It is no unusual thing to see two or three dead bodies, in a

short excursion along the river. Some of the villages were entirely depopulated” 

(in McDonald 1980: 140).

With the death of Concomly, the prominent chief of the lower Chinooks, along with

many of his villagers and slaves—reducing Middle Village to a fraction of its former

size—the Chinookan position in the fur trade was forever transformed.32 To many,

Concomly’s death to malaria symbolically marked the “end of Indian social 

dominance on the Greater Lower Columbia,” and reduced the lower Chinook villages

to a position of relatively little influence on the economic and social life of the fort

community (Hajda 1984: 46). As had been the case during prior epidemics, survivors

regrouped in myriad villages along the coast. Other village sites were largely 

abandoned, becoming seasonal camps or burial sites where large settlements once
stood. Vast burial sites, hastily constructed by survivors, are reported in the area,

some apparently dating from this period. Not far from the Salt Cairn site in Seaside,

for example, early chroniclers mentioned a space of no less than an acre “almost

covered with human bones and skulls,” while similar, sprawling burial areas are 

reported on the Lewis and Clark River not far from Fort Clatsop (Gillette n.d.). At

this point, the Chinook, Clatsop, and other peoples of the lower Columbia were 

becoming a minority on their own lands, and were no longer treated as either a

strategic threat or a source of commerce by the HBC.

Reflecting these dramatic changes, as well as changes in the international 

operations of the HBC, the Company reactivated Fort George in 1830, expanding 

the fort’s storage and depot functions for transoceanic trade. The Company also 

redeveloped a portion of the fort to serve as the base of operations for a growing

salmon fishery and very small-scale lumbering operation—a function that the fort

would maintain until the HBC departed in 1848. Fort Vancouver maintained an 

apparently lively and enduring trade selling salmon and lumber in Hawaii and ports

around the Pacific served by the Company’s Hawaii depots. Company employees, 

especially Native Hawaiians but also French-Canadian and Metis, shipped barrels of

preserved fish to Hawaii and other destinations. Native Hawaiians caught,

processed and barreled salmon. Though a small portion was consumed locally by

HBC staff and visitors, most was shipped to Hawaii. Reeling from the effects of the

epidemics, the Native communities of the lower Columbia, Chinooks and Clatsops

alike, nonetheless supplied fish for these operations (Sylvester 1933: 360). 

There was also a small wood milling operation at Fort George, maintained by 

the same employees who operated the fishery. Upstream, Fort Vancouver had 

maintained a large operating sawmill since 1828, largely supplied by Native 

Hawaiian as well as Métis and French Canadian labor, and it is likely some of the

men who aided in the milling and shipment of lumber at Astoria first gained 

experience in that operation. As with salmon, most of the lumber was shipped to

Hawaii for sale or redistribution throughout the Pacific. In addition to supporting

the Hawaiian trade, ships occasionally arrived on the lower Columbia from Spanish

California and Mexico, seeking lumber to build missions and other structures on

their northern frontier (McLoughlin 1829, 1841; Martin 2006). 

The mouth of the Columbia remained a major thoroughfare, visited by most 

prominent travelers of the day who entered the Columbia Basin. Explorers passed

through and commented, if briefly, on what they observed at the mouth of the 

Columbia, noting key navigational landmarks such as Cape Disappointment, 

— 81 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific
Chinook Point, and Point Adams, as well as the modest fort community in Astoria.

Among those explorers were members of the United States Exploring Expedition

under Commander Charles Wilkes, one of the United States’ great journeys of 

exploration. Attempting to enter the Columbia, the Wilkes Expedition wrecked the

U.S.S. Peacock off of Cape Disappointment on July 18, 1841. A faulty chart of the river

entrance doomed the Peacock. Following proper bearings on Cape Disappointment

and Chinook Point along channels that had shifted or been improperly surveyed, the

ship became trapped in shoals that were covered in breakers. All of the Peacock’s

crew escaped because of a rescue organized by an African-American servant, John

Dean, who had joined the crew while anchored on Puget Sound. From the bluff of

Cape Disappointment, Dean recruited a boatload of Chinooks, led by a pilot called

“Old George,” who directed the schooner over the bar. The Flying Fish, another 

Expedition ship, joined the castaways at the first landing beach north of the cape,

finding the crew safe but a sizeable portion of the expedition’s records lost to 

the sea (Philbrick 2003). 

Undeterred by the wreck, Wilkes had his men complete a chart of the lower river and

the first report on the rivers and harbors of the Pacific coast two years later (in 1843)

as a precursor to work by the United States Coast Survey. Though the findings of the

Wilkes Expedition, including the five-volume Narrative of the United States Exploring

Expedition, were well received and widely hailed as a scientific achievement of 

national importance, Wilkes was court-martialed upon his return—in part for his

loss of the Peacock (Tyler 1968; Hussey 1957). An African-American cook from the

Peacock named James Sanler (also called “De Sauls,” “DeSaule,” “Santos,” or

“Saul”) decided to stay, building a shack on Cape Disappointment and residing there

until 1846. The only remnants of the rescue visible at this site in 1858 were ovens

used by the encamped crew. 33

The objectives of the Wilkes Expedition to map the mouth of the Columbia and 

report on its natural resources, was only part of a larger American effort to assert

claim to Oregon Country. As part of this effort, the United States formally assigned a

man named Elijah White to the position of Oregon “Sub-Indian Agent” in 1842, one

year after Wilkes’ journey. White was instructed to begin negotiating American

treaties with tribes preemptive of proposed American expansion into the region.

White attempted to negotiate treaties with the Cayuse, Nez Perce and others, 

seeking to carve out an association with that would depart from their long and 

relatively close relationship with the HBC and British subjects. Whereas the HBC

had maintained a cautious approach to the large Native nations of the region, White

introduced concepts such as forced relocation and reservation development to area 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 82 —
Figure 5.5 – The mouth of the Columbia River, as mapped by the Wilkes Expedition in 1841. 

By this time, the Methodist mission sat near the Clatsop village on Point Adams and Astoria 

merited two ‘dots’ on the map, indicating some modest growth beyond the original fort. From U.S.

Exploring Expedition, 1845. Map of the Oregon Territory by the U.S. Ex. Ex., Charles Wilkes, Esqr., 1841.

Philadelphia: Lea and Blanchard. Image courtesy Wikimedia Commons. 

tribes—strategies that would have been unthinkable and unnecessary during the fur

trade, but were designed to accommodate America’s vision of regional agricultural

reoccupation. There is some indication that White’s introduction of these concepts

later contributed to nationally significant wars with those tribes, as well as the

— 83 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific
Whitman Massacre (Deur 2011; Bancroft 1890: 253-96). John McLoughlin would 

send repeated protests of White’s interference to HBC and American authorities,

noting that it was both bad for HBC business and had the potential to destabilize 

interethnic relations throughout the entire region. (Some years later, as will be 

discussed elsewhere, White attempted to found a community atop Cape 

Disappointment.) Fort Vancouver reinforced their long-neglected palisades, 

and modest repairs appear to have been made to the defensive capacities at 

Astoria—not only for defense against potentially hostile Americans, but also 

against tribes that were growing ever more restive due to American threats and 

incursions (Deur 2011). 

British claims on the Northwest becoming ever more tenuous, the HBC intensified

their efforts to harvest all available furs—wringing the last economic value from 

the land, while also reducing opportunities for American competition and incentives

for American immigration. The effects were particularly destructive on the beaver 

population, which was nearly extirpated over large areas of the Northwest, 

especially in present-day northwestern Oregon and southwestern Washington. 

This “scorched earth” policy has been termed a kind of “ecological warfare” 

intended to produce a “fur desert” in Oregon and Washington (Muller-Schwarze

2011: 162).34 Some 3,000 or more beaver were harvested per year through much of

the HBC period of occupation on the lower Columbia; in the final years of HBC 

occupation, those numbers declined precipitously, reflecting the relative scarcity 

of the species. In practice, this instigated a change in the broader riparian ecology 

of the lower Columbia region, probably resulting in the first measurable adverse 

effects on salmon (Muller-Schwarze 2011).

As the first American wagon trains arrived from the East, there was growing talk 

of open war between Britain and the United States over claims to the Pacific 

Northwest. With their close relationships with tribes, interethnic marriages, 

linkages to the Catholic Church, and British loyalties, HBC employees were widely

seen as alien occupiers who would need to be ousted before American settlement

was secure. By 1845, spies working on behalf of the British Crown, Henry Warre 

and Merwin Vavasour, even explored the lands of the lower Columbia to assess the 

loyalties of Chinookans and other peoples to the HBC in the event they would need

to be enlisted in a war against the United States. Consulting with HBC Governor,

George Simpson, they proposed taking Tongue Point, Point Adams and Cape 

Disappointment by force, and building armed fortifications on these promontories

to repel American ships (Warre and Vavasour 1909; Warre 1848). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 84 —
Figure 5.6 – Rounding Cape Disappointment by ship, as shown in a watercolor by Henry Warre in

1845. Serving as a British spy on the lower Columbia River during the tense border negotiations 

between his country and the United States, Warre and his fellow traveler Merwin Vavasour would

propose British fortifications atop several local landmarks, including Cape Disappointment—shown

here with markers on its summit. Image courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

“For the protection of British interests on the Columbia and N. W. Coast...it would be highly

important to get possession of Cape Disappointment, and to erect thereon a strong battery,

which would effectually command the mouth of the Columbia River, as unless the 

southernchannel may have been found practicable since I was there, ships entering the 

River must pass so close under the Cape that shells might be dropped almost with certainty

upon their decks from the battery...

“On Point Adams I would place a battery of 5 guns, having its gorge defended by a 

blockhouse, similar to that for Cape Disappointment. These points being covered with 

immense timber, which would require a length of time to remove, open works could not 

easily be formed...

‘For the occupation of Tongue Point, I would recommend a battery of heavy guns on the

West side overlooking the ship channel, with a blockhouse or defensible barrack near its

gorge...There are some other points on the north shore apparently offering good positions,

such as Chinook point and Point Ellis” (in Simpson, et al. 1912: 149-50).

By the time Warre and Vavasour’s proposals were being reviewed in London, the

issue of Northwestern claims had already been settled. The passage of the Oregon

Treaty in 1846 largely settled the boundary dispute between the U.S. and Britain,

— 85 —

The Rise and Fall of Empires on the Columbia-Pacific
sealing the fate of the HBC on the lower Columbia River. The Company began a

slow-motion retreat, removing goods, personnel and facilities to other parts of their

domain. A significant proportion of those people still in the service of the Company

moved to Fort Victoria, in Victoria, British Columbia, becoming founding figures in

the history of that province. Many others stayed, living in the community of 

Champoeg in the Willamette Valley, or integrating into the larger fabric of Pacific

Northwest society—within white communities or Native communities, depending

on their pigmentation and predilections. The comfortably multiethnic world of 

the fur trade gave way to the comparatively segregated world of the American 

agricultural frontier. The fort at Astoria was abandoned by 1849 with the final 

departure of the HBC, the lands formerly occupied by the fort gradually being 

reoccupied and redeveloped as part of the urban fabric of Astoria, Oregon. 

Meanwhile, the sea otter that had largely instigated the trade was nearly extirpated

from this coast, and beaver would rebound only slowly over years—both animals’

absence having broad effects on regional environments that arguably still affect

fisheries and other human affairs today. Fur trading would never again be a major

part of the economic and social landscape of the lower Columbia (Bancroft 1890). 

Parenthetically, it should be noted that the year 1911, exactly a century after 

the arrival of the Astor party on the Columbia estuary, was of huge symbolic 

importance. It marked the end of the sea otter population that had precipitated the

European scramble to the Columbia-Pacific. In that year, the last native sea otter

seen on the coasts of Oregon and Washington was reported at Willapa Bay, 

mobilizing enthusiastic local hunters into the water in boats large and small. (Only

many decades later would reintroduction efforts and population rebounds bring a

rare “bachelor male” otter, swimming solo, to the Columbia-Pacific.) As the sea

otter disappeared, so too did the empires that brought it very close to extinction. In

that same year, over 2,000 years of imperial Chinese history came to an end with the

Xinhai Revolution, while Mexico too was at the height of a violent revolution that

sought to overthrow vestiges of old colonialism. Also in that year, an environmental

treaty far ahead of its time was signed by the United States, Britain, Japan and 

Russia—on the verge of its own transformative revolution. The North Pacific Fur

Seal Convention of 1911 called for an end to the hunting of the sea otters of the north

Pacific, noting that after a century of frenzied commercial hunting, the entire

species was approaching extinction (Vaughan 1982; Scheffer 1940).35

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 86 —
4 "31++%$0/'4.-342/&4

Settlers and the Formation of Agricultural Landscapes

he resettlement of the Columbia-Pacific region that took place throughout

the 19th century was in many respects an agricultural occupation. Non-Native

people had lived on the coast a few generations beforehand, but the settlers

who arrived in Oregon and Washington during the mid-19th century possessed a

fundamentally different vision of the landscape. Whereas fur trappers presented a

transient presence, navigating Native communities and a relatively unmodified 

natural landscape, the people who now arrived in the Columbia-Pacific intended to

settle extensively and permanently. They would transform the terrain to cultivate

introduced crops. They would build enduring homes spread diffusely across the land.

Of northwestern European stock, by and large, and primarily hailing from the 

American Northeast and the recently resettled Midwestern frontier, they came to

the Northwest with particular, and largely unprecedented, expectations for making a

settled life in the region. The horrible epidemics that nearly depopulated the land

preceding their arrival gave a false impression that they arrived to an untrammeled

“wilderness” that needed human occupation and husbandry to achieve its full 

potential. Though they did not build the agricultural empire they envisioned, and

though many early horticulture experiments saw only ambiguous success, they did

transform the landscape in pervasive and enduring ways. 

The Native peoples of the region had, in many respects, managed plant 

communities in ways deemed horticultural. Evidence exists of burning and pruning

of berry bushes to enhance their output, as well as the burning of prairies to foster 

production of bracken fern, camas, and other food plants. There was probably 

extensive planting and seeding of plant seeds and rootlets. Furthermore, the 

region’s tribes engaged in abundant ceremonial prescriptions to ensure successful

future harvests. The agriculture brought to the region by European peoples was 

certainly not novel to Native peoples and, ironically, the success of the introduced

agricultural practices was in some manner aided by landscape-level cultivation

practices of aboriginal origin. These practices opened clearings that would be 

occupied by non-Native settlers in the 19th century (Deur and Turner 2005; 

Deur 1999).

— 87 —
From the beginnings of the fur trade, introduced agriculture transformed the 

Columbia-Pacific landscape. Journal accounts are clear that ships’ crews planted

small and experimental gardens at the mouth of the Columbia, in the hope of 

cultivating a few familiar crops as they passed through on later voyages. The earliest

reported case was in September 1795, when the English ship Ruby anchored in Baker

Bay—just east of, and interior to, Cape Disappointment—and crew members

planted beans, peas, celery, and radishes on a small island there. Returning to the

lower Columbia on their return voyage, they were able to harvest some modest

crops, an event claimed as the “first horticultural enterprise in the Pacific 

Northwest” (quoted in Lucerro and Hobbs 2004: 14). A variety of other temporary

gardens, planted to support the maritime fur trade, were reported on the Columbia

in the years that followed. In 1810, the Boston-based Winship brothers attempted to

develop an agricultural outpost to support visiting fur trading ships and their own

anticipated fur trading post. Finding arable and unoccupied land to be rare near the

river’s mouth, the brothers developed their gardens upstream in the vicinity of

Clatskanie. Their operation did, however, fail, due to the combined effects of 

riverbank flooding and tribal opposition (Jerzyk 1940). 

The gardens planted at the Astorians’ fort beginning in the spring of 1811 produced

modest crops, but only with considerable difficulty and months of fighting the 

oppressively dense spruce-hemlock forest. Raising livestock brought mixed success

there as well, though pigs thrived, becoming so numerous that fort residents went

on pig hunts simply to cull the herd. A few cattle survived the region’s large 

predators long enough to supply beef, and the fort even kept a few milk cows. Yet

after a decade in use, the fort was largely abandoned. This was due in no small part

to its lack of agricultural potential in the dense, damp forests of the coast, and the 

strategic disadvantages placed on fort staff by their dependence on Clatsop and 

Chinook peoples for staple foods. The HBC eagerly moved their operations to Fort

Vancouver where vast open fields and floodplain soils facilitated a thriving 

agricultural enterprise (Hussey n.d.; Deur 2011).

The agricultural occupation that would commence at the end of the fur trade era

was, however, quite different in scale and effects. Its footprint would be much larger

and more geographically widespread, involving large numbers of settlers arriving

and acting independently across swathes of Oregon Territory, clearing the land with

an expanding range of methods and technologies. In the new era of settlement, too,

land was acquired through legal mechanisms. These mechanisms were in place to

encourage American emigration to Oregon Territory and to place sizeable portions of

the territory into private ownership to facilitate settlement and development, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 88 —
including non-agricultural development. By 1843—the effective beginning of 

appreciable American emigration along the Oregon Trail—the Oregon Territorial

legislature made arrangements for land claims of up to 640 acres for married couples

or 320 acres per individual. These claims did not have legal standing in U.S. or

British courts, but provided a legal context for early settlement in places like the 

Willamette Valley. 

However, it was the subsequent Donation Land Claim Act and the Homestead Act

that completely transformed the Northwestern landscape, allowing for an effective

reoccupation of the land by settlers hailing primarily from the American East. On

September 27, 1850, President Millard Fillmore signed the Donation Land Claim Act,

commonly referred to as the Oregon Land Law, authored by Oregon Territory’s first

congressional representative, Samuel Royal Thurston. This law allowed white and

half-Indian citizens over the age of 21 to select claims on unsurveyed lands in 

Oregon Territory. The law was later extended to California and to Washington 

Territory, which was carved from Oregon Territory in 1853. Under the terms of this

law, homesteaders could obtain 320 acres, and married couples 640 acres in total.

Continued ownership of the claim required that the owner “prove up” the land by

demonstrating “the fact of continued residence and cultivation” within 12 months

of its initial survey. The law served to promote homestead settlement of Oregon 

Territory and to create an unassailable American presence in the West. In this 

respect, the law was a success. When the law expired in 1855, roughly 30,000 new

American settlers had entered Oregon Territory, and roughly 7,000 individuals 

held legal claims to 2.5 million acres. 

Oregon and Washington congressional delegations petitioned for extensions of 

the act to foster additional settlement in the years that followed, and ultimately,

President Abraham Lincoln signed the Homestead Act on May 20, 1862. This law,

which largely expanded the spirit of the Donation Land Claim Act in Oregon and

Washington Territories, enabled any U.S. citizen, or intended citizen, who had never

borne arms against their government to file an application to claim 160 acres of 

surveyed government land. The act required the homesteader to file an application,

live on and improve the land for a period of 5 years, then file a deed of title to the

land. Northern states in particular supported this act, which was meant to populate

Western states with farmers and undermine some of the South’s economic and 

political sway in the increasingly fractured nation at the beginnings of the Civil War.

Yet Native title proved to be a persistent obstacle as the United States sought to

issue settlers clear title to lands to support this imagined agricultural foothold.

— 89 —

Reoccupying the Land
Treaties meant to extinguish Native title were the principal mechanism for 

clearing title for reoccupation by federal and private landowners. A series of treaties

negotiated at Tansey Point (in what is today’s Warrenton) by Anson Dart in August

1851 were meant to accomplish this goal with the tribes of the Columbia-Pacific. In

the course of these treaties, U.S. representatives negotiated independent treaties

with numerous tribal communities, including the Clatsop, Wau-ki-kum, Konnaacc,

Kathlamet, Klatskania, Wheelappa, Lower Chinook, Nehalem-Tillamooks, the

“Lower Band of Tillamooks,” and others. Though the content of these treaties 

varied, all of them involved tribes ceding claims to the bulk of their territories in 

exchange for promises of modest payments and government assistance, and in 

some cases the retention of small inholdings within former lands as reservations. 

The Chinook were able to reserve “the grounds they now occupy,” protecting the 

remaining Chinook settlements north of the Columbia as de facto reservations.

Though the point was not explicitly stated in the treaty, this would presumably 

have included a good portion of Station Camp. In their negotiation of treaties, 

the Clatsop requested a single sizeable reservation, but non-Native agricultural 

settlements were already beginning to encroach on the margins of their larger 

villages and U.S. negotiators found it difficult to envision a reservation proposal 

that wouldn’t prompt opposition from settlers. Instead, the Clatsop were promised a

smaller reservation at Point Adams, in what is today Fort Stevens State Park, as well

as continued access to “their fishing grounds at the mouth of the Neacoxsa Creek [in 

Seaside] whenever they wish to do so for the purpose of fishing.” In the end, however, the

U.S. Congress did not ratify the treaties, due in part to the intercession of members 

of Oregon’s congressional delegation such as Joseph Lane. Lane objected to the 

effects of the proposed reservations on what were perceived as American strategic

interests: the loss of non-Native homesteads, the preemption of potential military

forts at the Columbia mouth, and the continued presence of a large Native 

population on the lower Columbia (Ronda 2011: 110–113). 

Other legal mechanisms and treaties would be ventured in the years ahead, 

including separate treaty negotiations at Chehalis, Quinault, and elsewhere, but

none recognized the independent tribal status of the Chinook, Clatsop, and other

peoples of the lower Columbia. Nor did they provide reservations or federal 

protections for these tribes similar to those afforded other tribes of the Northwest.

In the absence of ratified treaties, the legally sanctioned occupation of lands by 

non-Native settlers increasingly displaced Native people from prime spots along the

Columbia estuary, often pushing families southward to places like Seaside, Cannon

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 90 —
Beach, Nehalem, and Garibaldi, Oregon, or northward to places like Bay Center,

Tokeland, and for some, Taholah, Washington.36

In the Columbia-Pacific region, it is clear that the Donation Land Claim process 

was messy and defied textbook explanations of American settlement. Some families

with deep local roots made claims in places where they had already been located a

number of years. Settlers such as Solomon and Celiast Smith, for example, were able

to establish a 639-acre claim around the Clatsop Plains house they had occupied for

many years, as they had worked in support of the Lee and Frost mission long before

the advent of the Oregon Trail. In some cases, claims were jumped by other parties,

so that people living on the land previously without clear legal title were displaced

by individuals who made claims on the same lands. This proved a problem for some

early farmers, to be sure, but also for Native peoples whose claims on the land had

not been recorded in state, territorial, or federal records. Some claims were not

“proved up” and were lost, only to be reoccupied by other settlers. Very often, lands

were claimed only briefly, being improved and then resold—either as large blocks of

land or subdivided parcels—sometimes as a speculative real estate venture yielding

considerable profit. These scenarios played out throughout parts of Oregon and

Washington. Still, they seem to have been especially common in the ColumbiaPacific region, where farming was often difficult and lands obtained through land

grants could be resold for alternative uses, such as fishing stations, military and

lifesaving posts, recreational developments, and a range of other purposes suited 

to the distinctive coastal geography.

Other significant departures from the textbook explanations of American settlement

characterized the land claims process in the 19th-century Columbia-Pacific region.

Here, the effects of the fur trade era were ubiquitous and longstanding. Unlike many

other parts of Oregon and Washington, where families of agricultural settlers often

arrived without prior ties to the land, the early history of land claims and agriculture

in the Columbia-Pacific region was inextricable from the history of fur trade families

who became established in the two or three generations preceding the Donation

Land Claim Act. In this respect, the experiences of the Columbia-Pacific resembled

those of the community of fur trader families in Champoeg (and many connections

linked these two communities) rather than those of other, more homogeneous parts

of the Willamette Valley. The stories of the early settlers and farms demonstrate

many points of intersection between the rising tide of non-Native settlers arriving

along the Oregon Trail and the lives of various former North West and HBC 

employees, missionaries, and mixed-race families who had long seen the lower 

Columbia region as their home.

— 91 —

Reoccupying the Land
Many individuals were associated with the early resettlement of the lands now

within the Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks, either as early 

settlers, land claimants under the Donation Land Claim Act, or as later recipients 

of lands acquired under that act. A complete biographical overview would entail a

sizeable study in its own right, so what follows is only a review of key players, giving

a sense of the greater historical processes at play. More detailed biographical 

assessments of these individuals are available from preexisting sources.37 A review 

of these biographies show that many—perhaps most—of these settlers did not fit

the stereotypical image of Donation Land Claim pioneers, but were individuals 

simply attempting to obtain legal title to lands already well known to them. 

Likewise, they were pursuing development for reasons other than agricultural 

settlement. Those who did seek to develop agricultural settlements and “prove up”

their land typically embarked on months, sometimes years, of toil, clearing lands

with saws, axes, fire, and—when resources permitted—the labor of neighbors or

Native peoples hired to assist.38

On Cape Disappointment, the Donation Land Claim claimant was Elijah White, 

former Oregon Sub-Indian Agent. White contributed much to the early history of 

the Northwest, arriving with Jason Lee’s Methodist mission to Oregon, advancing

American claims into the HBC–dominated Northwestern frontier, as noted 

previously, and causing considerable anxiety within the ranks of that company and

among tribes of the interior Northwest.39 White dabbled in many professions and by

the late 1840s, served as a missionary to the Chinook and other tribes of the region.

Like most of his contemporaries on the lower Columbia, White recognized the

prominence and strategic importance of Cape Disappointment. Before the passage

of the Oregon Treaty in 1846, a settler by the name of John E. Pickernell had 

submitted a legally ambiguous land claim to 640 acres on the Cape Disappointment

headland. In the fall of 1849, working with business partner James D. Holman, White

occupied the interior, northeastern flank of Cape Disappointment. This was no 

agricultural venture, but seems instead to have been driven by a desire to profit in

the sale of this distinctive piece of Columbia-Pacific real estate. 

Submitting the paperwork for a Donation Land Claim by 1850, White almost 

immediately began to subdivide his claim into lots in an imagined community called 

“Pacific City.” He began to sell these lots to arriving settlers. White and a few of his

purchasers built structures, and a small community immediately took tentative form

on the cape. Several of these lots were sold to two brothers by the name of Holman,

and with White’s support, one of these brothers—James D. Holman—built a hotel

off-site, subsequently placing it at Pacific City. By doing so, James D. Holman 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 92 —
consequently became White’s partner in promoting the town, which grew to 75 

residents before President Fillmore declared much of the area a military reservation

by executive order on February 20, 1852. 

Even while promoting the town for prospective real estate sales and development,

White was simultaneously petitioning the U.S. government to acquire his land for a

military reservation due to its strategic values—a point of military history to be 

addressed later in this document. In the end, the federal government acquired the land,

condemning the town and its various buildings. As Weathers noted, “He sold most of his

subdivided property to unsuspecting settlers and was undoubtedly compensated for the loss of

his Donation Land Claim when the government announced the land was government property

in 1852” (Weathers 1989: 51). The community gradually disbanded, making way for the

military reservation that would become Fort Canby by the early 1860s (Hussey 1957).

Some portion of Pacific City’s residents and commercial functions, in turn, were 

displaced the short distance eastward to the townsite of Ilwaco, and had a catalytic 

role in the early development of that community. 

Similarly, Fort Columbia was originally homesteaded by a settler who had ties to the

region preceding the advent of the Oregon Trail. James Scarborough, born in Ilford,

Essex, in England, had moved to the lower Columbia in 1830, working as an employee

of the Hudson’s Bay Company. By 1843 Scarborough had married a Chinook woman,

Ann Elizabeth, and the two are known to have visited the Chinook Point area while

searching for a place to settle along the lower Columbia. The exact date of their 

occupation of the Fort Columbia site is unclear, but it is known to have occurred

sometime between 1843 and 1846. James was still in the employment of the HBC,

placing them conveniently close to their friends and family in both Fort George and

the Chinook community. By 1848, both James and Ann were cultivating the property,

and they secured a 643-acre Donation Land Claim by 1850. The prominent landmark

of Scarborough Hill, rising to the north of Fort Columbia, is still named for the 

couple. Both James and Ann died by 1855. At that time, control of the land was

granted to their sons’ guardian, James Birnie, another employee of the HBC, who in

turn sold the land to fellow company employee, Rocque Ducheny, who was married to

Concomly’s granddaughter Mary Rondeau. Like Scarborough, Ducheny died soon

after securing title to the land. Though Mary appears to have sold her interest in 

the land, she live there into the 1860s when the land was purchased as a military

reservation, ultimately the home of Fort Columbia (Hussey 1967: 17-22).40

The Station Camp area was also acquired by individuals who did not fit the stereotype

of the agricultural settler. The site was first acquired by Catholic missionary 

— 93 —

Reoccupying the Land
Figure 6.1 – By the early 1860s, J.S. Scarborough and Patrick McGowan owned adjacent land claims,

occupying much of what is today Fort Columbia and Station Camp respectively. McGowan, in 

particular, was not a conventional agricultural settler—acquiring his lands largely as an investment in

the future of the Columbia River fishing industry. From Bureau of Land Management, General Land

Office Map, Township 9 North, Range 10 West, Willamette Meridian, 1863.

Father Louis Joseph Lionnet under an 1848 mission grant, a type of grant made by

the territorial government to support the missionization of Indian communities. 

Establishing his mission practically in the front yard of the Chinook’s Middle Village

settlement, Lionnet and members of his mission attempted to win the loyalties of

the Chinooks, who had already been exposed to considerable, if less invasive,

Catholic missionary efforts during the period of HBC dominance. Operating the

Stellam’s Mission, Lionnet performed baptisms, marriages, and last rights to Native

and non-Native people living in and around Middle Village. With mixed success

among the Chinooks and declining numbers at Middle Village, Lionnet sold his claim

to Patrick J. McGowan, a Portland-based businessman. McGowan saw the potential

of this prominent riverfront site not for agriculture, but for fishing and other 

industrial pursuits. Establishing a Donation Land Claim to the site in 1853, McGowan

only occupied the land intermittently for several years, “proving up” the land but 

not moving to the site until around 1861 to develop his salmon salting and packing

interests, a point discussed in later sections of this document (Weathers 1989: 39).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 94 —
Figure 6.2 - By the time of the 1863 General Land Office survey, Fort Stevens was already functioning

as a military reservation, though the lands had been briefly homesteaded by the Schwatka family

and had remained the site of a sizeable Clatsop village. Hachures show where the new reservation 

incorporated lands from the claims of B.C. Kindred and W.W. Raymond. From Bureau of Land 

Management, General Land Office Map, Township 8 North, Range 10 West, Willamette Meridian, 1863.

At Point Adams, a settler by the name of Frederick G. Schwatka was still processing

his family’s Donation Land Claim to much of Point Adams as Army surveyors 

arrived, asking him to vacate the premises. He had initially moved his family to

Memaloose Point, just south of Fort Clatsop by 1853, apparently attempting to settle

at a former Clatsop burial site before moving on to Point Adams. Displaced from

Point Adams, the family later moved to the Willamette Valley, making retroactive

claims for compensation for the lands lost to the military. Two separate Donation

Land Claims were established just to the east, by B.C. Kindred and W.W. Raymond.

Raymond served as a temporary Indian agent to the Clatsops at Point Adams, with

the sanction of Oregon’s Indian Superintendency. Both also lost large tracts of 

land to the new forts.41 There is some evidence to suggest that the Methodist 

missionaries, Lee and Frost, temporarily occupied the shoreline at Point Adams too,

prior to the establishment of the military fort and the displacement of the Clatsops

(Deur 2005; Penner 1998; Lee 1916; Wilkes 1845, 1841; Lee and Frost 1844). 

— 95 —

Reoccupying the Land
Among the settlers associated with the lands now in the national park, it is perhaps

the Shane family at Fort Clatsop that most closely fits the agrarian vision of early

proponents of the Donation Land Claim Act. Carlos Shane arrived in Oregon by way

of the Oregon Trail in 1846. Seeking suitable sites for an agricultural homestead,

Shane established a presence in the Fort Clatsop area by 1848. In 1850, he acquired

the site from Thomas Scott, who had used the Donation Land Act earlier that year to

“jump” the Oregon Territory provisional claim of an 1849 settler, S.M. Hennell. By

1851, Shane had built a house very close to the historical site of Fort Clatsop. Yet

these historical facts—familiar to many members of the park staff—represents a

much simplified version of what were, in truth, complex events. Preston Gillette,

himself a prominent settler on the east bank of the Lewis and Clark River who wrote

extensively about the Fort Clatsop site, reported some of these details:

“Fort Clatsop has had many a claimant and owner within the last 50 years. Lewis and Clark

gave it to the Clatsop chief, Co-mo-wool, as they spelled it, but his descendants say it is 

Co-ba-way, who used it during the remainder of his life as a winter home. In 1849, S. M.

Henell, of Astoria, put a man on the place to make some improvements, expecting himself to

take it up under the donation act, but in 1850 Thomas Scott, whom I knew well later on,

jumped it, and established a claim to it. However, he held it but a short time, when he traded

it to Carlos W. Shane for Ka-lots-ka, which had been the home of Twilch and his tillicums

(people) from time immemorial, and afterwards became my place” (Gillette 1900a).

Carlos sold the land to his brother Franklin Shane in 1853, moving to a separate

homestead a short distance upriver. Franklin ultimately occupied a house some 

distance south of the fort; the original Shane home on the property, built by Carlos,

was said to have “long since disappeared” by 1900 (Shane 1900: 21). As Gillette

noted, “the young growth of timber that had overgrown the old Lewis and Clark clearing

had been cleared away [by the Shanes] planted in orchard, and put into cultivation”

(Gillette 1900a). The Shanes planted the land in crops, including orchards of fruit

trees and a variety of vegetables including potatoes, acquiring at least a portion of

their cultivated trees and crop seed from Gillette (Gillette 1900b). They continued to

occupy the site into the early 20th century.42 Cultivation generally ceased on the

Shane farm in the 1860s, but a generation after the family’s original settlement,

they once again tried to make the land profitable for agriculture and other pursuits.

Gillette noted,

“In the 1870s one of the Shane heirs took possession of the place, and for the third

time the land was cleared and an attempt made to make an Important place of Fort Clatsop”

(Gillette 1900a).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 96 —
Figure 6.3 – The Shane

land claim, sitting at the

1805-06 site of Fort 

Clatsop and future site of

Fort Clatsop National 

Memorial and the Fort

Clatsop sub-unit of the

Lewis and Clark National

and State Historical Parks.

By the time of the 1863 

General Land Office 

survey, Carlos Shane had

already transferred the

land to his brother,

Franklin. From Bureau of

Land Management, 

General Land Office Map,

Township 8 North, Range

10 West, Willamette 

Meridian, 1863.

Still, they clearly had broader visions for the economic development of the

land that were not solely agricultural. As will be discussed elsewhere, the Shanes 

allowed for the development of a sawmill on the site in the 1850s, which sold lumber

locally and to burgeoning California markets of the Gold Rush era. They also 

promoted and developed a short-lived boat landing linking the Youngs Bay estuary

by wagon road with the early resort towns on Clatsop Plains (Cannon 1995; Gillette

1900a, 1900b). A trail is still referenced (or at least implied) in mid-19th-century 

accounts, very roughly approximating the Fort-to-Sea Trail route, connecting the

settlements of the Lewis and Clark River area to the beach, thence to the south 

toward modern Seaside (Gillette n.d., June 2, 1861; Metsker 1910).

The Sunset Beach area, meanwhile, was a point of convergence among several 

Donation Land Claims, the most central and important arguably being that of Cyrus

Olney. Olney’s lands included much of the southern portion of Sunset Beach State

Wayside, as well as the Yeon property. Born in New York and raised in Ohio, Olney

practiced law in that state for a number of years before moving to Oregon. Here, 

he became a prominent figure in early Oregon history. President Franklin Pierce 

appointed Olney to the Oregon Supreme Court in 1853, at around the time he was 

— 97 —

Reoccupying the Land
Figure 6.4 - The Shane family farm continued to cultivate the site of Fort Clatsop in various crops

through the late 19th and early 20th centuries—in this 1899 photo, the fort site is covered in flowering

potato plants, one of the more successful crops on the cool and humid Columbia-Pacific region.

Photo courtesy Oregon State Historical Society.

settling in Clatsop County. Like a few of his Clatsop Plains contemporaries, Olney

had ambitions of becoming a gentleman farmer. To achieve this, he secured the land

fronting the ocean near modern Sunset Beach for his Donation Land Claim, and 

purchased part of another land claim belonging to John McClure in Astoria. 

The scenic oceanfront provenience of Olney’s claim was no doubt part of its appeal,

reflecting a trend apparent in later Clatsop County land claims. (Portions of the 

scenic southern coast of the county were acquired through homestead claims by

such notable Astoria figures as cannery owner Samuel Adair, for example, whose

1892 homestead encompassed Hug Point and was the site of a seasonal home

perched above that point’s scenic beachfront waterfall.)43 Olney was a member of

the 1857 Oregon Constitutional Convention. He represented the northern coast in

the Oregon legislature in the late 1860s, and worked the Clatsop Plains farm 

intermittently, though his health was declining for many years. He died in 1870 and

the Clatsop County town of Olney was named in his honor. Portions of the Olney 

Donation Land Claim were acquired by members of the Carnahan family and became

known as the Carnahan Place, with farm lands gradually being subdivided and 

platted to foster resort community development in decades that followed (Miller

1958; Corning 1956; Lockley 1928: 793).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 98 —
Yet Olney was not the only major 19th century landowner in the area. Today’s Sunset

Beach parking area sits very close to the western corner between lands owned by

Cyrus Olney and James Taylor. Pennsylvania-born James Taylor (1809-1893) was

raised in Ohio and came west in 1845, crossing the Barlow Pass over the Cascade

Range even as it was being built by Sam Barlow. Living in Portland, Taylor became

business partners in a mill operation with Portland founder and Oregon territorial

legislator, Asa L. Lovejoy (for whom various Portland landmarks are named, 

including Lovejoy Street). Their operation was severely damaged by flooding, and

the Taylor family—including wife Esther and the children (ultimately numbering

seven)—then moved to Clatsop Plains. The Taylors purchased an unoccupied 

Donation Land Claim near present-day Sunset Beach that they farmed. They also 

acquired lands in Astoria, fronting Young’s Bay—providing for them, like Olney, a

farm and a “town house” that allowed their children to attend town schools. Also

typical of families of that era, the Taylors moved to and from the Willamette Valley

on more than one occasion, returning to participate in business ventures with 

Lovejoy. But the family continued to return to their homestead between obligations

in the interior, with James and Esther contributing to the development of the 

original Presbyterian church along what is today the Fort-to-Sea Trail route. Later,

their children contributed to the development of other buildings at the site, 

including the present-day church known as the Clatsop Plains Pioneer Presbyterian

Church. The Taylor family lived in the area well after the early settlement period,

participating in the salmon fishery and other aspects of Columbia-Pacific history

(Miller 1958; Lockley 1928: 792-94).44

The lands now encompassing the Salt Works in Seaside were within the Lattie 

family Donation Land Claim. In many respects, the Latties’ lands resembled those

of Washington park lands, with their linkages to tribal families and history. Born in

Scotland, Captain Alexander Lattie Sr. worked for the HBC as a bar pilot and served

for a time as captain of the Beaver, the first steamer ship to enter the Columbia

(Millard 1977; Lattie 1846). He was married to Ce-cust (also called Marie Catherine

or Sikkas), a woman of Clatsop and Tillamook parentage, born circa 1813. The couple

married in 1831, initially settling adjacent to the tribal settlement at Station Camp

while Alexander worked as a bar pilot. 

The Latties had several children, including Alexander Jr., William, Helen, Mary (or

“Marie”), John, and others. After Alexander Sr. drowned in 1849, the family—like

many tribal families of the time—felt increasingly unwelcome on the rapidly 

developing mouth of the Columbia. The Lattie family moved to the Seaside area,

where the sons successfully secured title to the family’s lands, employing the 

— 99 —

Reoccupying the Land
Figure 6.5 – The Olney and Thomas land claims converged in the vicinity of Sunset Beach, on Clatsop Plains, with Cullaby Lake on the east and the Pacific Ocean to their west. From Bureau of Land

Management, General Land Office Map, Township 7 North, Range 10 West, Willamette Meridian, 1863.

provisions for half-Indian claimants within the Donation Land Claim Act. Acquired

in 1853, their claim consisted of 325 acres, running roughly from what is today 

Seaside’s Avenue G to Tillamook Head. The Lattie home sat a short distance from

the south cove of Seaside, near the site of an old Clatsop village, and was a meeting

place for Native people still in the Seaside area. Early settler, P.W. Gillette (n.d.)

noted that when he visited the family’s home in 1852, “there were many Indians in

the neighborhood.” The Latties’ home also became the focal point of early Seaside

tourism, with Alexander and Ce-cust’s son, William Lattie, serving as proprietor of

a small rooming house commonly called “Bill Lattie’s Place.”45 After Ce-cust’s

death in 1871, the family sold much of their land claim to Ben Holladay, where 

Holladay founded Seaside’s first major hotel. Lattie family descendants sometimes 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 100 —
Figure 6.6 – The Lattie (or “Latty”) land claims of William and Elizabeth Lattie, in what is today south

Seaside. The Latties were successful in using legal instruments largely intended to aid recent settlers

in the acquisition of agricultural land claims, allowing this family – of partial Clatsop and Tillamook

ancestry – to maintain their home at a longstanding village site on Seaside’s south cove. From Bureau

of Land Management, General Land Office Map, Township 6 North, Range 10 West, Willamette 

Meridian, 1863.

worked as part of his establishment and helped recruit Native storytellers to 

entertain guests. Their land claim was later platted to become the southern portion

of the growing resort town of Seaside, and a few Lattie descendants live in this part

of Seaside today (Deur 2008; McChesney 1969).

Though agriculture was not a major component of most of these stories, each settler

mentioned practiced subsistence farming of some sort, and “all but a few depended on

farming” (Gillette n.d., January 17, 1861). From the earliest records of agriculture on

this coast, continuing well into the 20th century, there was a division between 

subsistence and commercial farming. Small kitchen gardens were widespread and 

— 101 —

Reoccupying the Land
subsistence farming was the norm. And, much more than is apparent in official 

histories of the region, early homesteaders and area farmers survived through mixed

economies of small-scale farming and subsistence hunting, fishing, and plant and

shellfish gathering. Expeditions for purposes of elk and deer hunting, salmon 

fishing, and berry picking are ubiquitous in pioneer diaries.46

More ambitious, commercial farming efforts were not always fruitful, as the 

landscapes of the Columbia-Pacific defied early settlers’ expectations in many ways. 

The farmers arriving in the area to stake land claims, perhaps especially those from

Midwestern states, were not prepared for the difficulty of clearing ancient forest,

nor for the acidic and often nutrient-poor soils common on the coast. The arduous

task of clearing forest, alone, was enough to sink many agricultural ventures. As

noted before, the combined labor of the Astorians over the course of months 

resulted in perhaps an acre clearing during their critical first year, scarcely adequate

to support the needs of the early fort (Ross 1832: 74). Some 40 years later, Preston

Gillette and his neighbor together cleared only half an acre in their first season on

the Lewis and Clark River.47 The many other settlers who occupied forested lands

often had little more success, expanding their farms slowly and incrementally over

the course of years.48 The lands that were cleared proved difficult to farm, with

stumps, mazes of roots, and nutrient-poor soils.

With early experiments at developing farms on forestland proving so disappointing,

cleared lands were at a premium. Early settlers were drawn especially to the rolling

grasslands on the Clatsop Plains and, to a somewhat lesser degree, the Long Beach

Peninsula. In the earliest years of the Donation Land Claim Act, most of the 

unforested portion of these two areas was occupied by new land claims, making it

one of the largest contiguous areas of Donation Land Claims in Oregon Territory

outside of the Willamette Valley, extending unbroken from Youngs Bay to the base

of Tillamook Head. Though in many cases these lands were unforested, they sat atop

stabilized sand dunes. These lands proved to have shallow, highly acidic soil, which

when cleared could sometimes turn to shifting sands. In this context, former Native

village sites were also at a high premium, often being the only significant clearings

along the shoreline in a landscape dominated by dense forest and dune fields. 

Moreover, soil acidity had always been a limiting factor for agriculturalists, not 

only on the dunes, but in most parts of the Columbia-Pacific (and even today, 

commercial farmers must lime their lands or provide buffering agents to make 

untilled ground cultivable [e.g., J. Trelawny pers. comm. 2013]). The lands around

villages, with their ancient refuse heaps, dense shell middens, and rotting wood, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 102 —
Figure 6.7 - Farms that were established in the few available bottomlands and former floodplains

with rich soils, such as those in the Grays River area (shown here, in the late 19th century) and along

the Lewis and Clark River, often fared much better than farms in cutover timberland and stabilized

dune fields, which were often marginally productive and plagued by erosion. Photo courtesy 

Washington State Historical Society. 

represented atypical “anthrosols,” soils that were transformed and often much 

fertilized by longstanding human occupation. On more than one occasion, early

crops appear to have been planted amid burial sites, where human remains buffered

the acidic soils and fertilized the ground. As recalled by Preston Gillette of his own

successful early farm,

“This small cleared spot at the landing was done principally by the Indians. It seems to 

have been a village, or camping place, occupied by them from time immemorial [making]

the ground exceedingly rich. They buried their dead in the back part of where now [sits] 

my orchard, where we burned up many bones in clearing the land” (Gillette n.d., 

January 14, 1861).

For unrelated reasons, the fear of Indian attacks sometimes depopulated the 

emerging agricultural lands of the Columbia-Pacific in the mid-1850s. While local

Native-white relations were generally peaceful, in spite of the reoccupation of lands

and occasional violation of burials, the Rogue War to the south and the Yakama War

to the east prompted a brief abandonment of many rural areas in favor of larger and

more defensible cities. Citing this as a major cause alongside movement to the 

California gold fields, Gillette (1900a) noted, for example, that the registered voting

population of the “Fort Clatsop precinct” dropped from 56 to only one between 

the years of 1853 and 1856, with the population only rebounding in the decade 

— 103 —

Reoccupying the Land
that followed. The creation of new Donation Land Claims, here and in many other

parts of Oregon, temporarily stalled during this period too.

There were other challenges for agricultural settlers. The growing season in the

mid-19th century was clearly shorter than it is now, and cloud cover, hard winter

rains, and even snow sometimes delayed sprouting crops or cut short growing 

seasons. Frosts were reported in 19th-century settlers’ diaries somewhat frequently

into late May and sporadically even into the summer (Penner 1996). Even when soils

were adequate, early crops were often disappointing. Warren Vaughan, who settled

on Clatsop Plains and later moved to Tillamook Bay, complained that in many places

the tomatoes rotted on the vines while still green and that, for a number of years,

only potatoes would yield a significant crop. The diets of some settlers, much 

truncated by these crop failures, centered on salmon and potatoes, he noted. The

settlers who moved to Tillamook Bay, their humor growing dark with crop failures

and a persistent (if unrealized and probably unfounded) fear of Indian reprisals,

began to use the phrase “salmon and potatoes” as a password for entry into homes

and forts of the 1850s (Vaughan n.d.).

While readily cultivable land was scarce, grass grew abundantly in the humid coastal

climate, making livestock grazing one of the few highly successful agricultural 

pursuits of the Donation Land Claim era. Missionaries and Native people had played

an important role in the introduction of livestock to the region, even before the 

arrival of Oregon Trail settlers. Reverend Joseph Frost, a Methodist missionary, had

taken an interest in the coastal tribes and resolved to establish a mission there,

based in part on the recommendations of Celiast Smith, daughter to Chief Coboway,

who resided in the northern Willamette Valley in the late 1830s. In the summer of

1840, Reverend Frost moved to Clatsop Plains, accompanied by Celiast and her 

husband, Solomon Smith, a Vermont-born member of the 1832 Wyeth party. Frost,

in particular, viewed the introduction of agriculture, as it was practiced in the 

American East and ultimately Europe, as key to the settlement of the region and 

the “civilization” of Columbia-Pacific tribes. As Frost observed, “We must use the

plough as well as the Bible, if we would do anything to benefit the Indians. They

must be settled before they can be enlightened” (Frost 1934: 71). 

In 1841, Smith and Frost determined to develop and promote the agricultural 

potential of the Clatsop Plains by introducing large numbers of cattle to graze the

verdant and as yet largely unoccupied grasslands. In part following tribal trails,

Smith and Frost blazed a cattle trail south along the coast from Clatsop Plains to

Salmon River, where they cut inland to the Willamette Valley. On the south end of

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 104 —
Clatsop Plains, the trail veered inland to bypass what is Ecola State Park, as the 

Clatsop warned the trail was too rough for livestock and horses. They instead passed

over a secondary Tillamook Head trail that approximates the modern highway.

(Some 51 years later a team of Indians would improve this route for the creation of

the first formal wagon road to what became Cannon Beach.) Cattle drives along the

coast were often treacherous, with cattle sometimes falling to predation or sliding 

to their death while crossing the cliffs of Neahkahnie Mountain, just south of the

Clatsop County line. Still, a number of settlers brought cattle to Clatsop County by

this route, relying on the Nehalem and Tillamook peoples to help ferry them across

rivers along their path. Clatsop Chief Tostom was also instrumental in cattle drives,

involving livestock purchased from Fort Vancouver and herded over other Coast

Range trails. Many years later, cattle drives were eclipsed by waterborne livestock

shipments, with settlers such as Warrenton namesake D.K. Warren hiring steamers

to carry cattle down the Columbia from eastern Oregon (Dicken 1978; Miller 

1958: 201 ff.).

Raising livestock came with its own unique challenges in early years. Herds 

quickly grazed over portions of the Clatsop Plains and Long Beach Peninsula, 

breaking through thin sod, leaving drifting sands in their wake. By the 1870s drifting

sand became a significant problem. There were several impromptu community 

efforts to fence cattle in hopes of reducing impacts on areas where trampling and

grazing accelerated erosion. Heavily grazed portions of the Clatsop Plains and

smaller portions of the Long Beach Peninsula remained moving sand fields until

government-sponsored reclamation efforts of the Depression, when Civilian 

Conservation Corps (CCC) crews planted Scots broom, shore pine, and European

beach grass, building fences to contain the effects (Reckendorf et al. 1985). So too,

these early agricultural areas—the Clatsop Plains, in particular—sat adjacent to

dense forests that were home to large predators including timber wolves, cougars,

and grizzly bears. The journals of early farmers tell of astonishingly high losses of

livestock in early years to these predators. Wolf meetings, organized by early settlers

like Solomon Smith, were held to promote creative ways to repel and kill wolves,

whose populations remained numerous through the end of the century until 

organized and impromptu eradication efforts had the desired effect. Through the

1850s and 1860s, farmers complained of their fields being filled with pits from 

grizzly bears, apparently searching for grubs and small burrowing mammals. 

Livestock also fell into pits constructed by area tribes to catch game (e.g., Gillette

n.d., May 2, 1861). Bear hunts were organized to control the grizzly. (The extirpation

of so many top-order predators eventually brought increases in other species, such

as elk and coyote, with the latter apparently being rare in the area before this time.) 

— 105 —

Reoccupying the Land
In spite of stock drives along the Smith and Frost trail, as well as overland and by

boat on other paths, cattle remained surprisingly scarce and locally expensive. As

Gillette noted, “I neglected to get any cattle until 1857, which was a great error. Had I but

two or three cows when I first came here I now would have been worth almost double what 

I am” (Gillette n.d., January 14, 1861). Only in the 1860s did beef and milk cows 

become relatively commonplace, along with sheep, pigs, horses, and other livestock.

Pig and sheep farming persisted into the late 19th century, often with extensive 

assistance of Chinese labor, with small corn fields planted for feed.

Early cattle operations depended on grazing areas and grass, a resource that was

found only in certain parts of the coast, such as old villages, the dune fields of 

Clatsop Plains and Long Beach, and in bay-front salt marshes and other wetlands.

Grazing in the forest was sometimes productive, though forage was limited and 

cattle went astray in the trackless distances. Furthermore, cattle were vulnerable to

predation in forest lands. For this reason, estuaries, where grassy salt marshes lined

the middle to higher tidal zone, were often preferred for grazing. In these places,

homesteaders sometimes filled the deep, muddy, and intermittently inundated

channels, or built impromptu bridges over such channels. In time, with the aid of

horse teams, they began to build dikes, augmenting and reconstructing these 

features with time to expand and repair the soil berms around individual fields. A

generation or more after the advent of diking, the construction of dikes began to

transform the lower Columbia and Willapa Bay estuaries, in particular, as farmers

sought to increase the total area available for grazing and to minimize flooding 

during peak tides and stream flows. These structures replaced biologically 

productive marshlands with damp but passable grazing lands, often containing 

nutritious grasses that proved elusive in other parts of the coastal landscape. Only

gradually, in the late 19th and 20th centuries, did grazing lands move into former

forest lands in appreciable ways, with fields gradually taking shape amid the 

decomposing stumps.49

From the beginnings of these industries, a lack of local markets, coupled with 

limited transportation options for fresh agricultural products, created further 

impediments to agricultural development. Transportation by land was quite 

difficult in places, nearly impossible in others. Landlocked farms were at a particular 

disadvantage. Many of the Donation Land Claims that survived were on navigable

waterways, especially the Columbia estuary, and boats were long the principal mode

of transportation. In the 19th century, produce could sometimes be placed on

steamers to Portland, and in the 1890s rail service was available to support the 

shipping of farm products to the city. (The fact that the one especially accessible 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 106 —
regional market, Portland, sat close to very high quality farmlands in the northern

Willamette and Tualatin Valleys only added to the pressures to specialize in niche

markets on the coast.) Together, these factors favored agricultural products that did

not spoil rapidly and, by extension, did not require rapid shipping to market. For a

time, the unpredictable shipping conditions and abundance of grass contributed to

the development of a small cheese industry, led by such settlers as Josiah West, with

Chinese labor helping to run dairying, cheese-making, and distribution. 

Cheese was an ideal commodity for the time, one that would be unharmed by a 

long dock-side wait, circumstances that famously contributed to the development 

of cheese-making along other parts of the Oregon and Washington coasts 

(Heintzelman 1958; See n.d.; Miller 1958: 203). Several small dairymen’s associations

took form in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, as Chinese labor moved out of

the area and dairies sought to consolidate production facilities, marketing, and

shipping. In the lower Columbia region, many Scandinavian immigrants bought

logged land at a low price from lumber companies, which they used for raising beef

and dairy cattle to supplement incomes from logging and fishing. Finnish farmers in

the region were primarily dairy farmers and established the Consumers’ Cooperative

Dairy in 1917 in response to rising milk prices. The dairy cooperative was one of the

largest dairies in Astoria and one of its most successful businesses in the first half 

of the 20th century (Hummasti 2002: 141–142). In 1921, four other small dairy 

groups consolidated into the Lower Columbia Cooperative Dairy Association, an 

organization that participated in cooperative marketing and distribution in the

urban Northwest and maintained shared factories in Astoria, Clatskanie, Cathlamet,

and Grays River, producing cream, cheese, butter, and other products from locally

produced milk. In this way, the association helped dairy farmers maintain quality

control to insure the stability of the “lower Columbia” brand. The organization 

issued certifications to guarantee the quality of feed, milk, and other variables

(Miller 1958: 201 ff.; Meyer 1950; See n.d.).

The productivity of grass on open coastal grasslands had other ramifications for

early agriculture on the Columbia-Pacific. Some farmers began cutting hay by 

scythe and storing it for later use, and with the help of Chinese labor, in particular,

transforming surplus hay into a commodity. The hand-cutting of hay persisted 

well into the late 19th century, when mowing and threshing machines became 

commonplace and the Chinese population went into decline. Hay, which thrives in

the damp climate, became the dominant crop in the area by the end of the 19th 

century. To this day, it occupies a solid majority of the Columbia-Pacific’s total 

cropland (Oregon State University 1963, 1936; Miller 1958; See n.d.).

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Reoccupying the Land
The growth of other crops on early farms was difficult but not impossible, with a 

few farms succeeding, especially on the narrow floodplain margins of local rivers

like the Lewis and Clark and the Chinook. The accounts of Preston Gillette, “Clatsop

County’s first horticulturalist” (Penner 1996: 3), are always instructive on the early

introduction of crops to the region. Not only was Gillette commonly involved with

their introduction, but he was an avid chronicler of agricultural developments in the

region. Gillette was also situated near Fort Clatsop, as he took a Donation Land

Claim on the eastern bank of Lewis and Clark River, a short distance upstream from

the fort, occupying a clearing that was formerly a Clatsop village site.50 Potatoes

were widely established in the 1850s, he noted, but there were very few crop plants:

“At that time, fruit trees were very dear” and ornamental plants were almost unknown

(Gillette n.d., January 14, 1861). By the early 1850s, Gillette was in the vanguard, 

experimenting with a wide range of crops, including several varieties of apples, on

his land claim. By the early 1860s, settlers experimented with flax, oats, wheat, 

barley, and other grains, to mixed success. Grist mills operated sporadically in the

area and did so for many years. Cold-weather crops such as beets and cabbages, 

introduced at around the same time, were sometimes successful, too, while Gillette

and his neighbors added pears, plums, peas, and other crops to their repertoire. As

early as the 1860s, recognizing soil fertility as a major limiting factor to their 

success, some farmers obtained seed for red clover and other cover crops that 

helped amend the soil (Gillette n.d., March 15, 1861).

With this palette of crops, a number of small commercial farming operations 

succeeded over the years, especially in places where the soils were relatively rich 

and forgiving. Jeffers Garden and other areas around Warrenton experienced 

temporary farming booms, centered on crops that thrived in coastal conditions. Peas

and garden beans proved to be good choices: with nitrogen-producing roots, these

crops could survive in rain-leached soils where other crops failed. In places such as

the margins of wetlands and along the riparian zone of the Lewis and Clark River,

farm workers including Chinese (and occasionally Native Americans) were 

sometimes paid to harvest and process peas, beans, potatoes, and other crops. As

with cheese, farmers sought ways to preserve crops so they could be shipped to 

distant markets. Some portion of the pea and bean crop was canned for sale, under

arrangements with local fish canneries, using waterfront canning equipment when

salmon was not being processed. The canneries also served as the venue for 

experiments in the processing of beef and mutton—often with involvement of 

Chinese labor—in salmon fishing’s off-season.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 108 —
Figure 6.8 – Women processing and canning peas in the early 20th century at the Glacier Bay Oyster

Cannery, a Pacific County facility primarily used for fish and shellfish. Asahel Curtis photo, courtesy

Washington State Historical Society. 

The region, abounding in native berry species, was also well-suited for 

commercial production of berries. By the late 19th century, blackberries, 

strawberries, blueberries, raspberries, loganberries, and others were cultivated in

very small commercial plots, totaling only a few acres over the entire study area. By

the early 1900s, using the juices of local berries, a company called the Astoria Soda

Works produced the unfortunately named beverage Wine-O, a product that became

popular once Oregon passed statewide prohibition laws in 1915.

In cranberries, too, agriculturalists found a crop suited to the unique circumstances

of the Columbia-Pacific region.51 A marsh fruit requiring acidic peat soil and a moist

climate, the domestic cranberry thrives in few locations but was uniquely suited to

the challenges of Columbia-Pacific agriculture. The Chinook, Clatsop, and other

tribes traditionally gathered a native wild cranberry for their own use and for trade

with other tribes, and Lewis and Clark recorded area tribes picking pil olallies or “red

berries” (Vaccinium oxycoccus) that grew in swamp or peat soils in the area (Weathers

1983: 52; Seeman 1941). Indeed, Article 2 of the Chinook’s 1851 treaty guaranteed

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Reoccupying the Land
them “the right to pick cranberries on the marshes.” While some non-Native 

settlers used these wild berries, most settlers who explored options for commercial

cultivation in the 1880s found the native berries too small and labor-intensive to

harvest on a commercial scale.52

Anthony Chabot was the first to successfully introduce commercial-scale domestic

cranberry production on the Pacific coast in the 1880s, planting in boggy areas on

the Long Beach Peninsula and beyond. Chabot, a Canadian living in California, had

already been experimenting with cranberry agriculture elsewhere on the west coast,

working in partnership with H. Pierce, A.J. Pope, and W.C. Talbot (of the Pope and

Talbot Timber Company). As he embarked on those efforts in the late 1870s and

early 1880s,Chabot’s Massachusetts-based brother-in-law visited Long Beach

Peninsula and encouraged Chabot’s interest in the potential for a Pacific County

cranberry industry. The following year, Chabot imported McFarlin variety cranberry

Figure 6.9 — A 1918 label from Wine-O, a product of the Astoria Soda Works. Image, Label 1891, 

courtesy State of Oregon Archives, Trademark Collection.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 110 —
Figure 6.10 – Men and women harvesting cranberries by hand near Grayland Washington in the early

20th century. Asahel Curtis photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

vines from Cape Cod and planted 35 acres of marshland on the peninsula. In 

1883 Chabot and his wife, Emilie, incorporated the Pacific Cranberry Company, 

appointing their nephew Robert as the company’s authorized agent; Robert later 

relocated the business operations to Ilwaco, while maintaining and expanding 

cranberry acreage on the peninsula and areas adjacent. The Chabot bogs on Long

Beach Peninsula thrived for several years before dissipating in the late 1890s. During

good years, the harvest annually reached 7500 barrels (equal to 750,000 pounds).

The crop was dry harvested by hand, and the picking was done by local Native labor,

Chinese laborers working under picking contracts, as well as women and children

(who were sometimes let out of school for extended periods at harvest time). 

Despite Chabot’s early success, there were few cranberry farmers actually living on

Long Beach Peninsula between 1883 and 1910, with most local farmers using 

cranberries as a supplementary source of income from otherwise unusable 

marshlands on their properties. After Chabot’s Pacific Cranberry Company quit 

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Reoccupying the Land
production, there were only four producers left on the peninsula (Weathers 1983).

In Oregon, meanwhile, there had been commercial harvesting of cranberries in Coos

and southern Tillamook Counties as early as the mid-1880s.53 In 1911 C.N. Bennett

put out the first bogs in Clatsop County (Seeman 1941: 181), and the Oregonian

reported that by 1924 cranberry acreage had increased to more than 100 acres in

Clatsop County, with most of it centered on the northern portions of Clatsop Plains

(Allen 2006). Like their Washington counterparts, farmers on Clatsop Plains used

cranberry farming as a means of eking out additional income from boggy lands. Such

cranberry bogs were established on what are now the southern edges of the Fort

Clatsop sub-unit of Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks.

Still, the nascent cranberry industry had stagnated in both states by 1920 and 

contracted significantly in the following decade during the Depression. Geographer

Albert Seeman reported in a 1941 study that there were only about 75 acres of 

cranberry bogs left in Oregon (Allen 2006). Most cranberry growers found it a better

business decision to let bogs revert to swamp and marsh (Weathers 1983: 46).54 These

effects were ameliorated somewhat by the research and local promotional efforts of

the Cranberry Investigations Laboratory, established at Long Beach as a branch of

Washington State College (now WSU) in 1923, with the intervention of Ilwaco banker

and state senator Percy Sinclair.55 Furthermore, during World War II, the U.S. 

government asked farmers to commit sufficient amounts of their agricultural 

products, including cranberries, to the armed forces to feed the troops, resulting in

an increase in local cranberry production. Along with this spike in military demand

came innovations in harvesting equipment and improvements in cranberry drying

and freezing technologies that aided the industry significantly in the post-war

years.56 Immediately after the war, cranberry operations on both sides of the 

Columbia began to organize. These efforts were reminiscent of the Lower 

Columbia Cooperative Dairy Association, with most producers organizing the sale

and distribution of their crop through the newly formed National Cranberry 

Association. By 1959, Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc., absorbed the functions of the

National Cranberry Association and remains perhaps the only nationally important

agricultural operation with significant interests in the Columbia-Pacific region, using

cranberries from both sides of the river to produce sweetened dried cranberries,

cranberry sauce, and frozen cranberries especially for the holiday market.57

The 20th century saw many other, mostly fleeting, agricultural ventures. There were

brief markets for local bentgrass seed and experimentation with ornamentals, such

as lily bulbs, ornamental water lilies, and ornamental mosses. Beginning in 1930s,

some farmers began to raise mink for their pelts. By the mid-20th century, up to

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 112 —
forty mink farms operated, many using fish waste from local processors; most

ceased operations as the fur market evaporated later in the century. A few small

Christmas tree and berry farms persist, as do very small-scale dairying, beef cattle,

and sheep operations. In light of the complexities of forest management, there has

also been experimental cropping of woody plants to produce pulp on old floodplains,

with loblolly and radiata pine, poplars, and eucalyptus being among the plants

tested in recent times. The prevalence of vegetable and orchard crops declined 

significantly by World War II, but interest in the crops has rebounded in recent

years, especially propelled by various small but successful organic farming 

operations that continue to expand in the region.

If the history of agricultural reoccupation transformed the landscape, so too did it

provide an avenue for the introduction of a plethora of non-native plants, many of

them invasive. A diverse assortment of non-native grasses and forbs arrived in 

hay, straw, and livestock brought to the region from elsewhere. Certain ornamental

plants—those adapted to disturbed ground and leached, acidic soils—were 

especially problematic. William Hopson brought Scots broom to the Clatsop Plains

in the 1840s as an ornamental (the CCC and Oregon State Parks also planted it in

later years for dune stabilization), and the plant now occupies many of the 

Columbia-Pacific’s fallow fields and sandy margins (See n.d.). There was even an 

official Scotch Broom Festival that persisted through the 1920s and 1930s, until 

people’s enthusiasms for the highly invasive plant began to wane (Adams n.d.).

Foxglove, a European native, began to spread aggressively from gardens, prompting

local laws forbidding its careless redistribution (Miller 1958: 204). Today it turns 

fallow farmlands and forest clearcuts bright pink throughout the summer. The 

“Himalayan blackberry,” apparently coming from the Caucasus Mountains by way 

of Britain, arrived early, too, escaping gardens and occupying the cleared margins of

settlements, its seeds being all too happily distributed by birds and other animals.

And other ornamentals have become a source of concern in intervening years: 

European holly and English ivy have made their way from gardens into forests, and

purple loosestrife and yellow iris have crept into wetlands. In more recent times, the

ornamental Japanese and Sakhalin knotweeds have thrived, their rootlets being

transported inadvertently with composts and soils, eagerly taking a foothold and

surviving the relatively mild Northwest coastal winters in stride.

The legacy of early agricultural experiments in dune environments continued to 

pose a significant challenge to the residents of the Columbia-Pacific region into the

20th century. As a result of grazing livestock, but also jetty development and other

disturbances, there were roughly 3000 acres of exposed active sand dunes on Clatsop

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Reoccupying the Land
Plains by the early 1930s. These dunes threatened adjoining farmland, forests, lakes

used for recreation, and navigational channels. Though the Oregon Railway and

Navigation Company Railroad had recruited sand stabilization specialists, and the

Army Corps of Engineers launched their own sand stabilization projects (as will be

explained in later chapters), this had little effect on the overall stability of 

Clatsop Plains. 

By 1935 an estimated 40 million cubic yards of sand had blown inland from the old

foredune that extended from the mouth of the Columbia River to Tillamook Head.

The foredune was almost completely destroyed as the sand redeposited inland. Local

residents and the Clatsop County government requested assistance from the USDA

Soil Conservation Service (SCS). The most complete and extensive stabilization 

project undertaken in response to these changes was called the Warrenton Dune

Control Project, though its influences extended well beyond that town. The SCS 

cooperated with the county Agricultural Experiment Station and the Extension 

Service and involved the CCC (Reckendorf et al. 1985: 263). CCC built Camp SCS-7 at

Warrenton, Oregon, to house the manual laborers who were to assist in stabilizing

the dunes. CCC enrollees established a temporary camp at Coos Bay, where, under

the direction of SCS, they dug culms of non-native European beachgrass (Ammophila

arenaria) that were cleaned, bundled, and shipped to the Warrenton project to 

establish a nursery. The SCS began collecting plant material in November 1935, and

by March 1936 it had established the 215-acre Astoria Nursery Unit to produce beach

and dune grasses, collect seed, produce shrubs and trees, test plant fertilization, and

assess cultural methods of dune stabilization (Carlson et al. 1991; Reckendorf 

et al. 1985).

Studies at the SCS Warrenton Dune Control Project suggested they should revegetate

the dunes of the outer coast in a three-step process: (1) place sand fencing to 

establish a foredune immediately above the beach to reduce the inland movement of

sand from the beach; (2) establish grass cover on the foredune; and (3) permanently

stabilize the dune with herbaceous or woody vegetation, which usually follows the

grass. The SCS tested 75 species of native, naturalized, and exotic shrubs at their 

Astoria nursery. They determined that the species best suited for stabilizing the

dunes of the Columbia-Pacific region included the native Seaside lupine (Lupinus 

littoralis), but were largely non-native plants: Scots broom (Cytisus scoparius), tree

lupine (Lupinus arboreus), and coyotebrush (Baccharis pilularis). They also favored

largely native trees for permanent stabilization, including shore pine (Pinus contorta)

and Sitka spruce (Picea sitchensis). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 114 —
By January of 1938, SCS crews had planted beach grass from the Columbia River

mouth to Gearhart, a distance of 13 miles. Similar plantings were installed on certain

parts of the Long Beach Peninsula. After the introduction of European beachgrass,

they followed with plantings of other plants on their palette. As W.T. White, of the

SCS Regional Agronomy-Range Section headquartered in Spokane, wrote in 1938 to

P.G. McGrew, Assistant Regional Conservator, “it might be pointed out that the dune

topography is Nature’s way of stabilizing unstable soils such as we have at Warrenton, and

that all we are trying to do is to assist Nature in reforming such stabilized topography”

(White 1938b). They were largely successful in this goal. The foredune was 

completely reestablished from the Columbia to the Necanicum estuary—including

the sunset Beach dunes— and in time even began to expand seaward as the 

Columbia jetties increased sand input and planted vegetation expanded into 

new places (Carlson et al. 1991; Reckendorf et al. 1985).

The SCS and laborers from the CCC completed most of the initial control work on 

the Warrenton Dune Control Project by 1941. That spring, dune area landowners 

organized a soil conservation district as a local unit of government under Oregon

state law. The conservation district, with technical assistance from SCS, 

administered further planting projects and provided for maintenance of the 

planted dunes. The Astoria Nursery Unit continued as a fully staffed SCS nursery

until 1944. By that time, the unit had leased a 413-acre area that was operated by the

Warrenton Dune Soil Conservation District from 1944 to 1949, primarily to provide

shrubs and trees for permanent stabilization. SCS discontinued its support of the

nursery in 1954 as part of reorganization of its plant materials program. Still, 

because of the original severity of the dune activity prior to 1935, the district 

established an ordinance to enforce proper land use for the area, which remains in

effect into modern times. The Warrenton Dune Soil Conservation District has been

consolidated into the Clatsop Soil and Water Conservation District, a county-wide

conservation district. Meanwhile, many of the plants originally established by the

SCS have become invasive, occupying areas well beyond the original project 

footprint (Reckendorf et al. 1985: 263).58

Similar efforts to control, and sometimes turn back, the negative effects of early

agricultural experimentation were also applied to the tidelands. The 1936 Federal

Flood Prevention Act provided for the creation of diking districts to coordinate 

efforts, helping to fund and consolidate what had been largely informal associations

of waterfront farmers who coordinated the diking of their adjacent pastures. Dikes

were built around tidelands in the Fort Clatsop area, turning the almost peninsular

fort site into a high point along a relatively straight shoreline consisting largely of 

— 115 —

Reoccupying the Land
Figure 6.11 – In addition to working at area farms, Civilian Conservation Corps workers of the 1930s,

such as these men in Pacific County, aided in early dune stabilization efforts, propagating and 

planting European beach grass and other species, as well as cutting and transplanting native grass

sod, to stabilize portions of the shoreline that had been overrun with blowing sand due to heavy

grazing, jetty construction, and other changes in the preceding century. Photo courtesy 

Washington State Historical Society. 

diked tidelands on the Lewis and Clark River estuary. While there is evidence of 

pre-1936 diking in this area, the remnant dike structures visible today largely date

from after the FFPA legislation. By the post–World War II period, the widespread

availability of heavy equipment brought a burst of new dike construction and the

consolidation of numerous small diking districts, allowing tideland farmers to 

expand theircoordinated diking efforts like never before. By the mid-20th century,

some 65 percent of the tidally influenced Columbia River floodplain and roughly 40

percent of the salt marshes of Willapa Bay had been reclaimed through diking 

(Proctor et al. 1980). In recent decades dike breaching had become popular as a

mechanism of wetland and salmon habitat enhancement along the estuaries of the

Columbia-Pacific region. Dikes are now being removed with almost the same zeal

and speed as they were being added to the landscape 100 years ago. Several such

projects have taken place on the lower Columbia in recent years, some involving

sites within the Fort Clatsop portion of Lewis and Clark National and State Historical

Parks, such as Otter Point and Colewort Creek (NPS 2009).59

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 116 —
 4"%*-41#40(3,

The Rise and Fall of Salmon Canning on the Lower Columbia

f the many resources defining this coast, salmon are most iconic. Salmon

fishing and the cultural and occupational traditions supporting the industry,

have long defined the Columbia-Pacific region and the larger Pacific 

Northwest. While most rivers and large streams in the Columbia-Pacific region are

home to salmon, the Columbia River stands apart. For a time, the Columbia estuary

was the epicenter of the salmon industry in the Pacific Northwest, and arguably the

world. The river’s salmon population was of monumental scale, while the sprawling

260,000 square mile Columbia Basin possessed all the habitat diversity required for

an abundance of all five species of North America’s Pacific salmon—Chinook, coho,

chum, pink and sockeye. For a time in the late 19th century, roughly forty canneries

lined the banks of the estuary, bustling with Chinese factory workers and the steady

traffic of fishermen, a group comprised largely of Scandinavian immigrants. 

Still, the salmon industry that took shape on the lower Columbia in the 19th

century was short-lived. Arriving in the wake of the California gold rush, fleeing the

overtaxed rivers in California and the American East, the canning industry was a 

resource bonanza of unique proportions. Yet it only lasted a few decades’ time, 

cannery interests soon moving on to relatively untapped waters in Alaska and

British Columbia. Piers and pilings, left as testament to this period, still line the 

estuary today, along with a resilient fishing industry that has eked out an existence

into modern times, though the industry persists with smaller catches, alternative

species, and enduring linkages to an Alaska fishery that was arguably spawned on

Columbia River shores. While the story of fishing on the lower Columbia is vast, and

while it has inspired a historical literature of suitably impressive scale, we focus here

only on a few highlights—the fundamentals and those elements that must be 

understood as part of the larger history of Lewis and Clark National and State 

Historical Parks. 

The salmon harvest was the very foundation of the Native American communities

that lined the river’s banks, and was the cornerstone of Native subsistence and 

— 117 —
society. There was a thriving Native “fishing industry” at the time of European 

contact. Even the Chinook salmon, the premier commercial fish of the river, would

be named for the Native people on its lower reach, who depended so heavily on the

species for their subsistence and maintained positive relations with the salmon

through strictly observed ceremonial protocols. This was not merely a subsistence

fishery, but a source of considerable wealth to those tribes so fortunate to live at the

mouth of the Columbia. The Clatsop were named for their principal product,

pounded dried salmon, which was a major trade good, lightweight and easy to 

transport to distant places by canoe. Such seafood products could be traded for 

dentalia money shells, canoes, furs, even slaves, which were themselves convertible

into other forms of wealth. The Clatsop, but even more so the Chinook, were widely

known to share their salmon fishing grounds with visiting tribes, which not only

created bonds with other tribes, but fostered various obligations that were 

reciprocated with access to goods or resources found in the other tribes’ lands.

When the earliest ships arrived on the Columbia, the Chinook and Clatsop provided

salmon in trade, doing so without hesitation, in a manner that reflected this deep

history of salmon—not only as a food product but as a commercial item and a 

mechanism for forging bonds. In spite of sustained efforts by the Hudson’s Bay

Company, commercial canneries, and other organizations to squeeze out Native

competitors along the river, Native people have remained active participants in 

the procurement and exchange of salmon into the present. 

As noted earlier in this document, the HBC, too, entered the salmon business, 

especially from their Fort George outpost in Astoria. The Company relied 

significantly on Native American fishermen for their supply of fish, while Native

Hawaiian and other employees sometimes fished for salmon by net, and worked to

process, salt and barrel salmon for distant markets. A significant portion of the

Company’s salmon production was shipped to Hawaii for local consumption or to be

shipped on to other places in the Pacific linked to Hawaii by fur trade shipping

routes. Especially after the epidemics of 1830, the HBC also sold salmon to visiting

ships, both barreled and fresh. This wasn’t necessarily meant to be a profitable

enterprise. It was undertaken in part to prevent visiting ships (many of them 

American) from developing trade relationships with area tribes that could interfere

with the Company’s monopoly of local trade. This early salmon trade was in most

respects supplementary to trade in furs. Nonetheless, for the first time it introduced

the Northwest’s iconic fish to consumers and markets that later became key to the 

ascendance of a canning industry on the lower Columbia. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 118 —
Figure 7.1 – Willapa Bay Oyster shuckers, circa 1909. Fueled by demand in the California gold fields,

oystering was one of the few occupations available on Willapa Bay in the mid-19th century, and

prompted some of the earliest non-Native settlement on this central Pacific County waterway.

Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

Still, as settlers moved into the area in growing numbers in the 1840s and the 

Hudson’s Bay Company’s influence waned, the Company could no longer maintain

its position as middleman in the salmon trade. Along the whole of the Columbia 

estuary, Native American fishermen were an entrepreneurial presence, selling 

directly to settlers in growing numbers, and developing their own fishing 

“industry,” catering to the needs of local markets and largely independent of 

European control. Referring to the general pattern of salmon fishing on the lower

Columbia in 1844, settler Peter Burnett noted that 

“All the salmon caught here are taken by the Indians, and sold to the whites at about ten

cents each, and frequently for less. One Indian will take about twenty per day upon an 

average. The salmon taken at different points vary greatly in kind and quality, and it is only

at particular places that they can be taken. The fattest and best salmon are caught at the

mouth of the Columbia” (Burnett 1902: 421). 

In this way, Native American fishing supported the fledgling settler communities on

the river’s mouth and in the Portland Basin, and this early “commercial” fishing

was largely restricted to those two areas.

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A Rush of Silver
As with lumbering and other fledgling industries, the California gold rush created

the first major impetus for non-Native commercial fisheries in the American period.

The shipping of salmon to supply these markets was not always simple, for fish

spoiled in transit. Coopers and salteries operated on the lower Columbia to help

overcome this problem. Some of the earliest successes in the salting and shipping of

salmon were connected to places within the parks. For example, Irish-born Patrick

(P.J.) McGowan (1817-1912) was a significant early innovator at Station Camp. First

coming west with the gold rush, he relocated to Portland buying the missionary land

claim at the Chinooks’ Middle Village with a vision of a future salmon packing 

empire based at that strategic location. There, in the place that would later be 

renamed McGowan, Washington, he developed a salmon salting and packing 

operation in the 1860s, serving both California and Northwestern markets and

building the foundation for one of the more enduring salmon packing companies 

in the Columbia-Pacific region. First entering the market with salted and barreled

salmon, McGowan developed his early operations with the considerable involvement

of Chinook workers. Ironically, the workers became fishermen and factory labor for

a salmon packing plant built atop what had been one of their premier village sites. 

McGowan oversaw fish gillnetting operations in the prime waters immediately 

offshore, but also developed land-based fishing operations in the adjacent waters

immediately up- and downstream. Hand- or horse-pulled seines operated 

immediately upstream, while McGowan and his contemporaries had vast complexes

of weirs immediately downstream of the McGowan operations. (And at least one

weir was operated not far offshore from the National Park Service Dismal Nitch

area.) McGowan, in fact, developed these shoreline and shallow-water weirs so 

ambitiously that by the early 20th century he was the subject of litigation for 

blocking boat navigation through the Megler area with all of his salmon trapping 

infrastructure (Weathers 1989; Seattle Post Intelligencer 1912).60

Oysters, too, would be loaded onto ships headed for the growing California market—

so long as they were kept moist and cool, could be kept alive for extended periods,

and served fresh in the eateries of San Francisco and beyond. The native Olympia

oyster thrived in the shallow and relatively saline bay waters of Willapa Bay. In the

early years, a number of mostly American-born entrepreneurs of East coast origin

began to harvest wild oysters in that bay for the California market. Like McGowan,

they relied heavily on the labor of the Chinook, for whom the oyster business served

as a point of entry into the non-Native cash economy. Some of the earliest firsthand accounts were by Swan (1857: 60), who observed, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 120 —
“These oysters are found on the flat and in shoal water, in different parts of the Bay, and are

readily procured, either by collecting them by hand at low ride, when the flats are bare, or, in

the deeper water, by oyster-tongs, rakes, or dredges....When the tide is nearly out, the boats

and canoes start for the oyster-beds...Each oysterman has a bed, which is marked by stakes

driven into the flats...as they arrive at the beach a lively time ensues, trading, measuring,

and shoveling the oysters, and for an hour or two all is bustle. This over, the day’s work is

done, and the Indian goes off to eat and lounge away the rest of the time till the next tide,

and the white settler to work in his garden, or do what work is necessary to be done around

his house. The arrival of a schooner from San Francisco is a time of general excitement, and

particularly at that early time when I first arrived, for, as we had opportunity to replenish

our supplies except by the schooners, the arrival of one was a matter of moment.” 

Figure 7.2 – Harvesting the oyster beds of Willapa Bay in the early 20th century. The early industry 

focused on the harvest of the naturally-occurring and native Olympia oyster on the bay’s broad tidal

flats, but several influences – such as intensive harvesting and water quality – turned attention to 

introduced species, seeded on privately owned “oyster farms.” Photo courtesy Washington State 

Historical Society. 

Oystering provided one of the first incentives for non-Native settlement on Willapa

Bay in the 1850s, drawing these settlers largely from the emerging towns on the

lower Columbia. Surveying the region in 1852, James Alden noted of Willapa Bay: “At

present there are no whites in the Bay, except a few who are employed in collecting oysters

for the California market” (Alden 1852 in Swan 1857: 24). The town of Oysterville,

founded in that year, became the principal port of call for schooners carrying oysters

to California, and would remain a central hub of oystering into modern times.

Within a few decades, however, the native oysters would be largely depleted. By the

end of the 19th century, the tidelands of Willapa Bay were divided into privately

— 121 —

A Rush of Silver
owned “oyster farms,” seeded with imported stock (Espy 1977; Kincaid 1951;

Thompkins 1932; Swan 1857).61

It was the industrial-scale processing and sale of salmon, however, that 

transformed the entire Columbia-Pacific region. By the latter half of the 1860s, the

salmon industry would begin to overcome the challenges of distant markets, moving

beyond small-scale salteries such as the early McGowan operation to become a 

formidable presence on the lower Columbia. The Hume brothers—George, William,

Joseph and Robert—would be key figures in this early history. For many years before

they came west, the Hume family had overseen a family business in the harvest of

Atlantic salmon on the Kennebec River in Maine. Canning was a new technology,

being applied to the Northeastern fisheries by the 1840s, a technological shift that

the Humes had witnessed firsthand, and participated in, during the mid-19th

century. The runs of Atlantic salmon there had been in steady decline through the

same period, falling victim to both overharvesting and water pollution in the

steadily urbanizing Northeast. The Humes had long considered a move into the

largely untapped Pacific salmon runs of the West, yet the West coast market for

salmon had been small, and formidable barriers existed to shipping salmon over

land to East coast markets. The discovery of gold at Sutter’s Mill, California, 

however, in 1848 had begun to change the equation. As California’s population

surged in the coming decade, the Humes prepared to mobilize for a new salmon 

cannery that would supply the gold fields and the new towns of that territory. 

Together, the family-run partnership of George (G.W.) and William Hume, and 

Andrew Hapgood constructed the first salmon cannery on the Sacramento River in

1864, initially operating the entire operation on a floating barge—the first industrial

canning operation on the West coast. Yet this Hume operation began to founder 

almost as soon as it started, as salmon populations in the Sacramento River 

plummeted, falling victim to habitat destruction and declining water quality caused

by widespread hydraulic gold mining in that river’s headwaters. Frustrated by the

steadily decreasing salmon runs on the river, the partners scouted for new locations

distant from the gold fields (Dodds 1959; de Sales McLellan 1934; Hume 1920, 1903). 

After some searching, the Hume brothers and Hapgood decided to move their 

operations to the Columbia River, known for its legendary salmon runs, with the 

intention of shipping canned salmon back to the burgeoning communities of 

California, and beyond.62 They were joined at this point by two other Hume brothers,

Robert (R.D.) and Joseph Hume, building the Columbia River’s first cannery at Eagle

Cliff, in what is today Wahkiakum County. Together, these founders and their 

employees initially constituted the entire salmon canning “industry” on the river. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 122 —
Figure 7.3 - Joseph Hume Brand Salmon label, from 1882, showing a likeness of Joseph Hume, and

identifying the cannery’s provenience in Knappton, Washington Territory. Image courtesy of Oregon

State Archives, Historical Oregon Trademark #113.

R.D. Hume recounted the founding of the first cannery on the lower Columbia in a

1903 issue of the fishing industry journal Pacific Fisherman:

[O]n account of the scarcity of salmon in the Sacramento [river]...in the spring of 1866

William Hume went to the Columbia to see what could be done...G.W. Hume also went to the

Columbia, for the purpose of selecting a site and building a cannery and other necessary

buildings, that should be ready for the reception of the others, who went there some time in

October of that year. The point selected by him was at Eagle Cliff in Wahkiakum County,

Washington, and part of the cannery now owned and operated there by William Hume is the

original building erected by him. During the winter of 1866-67 we put our machines in

order and made the nets and cans for the spring season of 1867, at which time we packed

4,000 cases of 48 cans each. 

At the time of our arrival there was but little business done on the Columbia River below

Portland...At that time the business of the lower Columbia cut but a small figure—a wheezy

old mill at Astoria and a dilapidated affair of the same kind at each of the other places on 

the Columbia, except Cathalamet [sic], which had nothing in the way of manufactures, 

comprised all there was to furnish a livelihood for the laborers of that section, except that 

furnished by the few engaged in salting salmon, and that work was mostly done by 

Indians (Hume 1903: 12).

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Using what was then relatively new metal canning technology, the Hume cannery

could ship Columbia River salmon almost anywhere in the world, with little chance

of spoilage, and in standardized sizes and weights that could be accommodated by an

increasingly standardized shipping industry. Learning of the Hume’s success, other

cannery developers appeared along the shores of the Columbia estuary in the

months and years to follow, largely replicating the Hume model. While all salmon

were eligible, it was Chinook salmon, the largest salmon of the River, with its 

delicious and deep orange, oil-rich meat, that became the cornerstone of the 

new industry (Dodds 1959; Hume 1920; Barker 1920). 

The heavy seasonal demand for workers in salmon canning, especially in the early

years, created challenges in the thinly-inhabited region of the Columbia-Pacific.

Native workers were relatively few in number by this period, had competing 

demands on their time, and were not eager to help with the wholesale killing and 

processing of fish for use by people in remote places. Local non-Native settlers often

had competing obligations too, in the form of new enterprises and homesteads,

often leaving just a small and itinerant non-Native workforce to support the fishing

industry. With such limited options for local cannery workers, the Humes began to

rely on contractors who recruited Chinese laborers to work in the region—a pattern

that would be repeated by many cannery owners in the Columbia-Pacific. These

contractors were established in Oregon’s newly forming cities as well as other major

Western cities, largely in response to demand for post-Civil War railroad labor. 

At the time, contractors had recruited a large number of laborers from counties near

the Pearl River delta in Guangdong. In 1870 George Hume hired a dozen of these

Chinese workers—including an oft-mentioned twenty-year-old man named Ah

Shing—for positions in the canning line, plus two as tinsmiths and one as a cook.

These workers supplanted a supposedly belligerent “riff-raff and criminal element” of

non-Chinese workers. The Humes found Chinese workers to be dependable and 

efficient. They also accepted lower wages than American counterparts and tolerated

risky industrial working conditions with few complaints. The rush of cannery 

construction in the 1870s was serendipitously timed, in this respect, coinciding with

the completion of many of the West’s largest railroad projects, so that contractors

seamlessly shifted Chinese workers from railroad to cannery crews. After 1873 the

canneries grew in direct proportion to the availability of Chinese workers, and by

1874, twelve of the thirteen Columbia River canneries in operation had an entirely

Chinese crew. Encouraged by their availability and performance, cannery owners 

increased production by increasing the size of their Chinese crews, allowing them to

avoid costly investments in mechanization. By mid-decade Chinese crews had 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 124 —
become the industry norm in salmon canneries along the Pacific coast. From

Hume’s original 15 Chinese workers, the number by 1881 had soared to more than

4,000 Chinese immigrant workers, working in 35 Columbia River canneries.63 

Indeed, for a brief time, the number of Chinese immigrants living in the ColumbiaPacific roughly matched that of native-born Americans, reflecting both the regional

prominence of the fishing industry and of the Chinese place within it (Friday 1994;

Newell 1998; Dodds 1959; Hume 1920).

Figure 7.4 – Chinese factory workers processing freshly-caught Chinook salmon. Chinese cannery

labor was a cornerstone of the lower Columbia canning industry from its beginning in roughly 1870

until the first decades of the 20th century, when various exclusion laws prompted an exodus of 

Chinese immigrant labor. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

While canneries were found along the Columbia as far upstream as the Dalles, they

were disproportionately concentrated on the lower river, where the fish quality was

best and shipping by boat was easiest (see Table 1).64 Soon, the number of canneries

ballooned, lining the north shore of the Columbia from Grays Bay to Ilwaco, 

especially dominating the waterfront of Astoria on the south shore. The number of 

canneries in Astoria illustrates the explosive growth of the industry at the mouth of 

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Figure 7.5 – Chinese immigrant men, but also sometimes women and children, worked in cannery

support positions, such as applying the distinctive brand labels to cans and boxes – here, labels are

applied for the “Bon Bon Brand Salmon.” Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

the Columbia, and the demographic effects of that change. The first cannery opened

in Astoria in 1874, and the second the following year, as the Weekly Astorian proudly

observed that the “success of the Astoria canneries establishes the fact that Astoria is the

place for fish canneries.” By 1876 the town had five canneries, eight in 1877, and 

fourteen in 1880. Owners of these new plants followed Hume’s practice and hired 

Chinese labor. The 1880 census listed 2,122 Chinese immigrants living in Astoria 

and identified some 77 percent of them as cannery hands (Friday 1994: 56).

During the height of the salmon industry on the lower Columbia (roughly 1880 to

1910), arriving a few years later than the Chinese, Scandinavian immigrants flocked

to the mouth of the river. Many sought work as fishermen. A large proportion of 

arriving Swedish and Norwegian men, and almost all of the early Finnish men of

working age who immigrated to the region, were fishermen for at least part of their

working lives. In Astoria for example, according to the 1880 census, some 133 Finns

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 126 —
were listed as fishermen or as “working in fishing,” and only 12 worked at other 

occupations— representing some 92 percent of the Finnish immigrant workforce.

By 1890, a solid majority of Astoria-based fishermen were Finnish immigrants

(Hummasti 2002: 139).65 Some worked directly for the canneries as fishermen and in

other supporting roles, while a sizeable number worked as independent fishermen,

selling their catch on contract or as independent sellers on a per-pound basis. Most

notable for their contributions as fishermen and labor for the industry, these 

immigrants also readily entered managerial roles. On the Washington side of the

Columbia in Ilwaco, a Finnish immigrant named B.A. Seaborg established the 

Aberdeen Packing Company in 1880, one of the earliest canneries in Pacific County

(Jacob 2005; Hummasti 2002). The peak in the salmon canning industry on the 

Columbia-Pacific was thereby timed perfectly to the chronology of Scandinavian 

immigration. Scandinavian men, Norwegians and Finns in particular, were eagerly

recruited to man seine boats and other maritime fishing operations. The Dillingham

Commission’s investigation of the fishing industry showed that Scandinavians 

represented by far the largest proportion in the regional umbrella labor group for

fishermen, the Fisherman’s Protective Union, with nearly 45 percent of that 

organization’s membership in 1908 (Dahlie 1970: 69-70). 

As the Scandinavian population grew, the roles of immigrant labor became 

increasingly segregated in the fishing industry. The canneries employed Chinese

men to work lines butchering and cleaning fish, as well as constructing and packing

cans. The White fishing community—Scandinavian, native-born American, and

otherwise—maintained strict prohibitions on Chinese labor. They all but prohibited

Chinese participation in non-cannery aspects of the industry. Various sources 

suggest that some of the few Chinese men who attempted fishing commercially in

the late 19th century lost their lives for making incursions into what was considered

the exclusive occupational domain of White fishermen (Jacob 2005: 9). Furthermore,

from 1882-1924, Congress passed a series of Chinese exclusion laws, making it 

increasingly difficult for Chinese to enter and work in the U.S. Therefore, by the

1890s, the Chinese population was in decline, as immigrants began to move to 

urban areas in search of employment, to pursue work in canneries elsewhere on the

coast (such as British Columbia), or to move back to southern China. By 1920, 

Scandinavian women who had recently immigrated to the area—Finnish women in

particular—had largely replaced Chinese workers in the canneries (Lewis 1993: 126). 

The Hume cannery, and those that followed, quickly became virtual small towns,

complete with bunk houses and mess halls for workers, tool and machine shops,

boat and net repair sheds, and many other types of supporting infrastructure. 

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Table 6.1: Salmon canning companies on the Columbia River, 1890

Shaded Canneries located within Clatsop, Pacific and Wahkiakum Counties 

Location Company Brand names

Oregon

Astoria Astoria Packing Co. Astoria Packing Co.; Kinney’s

Astoria Badollett & Co. Badollett & Co.

Astoria Booth & Sons Oval

Astoria Columbia River Packing Co. Cocktail

Astoria Devlin, John A. & Co. John A. Devlin & Co.

Astoria Elmore, Samuel Magnolia; Seal

Astoria White Star Packing Co. White Star

Astoria Eagle Canning Co. Favorite

Astoria Fisherman’s Packing Co. Fisherman

Astoria Scandinavian Packing Co. Scandinavian Fishermens’

Astoria George & Barker Epicure; Point Adams Lighthouse

Astoria Hanthorn & Co. Hanthorn & Co.

Astoria Hume, George W. Flag

Astoria I X L Packing Co. I X L

Astoria Occident Packing Co. Mermaid

Astoria Washington Packing Co. American

Maple Dell Buchheit Packing Co. Cascade

The Dalles The Dalles Packing Co. Otter

Cascades Warren & Co.

Clifton Oregon Packing Co. (J.W. & V.C.) Medal

Washington

Ilwaco Aberdeen Packing Co. Bear

Knappton Knappton Packing Co. Beacon

Knappton North Shore Packing Co. Argonaut

Chinook McGowan, P.J. & Sons Keystone

Pillar Rock Pillar Rock Packing Co. Pillar Rock

Brookfield Megler, J.G. & Co. Stag; St. George

Waterford Hapgood & Co. Hapgood & Co.; Waterford Pressing Co.

Eureka Eureka Packing Co. Star

Cathlamet Warren, F.M. & Co. Monogram (F.M.W. & Co.)

Bay View Ocean Canning Co. Esquimaux

Eagle Cliff Hume, William Eagle

From Select Committee on Relations with Canada, US Senate, 1890

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 128 —
Canneries were situated on portions of the waterfront with slow and deep waters,

often with little or no land access, where both small fishing boats and large shipping

schooners could easily offload whole fish, or bring canned fish onboard. Fishing 

was initially carried out by small gillnets, often extended by hand or rowboat, but

these would be augmented with horse-drawn nets, sailboats, seines, fish traps, 

mechanized “fish wheels”—on land or boat—that scooped fish from the shallows,

and myriad other technologies. In time, the land-based technologies would often be

owned, or very much controlled, by canneries and packing organizations, while the

waterborne fishermen were comparatively independent. 

Figure 7.6 – Especially after Chinese labor began to move out of the region, women – immigrant

Finnish and Scandinavian women in particular – began to work in the canneries in much greater

numbers. Here, a woman works in one of Pacific County’s Columbia River canneries in the early 20th

century. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

The earliest gillnetting boats on the river had been propelled only by oars, drawing

nets out into the river’s channels and pulling them back in by hand—heavy with

salmon, if the gillnetter was fortunate. Yet progress was slow in these little 

rowboats, and sometimes dangerous in the river’s swift currents. With the addition

of sails in the 1870s, the gillnet fleet provided one of the most efficient means of

harvesting salmon on the lower Columbia. The canneries of the Columbia-Pacific

were supported in no small part by this “butterfly fleet”—the salmon gillnetting

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A Rush of Silver
boats which plied the lower Columbia River in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

The small, split-rigged fishing vessels earned the boats their nickname, resembling

butterflies underneath the two triangular sails that propelled them through the

water. At one time, there were over 2,500 of these double-ended gillnet boats 

fishing the waters of the lower Columbia, often competing directly with commercial 

operators of fish wheels, seines, and land-based gillnetting. These boats were 

relatively inexpensive to maintain, required only two or three crewmembers, and

were highly mobile, yet also quite vulnerable to rough weather. Residents of the

small port towns on both the Washington and Oregon sides of the estuary took part

in this fishery—Scandinavian immigrants most prominent among them, but also

men of other North European extraction, immigrant and American-born fishermen,

and a small number of independent Native American operators (Tobias 2012; 

Engeman 2005; Martin 1994; Andrews and Larsen 1959; Smithsonian Museum 

of American History n.d.).66

Figure 7.7 – Fishwheels brought industrial technologies and values to the practice of Columbia-Pacific

region fishing. These contraptions, of various designs, were designed to rotate in the river shallows,

scooping up fish in mesh cages or similar and depositing them in a holding pen for later processing.

They were highly effective in some settings, providing a regular supply of fish even when fishermen

were scarce, but were eventually banned as one of several conservation measures on the Columbia

River. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 130 —
Figure 7.8. - Men seining for salmon with hand-pulled gillnets on the lower Columbia River, in 1914.

African-American men, while not widespread in the salmon industry historically, sometimes found

work on fishing crews. Image from Plate 6-B in U.S. Geological Survey Bulletin 614, 1916, 

Washington D.C.

Meanwhile, salmon-canning methods changed little before the twentieth century.

William Wilcox of the U.S. Fish Commission described in 1896 a cannery on the 

Columbia River whose methods represented the standards of the time:

As a rule the factories are located adjacent to or very near the fishing-grounds, so that at 

the most but a few hours elapse from the time the fish are freely swimming until they are

caught, delivered at the cannery, dressed, canned, cooked, and packed, thus insuring a 

perfectly fresh product, old or stale fish never being met with at a salmon cannery...The

buildings connected with a salmon cannery are always built at the water’s edge or partly

over the water, so that vessels or boats may come alongside and deliver their fish and 

supplies or receive the packed products. As a rule they are large, roomy, one-story frame

structures, the business of receiving, cooking, and packing of salmon all being in the one

large, high, and well-lighted room. The lofts are used for the storage of empty packing cases,

empty cans, nets, etc., and in some instances large rooms are there used for the manufacture

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A Rush of Silver
of cans. Adjacent to the cannery are the rude quarters in which the Chinese employees live,

and nearby is usually the home of the superintendent. Chinese have a monopoly in the 

canning of salmon, but never engage in their capture. Before the season opens contracts are

made with some large Chinese firm of San Francisco or Portland to do the work so far as

relates to receiving raw products and turning the salmon over canned, packed, and ready for

shipment. As a rule the fish are bought from the fishermen at so much apiece or per pound, 

a stipulated price for the season having previously been agreed on; but in some cases the

fishermen are hired by the month, with or without board, the fishing boats and nets, in 

that event, being furnished by the cannery (Wilcox 1896: 583).

Figure 7.9 – A multiethnic gillnetting crew on Sand Island, south of Cape Disappointment, circa 1911,

having just removed their catch of Chinook salmon from the nets, and beginning to load the fish for

processing. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

The growth in the canning industry had been spectacular, with roughly 40 canneries

operating simultaneously along the Columbia estuary through the halcyon years in

the 1880s and 1890s. Competition was sometimes fierce, and canneries designed

specialized labels, logos, and other marketing devices in an attempt to differentiate

themselves from the pack.67 In the early 1890s, when nearly all other branches of

business were depressed, the salmon canning industry of Washington and Oregon 

continued to expand, and the fishing industry represented more than a third of the

entire industrial workforce for those states (Wilcox 1896: 577).68

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 132 —
Figure 7.10 – The P.J. McGowan and Sons Cannery, McGowan Washington, at today’s Station Camp,

circa 1897. Little remains of McGowan’s extensive cannery today. Photo Courtesy Columbia Pacific

Heritage Museum, Ilwaco, Washington. 

Amidst all of these developments, the McGowans retooled their fish salting 

operation at Station Camp, by this time one of the oldest fish processing operations

on the lower river. P.J. McGowan took on his four sons as business partners and

changed the name of their operation to P.J. McGowan and Sons. By 1884, they had

completely redeveloped the saltery, building a cannery in its place—sometimes

called the “Chinook Cannery.” They later expanded their company’s operations to

include canneries on the waterfront of Ilwaco, very near the northwestern edge of

Cape Disappointment State Park, as well as at sites along the shores of Willapa Bay,

and at Warrendale and Dodson, Oregon on the Columbia. Unlike some canneries, a

small and relatively stable community developed around the cannery, in part due 

to the enduring presence and investment of the McGowan family, whose 

commitments to the area arguably ran deeper than many of their industrialist peers.

In P.J. McGowan’s later years, he would fund a number of community institutions, 

including the St. Mary’s Catholic Church, constructed in 1904, as part of the family’s

effort to foster a relatively coherent communal life in the cannery town.69 That

church as well as a 1903 cannery office and the 1911 McGowan family house still 

remain on the site. 

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Figure 7.11 - P.J. McGowan cannery label from the early 20th century. Image courtesy Columbia Pacific

Heritage Museum, Ilwaco, WA.

This period also saw the development of fish processing facilities near the 

present-day National Park Service Dismal Nitch property. Joseph Megler, a Germanborn tinsmith turned cannery magnate, had operated a cannery and fish buying 

station on the western edge of the cove through the 1870s and 1880s.70 Various

sources suggest that the small fishing station built inside the cove—the operation

that appears to be ancestral to those that built the pilings visible from park lands—

was first constructed in 1880 by Astorian industrialist, Marshall J. Kinney.71 Though

not built by Megler, the structure was soon incorporated into the Megler operation

following its 1880 construction. As Weathers notes: “The site was initially a fishing

station built by Astorian Marshall Kenney [sic] in 1880. Megler used the site for a fish 

receiving station in 1883” (Weathers 1989: 40). President of Astoria Packing Company,

Kinney was owner of the “Marshall J. Kinney” Cannery in the Uniontown district of

Astoria, which was at the time the largest salmon packing operation on the river—a

facility that was later listed (then delisted) on the National Register, and is partially

reoccupied with retail space on today’s Astoria waterfront. He would enter into 

occasional business ventures, including lower Columbia lumber milling, with his 

almost equally prominent brother, William S. Kinney. (Moreover, Kinney—his 

timing fortuitous—would soon move part of his assets from Columbia River 

canneries to recreational beachfront real estate, buying out the Phillip Gearhart 

Donation Land Claim in 1888 and platting and beginning sales of luxury homesites at

“Gearhart Park” at the modern location of Gearhart, Oregon.) The Megler Cove site

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 134 —
Figure 7.12: At the peak of the salmon canning industry, the prime gillnet grounds sat just 

offshore from Dismal Nitch, as well as Station Camp and Fort Stevens. Megler represented a

prime seine hauling area, and waters just to its west were crowded with weirs. From U.S. 

Commission of Fish and Fisheries, 1892. Chart of the Lower Columbia River, Showing the 

Location of Salmon Apparatus, Fishing Grounds and Canneries in 1892. Washington, D.C.

was a very small outpost of Kinney’s much larger operation. When Megler acquired

the land, it expanded his holdings to the west of the site, where he and partners

Thomas Jewett and Jacob Chambers developed a cannery on land purchased in 1872

from Andrew Wirt. Megler continued to operate a cannery at that location but was

increasingly dissatisfied with the suitability of this shoreline for large-scale 

shipping access—an issue that would plague the site’s use throughout the salmon 

cannery period, and relegate his operations in the “Megler area” to a relatively

minor role in that industry’s history. 

Megler also built cannery facilities many miles upstream, below Cathlamet, in the

early 1870s. To support his operations, he leased the land on Megler Cove from a

Knappton mill owner to develop a fish transfer station, completing the station—

commonly called the Point Ellis (or “Point Ellice”) Buying Station—at the site by

1883 (Appelo 1966).72 The piers and structures in this area sometimes appear as an

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A Rush of Silvere
“old fishing village” on 20th century maps, suggesting the extent of operations at

this place. In the late 1880s and early 1890s, at the peak of the salmon canning 

industry, the principal gillnetting grounds in the area sat immediately adjacent to

this rough and rocky reach of the River, extending roughly from Tongue Point and

Grays Bay on the east to Point Adams and Sand Island on the west. When fishing was

especially good, gillnetters from the butterfly fleet often stayed the night in Megler

Cove, fronting today’s “Dismal Nitch,” returning to the adjacent fishing grounds the

following morning. They thus avoided the long, slow trek to and from home ports

each day. In their small boats, gillnetters also took refuge there, getting out of 

inclement weather and the bustle of the fishing grounds. The enduring presence of a

fish transfer and buying station on the shoreline made this possible. It allowed 

gillnetters to unload their catches without having to proceed to distant canneries

and then return to prime fishing grounds.73 The site continued operations into the

early 20th century, though the extension of the Oregon Railroad and Navigation

Company rail line past the site undermined its use significantly with the demolition

of shoreline structures associated with the site. 

The profits generated by the canneries on the lower Columbia were astounding. 

Yet working conditions and wages in the canneries, and the price offered to 

fishermen for fish, did not improve commensurately. With so many Finnish 

immigrants entering the workforce, a growing number having been ousted from

Russian-controlled Finland for labor activism and leftist sympathies, perhaps an 

organized response from fishermen along the lower Columbia was inevitable. In

1896 the fishermen’s union waged a strike in response to the low prices being paid

by the canneries at a time of exorbitant profits. Cannery operators called in the 

National Guard to break the strike. The strikers lost the battle, but the strike’s 

effects rippled throughout the lower Columbia fishing industry. The cooperative

movement, a particularly Finnish form of enterprise, had been popular in Finland

around the turn of the 20th century, and immigrants brought its principles to 

America. After the unsuccessful fishermen’s strike in 1896, some two hundred 

Columbia estuary fishermen, with Finnish immigrants in the vanguard, organized

the Union Fishermen’s Cooperative Packing Company in Astoria. This company

helped fishermen to coordinate their sales to canneries in such a way that they 

influenced prices paid for their catch. Cooperation also allowed them to pool fish

and other resources for the purpose of shared sales, shipping, and marketing that

could function independent of cannery owners’ control. The Fishermen’s 

Cooperative Packing Company became a highly successful packing cooperative, 

and remained a fishermen-owned business until the late 1940s when it was sold to

private interests (Jacob 2005: 17-21; Hummasti 2002: 142).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 136 —
Shortly after the 1896 strike on the river, prominent industrialist A.B. Hammond

completed the development of the railroad link connecting Astoria to the Northern

Pacific Railway via Goble, Oregon. This effectively opened an eastern shipping route

for Astoria canned salmon. The strike in conjunction with the newfound eastern

markets had broad and transformative effects in the industry. Recognizing that the

cannery owners held redundant assets (and were in a poor position to negotiate 

individually with an increasingly collectivized workforce), Columbia-Pacific cannery

owners acknowledged a need to combine their assets and organize into their own,

more cohesive corporate entity. Such an umbrella organization would create

economies of scale in fish purchasing, shipping, sales, marketing, and almost 

every other facet of their business. 

With A.B. Hammond leading the charge, many of the river’s most prominent 

cannery owners agreed to combine forces and assets under a single corporate 

umbrella. Founded in 1899, the Columbia River Packers Association (CRPA) would

serve as a significant galvanizing force in the later years of the canning industry. 

The original CRPA consisted of seven Astoria canning companies with ten canneries

located on the Columbia. They included many of the key cannery owners associated

with the larger history of LEWI lands, such as Kinney, Seaborg, Hammond, and 

others.74 New York native Samuel Elmore, a Columbia River cannery owner and 

onetime partner of Joseph Hume, was a key figure in these early years of the CRPA, 

acting as the first vice president and general manager of the organization.75 Elmore

was fundamental in uniting the cannery owners to take part in the CRPA, and was

widely heralded for his early success in the organization as a man that “puts more

Chinooks in tin cans and salt barrels than anybody on the river, who is salmon king of

Tillamook, Coquille, Alsea, Umpqua and Siletz, who operates Tillamook’s boat line and 

who is the newspaper power of Astoria” (Morning Oregonian 1908:3). At the onset, 

the interests of each cannery owner that agreed to join the CRPA were entirely

bought out, or cannery owners were given stock that equaled the value of their 

cannery, land, and other disposed assets (Bumble Bee Foods, LLC. 2012; Martin

2009, 1994; NPS n.d.).

In truth, the rise of organized labor may have been the least of the cannery 

owners’ concerns. Among the ranks of these early industrialists, there was a 

growing realization that the fish supply was in peril. When canning operations on

the Columbia River began in 1866, 4,000 cases were packed that first season and sold

at an average of $16 per case. By 1872 the total pack reached 250,000 cases, and the

price had declined to $9 per case. From 1866 to 1884, each successive year (with one

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exception) saw an increase in the quantity of the salmon caught and processed.

Salmon canning on the Columbia reached its peak in 1884, when more than 650,000

cases were packed for the season. Literally millions of pounds of salmon were being

taken from the river each year. Following 1884, the catch declined sharply, to

roughly half its peak. So began a cycle of similarly-sized peaks and valleys that

would make fishing unpredictable until the salmon fishery entered a period of

steady decline 40 years later as dams began to appear up and down the Columbia,

with the catch never again reaching historic levels (Lichatowich 2001; Taylor 1999a,

1999b). In its 1894 bulletin, the US Fish Commission warned that over-fishing 

was imminent:

Up to 1888, practically the entire pack consisted of the king or chinook salmon, and the 

fishing season did not extend beyond the first of August. In 1889 the packers began canning

bluebacks and steelheads to make up the deficiency in the supply, and extended their 

operations to the first of September...It is certain that the continuation of these fisheries

under present conditions will eventually result in rendering them unremunerative. It 

concerns alike the whole people of the State, as well as those directly interested in the 

fisheries, that such regulations of the times, methods, and apparatus of these fisheries should

be established and enforced as are necessary to maintain supply” (McDonald1894: 

156, 165).

Source: Pacific Coast Fisheries 1903b: 7.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 138 —
While the profits of cannery owners may still have been astounding, some in their

ranks began to express concern about the sustainability of the industry—quietly at

first, but with growing urgency as early and dire predictions were borne out by 

catch numbers. By the mid-1870s, lower Columbia cannery operators were already

expressing concerns internally about the long-term viability of the industry. In

1877, a number of these cannery owners helped to organize and fund the Oregon &

Washington Fish Propagation Company, which built a salmon hatchery on the

Clackamas River—a tributary of the Columbia, via the Willamette River—that was

then operated largely by the U.S. Fish Commission. (At around the same time, R.D.

Hume—having developed secondary cannery capacities on the Rogue River—began

to develop hatcheries on the lower reaches of that river Basin for similar reasons.) 

In the late 1880s and early 1890s, the industry became increasingly involved in early

fish conservation efforts on both sides of the river, including the development of

state hatcheries as well as state fish commissions and early fish wardens. 

The earliest hatchery effort on the lower Columbia, and within the state of 

Washington, was founded near Chinook in 1893 amidst this foment, with the 

significant involvement of Station Camp cannery owner P.J. McGowan. In 1898, a

special session of the Oregon legislature introduced a sweeping set of salmon 

protection measures, establishing a licensing system for industry to start developing

hatcheries, imposing prohibitions on salmon fishing in many Columbia River 

tributaries, and requiring a wide range of specific conservation measures. By the

early 1900s, these conservation measures were having little measurable effect. In

1908, the Morning Oregonian headlines announced a thirty to forty percent decline in

salmon catches, for example, stating that the salmon supply was “still going from bad

to worse” (Morning Oregonian 1908:3). 

In a rare show of self-regulation, the CRPA intervened, calling for shortened fishing

seasons, halting Sunday fishing, regulating mesh size, and restricted salmon fishing

above the mouth of the Willamette. However, these measures were not enough to

curb the diminishing salmon supply. Huge salmon harvests had taken their toll,

surely, but a steadily growing proportion of the Columbia Basin was being urbanized,

its forests felled and its grasslands converted to farms, with complex but often 

negative consequences for water quality and the integrity of spawning areas

throughout the Basin. Modest salmon harvest limits alone would prove insufficient

to turn the tide. By the time extensive dam construction began in the Columbia

River Basin—especially as an outcome of Depression-era federal hydroelectric 

projects—the salmon population was only a small fraction of its mid-19th century

numbers. (Depression-era dam building, undertaken as part of the Work Projects

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Administration would ultimately produce some of the most imposing dams, such as

the Rock Island Dam (completed 1932), Bonneville Dam (completed 1937) and Grand

Coulee Dam (completed 1942), contributing to the final descent of salmon numbers.)

With more than 400 dams ultimately being built on the Columbia, 11 monumental

ones on the main river alone, it would in time become the most developed river, in

hydroelectric terms, on the planet (Lichatowich 2001; Taylor 1999; White 1996; 

Martin 1994; Smith 1979; Dodds 1959; Morning Oregonian 1908). 

By 1900, national and state exclusion laws had drastically reduced the Chinese 

labor pool in the Pacific Northwest—perhaps satisfying the racially-driven political

activists of the region but undermining the entire economic model on which the

salmon industry was predicated. This opened the door to Japanese contract labor.

Though Japanese immigration to the Columbia-Pacific region occurred in much

lower numbers than Chinese immigration, the two were interconnected. The first

known Japanese immigrants to Oregon arrived in 1880 and, when direct steamship

service was established between Portland and Kobe, Japan in 1887, Japanese 

immigrants began to arrive in Oregon in increasing numbers (Johnson 1996; Azuma

1994; Yausi 1976). Japanese seasonal workers were sent from Portland to salmon

canneries and sawmills in Oregon, Washington, and Alaska. As the region’s Chinese

population rapidly decreased, often Japanese assumed the jobs they formerly held.

And in the summer of 1909, with the involvement of Portland’s contract labor 

services, 500 Japanese were sent from Portland to work in salmon canneries (Azuma

1994; Yasui 1976: 238). 

Yet Japanese immigration was not sufficient to compensate for the decline of the 

region’s Chinese population. Though the canning industry had largely avoided

mechanized innovation through the end of the nineteenth century, the industry 

now sought out a fish-butchering machine partly to replace Chinese salmon cutters

who were so scarce (and, where they persisted, increasingly expensive due to special

technical skills). The industry was at a turning point—and for reasons other than

declining fish numbers and the CRPA. It became increasingly clear that canneries

and their supporting infrastructure along the lower Columbia were out of date and 

in need of costly upgrades. 

In 1903, Canadian E.A. Smith developed an iron fish butcher, the only such machine

invented specifically for salmon canning since the industry’s birth 40 years earlier.

It was given an unfortunate nickname, the “Iron Chink,” because the machine

butchered and cleaned fish at the astonishing rate—100 fish per minute, “doing the

work of 30 or 40 Chinese and doing it in a much more uniform manner” (Pacific Coast 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 140 —
Figure 7.13 – The iron butcher or “Iron Chink”—a machine that allowed canneries to increase their 

productivity even as Chinese labor became increasingly scarce along the lower Columbia River. 

Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

Fisheries 1903a: 13). Advertisements for the iron butcher capitalized on concerns

about the declining labor pool, “1909, the big year, the big opportunity. Are you 

prepared? Chinese labor will be scarce. Contract prices will be raised. The iron chink is your

only relief” (quoted in Newell 1988: 649). Most canneries that survived the period

adopted the new iron machinery, or its close successors. 

Gasoline powered boats, too, began to replace the sail-rigged “butterfly” gillnet

boats in the early twentieth century, but the transition took a number of years.

Those canneries that leased gillnetter boats to fishermen were hesitant to invest 

the capital needed to retrofit vessels with gas engines in light of broader economic 

realities on the lower Columbia. Independent fishermen, adopting the new 

motorized boats, soon outpaced the cannery fleets, forcing cannery owners to adopt

gasoline engines under a certain amount of economic duress. By the 1930s, the 

butterfly fleet boats had by and large disappeared on the lower Columbia River, 

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A Rush of Silver
replaced with what became known as the Columbia River bowpicker, while other, 

Figure 7.14 – A Columbia River gillnetter (location unknown), pulling salmon nets by hand into his

small wooden boat. Photo, fish5722, from National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

Archives, Historic Fisheries Collection. 

larger motorized netting boats began to ply the river’s mouth and the open Pacific.

True, as the 20th century began, the salmon industry’s labor requirements were generally deceasing, so that bunk houses, mess halls, and other facilities were being

mothballed in the first decades of that century. But simultaneously, canneries were

forced to maintain fuel tanks, oil tanks, machine shops and other infrastructure to

accommodate motorized boats and the equipment associated with increasingly automated canning facilities (Martin 1994).76

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 142 —
These events also played out on the margins of what are today park lands. The 

Columbia River Packers Association had acquired lands and an old cannery on 

Hungry Harbor, roughly a mile east of Megler Cove during their consolidation in the

early 20th century. By the late 1910s, they had converted the cannery to a fish 

receiving station that functioned somewhat like Megler’s original operation inside

Megler Cove. This receiving station was later called the “Northshore” facility in 

Columbia River Packers Association reports. The CRPA continued to use the facility

as a fish receiving station through the early decades of the 20th century, but also 

increasingly as an equipment and storage facility, and a place where CRPA nets were

dried and repaired—reflecting the increasingly mechanized and capital-intensive

direction of the canning industry, as well as the growing consolidation of CRPA 

cannery operations on the lower Columbia. 

During World War I, as they shuttered cannery operations on the site, a large steel

tank was assembled on the docks to hold an emergency reserve of fuel oil to support

the various CRPA cannery operations on the lower river. This tank was dismantled

by 1940. A few temporary “bunkhouses” were reported adjacent to the site as well,

serving as housing for transfer station operators and boat crews staying temporarily

between sets, or for repairs and inclement weather (Gunderson 2005; CRPA 1943).

Cryptic references in certain documents imply there may have been a small boat 

repair shop at the site, and that Chinese laborers may have lived there briefly prior

to the 1920s. By 1943, an insurance assessment of CRPA properties provided a 

detailed description of the site at that time, noting that:

“this is a very old cannery site, but for the last twenty-five years it has been used only as a

fish receiving station and for living accommodations of a few local fishermen...The property

at Northshore comprises two large net-rack docks 600 feet long and 240 feet long with an

interconnecting tramway between them and a tramway 700 feet long leading to the shore.

The fish receiving station building is a small structure 25x50, located on the other end of the

dock” (CRPA 1943: 13). 

With all of these challenges—declining fish stocks, antiquated machinery, dwindled

and increasingly organized labor, and a host of other issues on the lower Columbia—

the cannery owners of the region began to look north, to the productive waters of

the far north Pacific. By 1900 Alaska was already becoming the salmon industry’s

new locus, with British Columbia not far behind. Growing efficiencies in shipping

technologies were making this possible, as sailing ships were being replaced by

steamships, which would soon be replaced by diesel ships of even greater speed. 

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A Rush of Silver
Figure 7.15 – An early 20th century aerial photo of the Dismal Nitch area shows the Megler Cove fish

transfer station piers and infrastructure on the left, the Northshore facilities in the background on the

right, and the “Clamshell Railroad” wharf, sitting on what is today the Dismal Nitch parking lot, on the

point in the middle of the frame. At this time, the only access to the shoreline was by rail or boat.

Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

Troubled by unpredictable and gradually declining numbers, cannery owners began

to explore options for the development of canneries in Alaska—especially to take

advantage of the abundance of sockeye salmon in the rivers of Southeast Alaska, the

Alaska Peninsula, and Bristol Bay. To facilitate the movement of Columbia River

cannery operations into Alaska, a number of lower Columbia cannery owners—led

by two heirs to the Hume cannery legacy, Elmore and George Hume—founded the

Alaska Packers Association (APA) in 1891.77 This organization sought to aid in the 

remobilization of Columbia River fishing assets to Alaska, but also to sequence this

process judiciously, so as to avoid creating temporary supply gluts that could 

depress the price of Columbia River fish. When the CRPA was formed in 1899, the

organization took up this cause. They almost immediately began moving Columbia

River assets northward—initiating the construction of a large cannery plant in 

Bristol Bay, Alaska, as well as the purchase of a small fleet of ships to carry Alaska

canned fish as early as 1900.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 144 —
Figure 7.16 – A CRPA cannery on the Astoria waterfront, circa 1941. Photo by Russell Lee, U.S. Farm

Security Administration, Lot 338, courtesy Library of Congress. 

Indeed, the CRPA came under increasing criticism in its early years as it seemed 

to be moving so much of Columbia River production swiftly north and out of the 

region. Some also suggested it was moving cannery administration (and profits) 

out of the Northwest and into the purview of East coast investors.78 Sometimes 

with the institutional backing of the APA and the CRPA, and sometimes moving 

independently, many of the Columbia-Pacific’s key cannery owners began to 

develop canneries in parts of Alaska, as well as on the mouths of major British 

Columbia rivers. Marshall Kinney founded canneries associated with Skagway and

Ketchikan, Alaska, for example, while Samuel Adair and his brothers used profits

from their Astoria waterfront salmon packing operations to capitalize canneries in

Steveston’s cannery row on the Fraser River estuary, in what is now greater 

metropolitan Vancouver B.C. Through the 1920s and 1930s, the CRPA moved a 

significant amount of their production from the lower Columbia to Alaska. 

Reflecting this monumental relocation, by 1937, at the height of the Great 

Depression, there were 177 salmon canneries operating on the Pacific Coast, 116 of

them (over 65 percent) in Alaska, followed by 37 (some 21 percent) in British 

Columbia (Newell 1988: 633). As the canneries closed on the Columbia, many moved

their equipment and capital north. A certain number of local laborers and boats

often followed. Slightly modified Columbia River “butterfly fleet” boats ironically

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A Rush of Silver
became the standard gillnetting boat among the growing fleets of gillnetters in 

such places as Bristol Bay, Alaska—in some cases being maintained well into the

mid-20th century (Martin 2013, 2009; Newell 1988; Barker 1909).79

As cannery operations drifted northward to Alaska beginning in the 1890s, 

accelerating thereafter, so too did lower Columbia fishing families who had been

part of the Columbia cannery boom. While some fishermen moved directly to Alaska

ports, many maintained families and homes on the lower Columbia, while traveling

to Alaska waters during the fishing season—a long and dangerous trek, involving 

extensive periods away from home. These fishermen understandably sold most of

their catch directly to Alaska canneries, though they often returned to the Columbia

with a full hold of salted fish for local markets and personal use. Beginning in 1894,

residents of Astoria chose to celebrate the annual return of Astoria fishermen from

the Alaska fishing grounds with a formal regatta. Featuring celebrations and special

events along the waterfront, as well as boat races and fishing derbies, the regatta

quickly became one of the West coast’s premier boat racing events. The event has

continued almost uninterrupted since 1894 into the present day, being cancelled

only during the two world wars and for a decade after the devastating 1921 Astoria

fire. In recent times, the Oregon Heritage Commission named the Astoria Regatta as

one of only four “Oregon Heritage Traditions” within the state, reflecting its unique

time depth and importance among Oregon celebrations. 

Those who stayed on the lower Columbia during this period made many efforts 

to adapt to the downward spiral of salmon numbers on the Columbia, and to the 

migration of the industry to distant, northern Pacific waters. For example, as salmon

fishing declined, many Scandinavians stayed in the area and continued fishing for

other catches. By the early 1940s in Washington and Oregon, Norwegians dominated

the dog fish and soupfin shark fisheries, and were the majority fishermen in the

small but growing tuna and sardine industries (Arestad 1943: 4, 7-8). 

With such highly developed cannery infrastructure, and a pool of specially trained

labor, there was little reason to let boats and canneries sit dormant. As early as the

1920s, Columbia River cannery owners and fishermen began to explore other

catches. First, they moved away from the production of dwindling Chinook salmon

to less numerous and popular catches including sockeye. Then finding these 

secondary species in decline, they began to experimentally transition away from

salmon altogether. A number of canneries tried to market alternative species with 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 146 —
Figure 7.17 – Razor clams for the ocean beach were sometimes canned and shipped to distant 

markets, but were also harvested for sale to local tourists. Sam Lee, shown here, was one of several

clam diggers providing clams for Seaside’s early hotels. For Asian immigrants and Native Americans,

this was an important, if small cottage industry that could be pursued with relative independence 

and without factory conditions. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

— 147 —

A Rush of Silver
limited success. Some, including the McGowan company facilities, began to catch

and can American shad (Alosa sapidissima) as an alternative to salmon. An introduced

fish, shad had found their way to the Northwest from fish populations originally

planted in the Sacramento River Basin from Atlantic coast waters in the 1870s, the

population growing steadily on the Columbia in the decades that followed. Canneries

replaced their preexisting salmon can labels with new iterations, placing images of

shad where salmon had once been featured.

Likewise, the CRPA and other area canneries began to experiment with other

catches, such as sardine and crab. Today’s relatively robust Dungeness crab industry,

sustained by small-scale boat operators working just beyond the ocean surf, being a

partial outgrowth of this effort to keep idled salmon cannery infrastructure and

labor occupied. Certain fishermen and fish packing operations experimented more

broadly, developing small fisheries for soupfin shark and dog fish especially focused

on the harvest of shark livers for their oil (Arestad 1943). Some sought to retool

salmon cannery infrastructure to the time-honored tradition of oystering. 

Individual fishermen sometimes supported themselves with the harvesting of

clams—most notably the razor clams on the sand beaches, which were canned but

also sold fresh in lower Columbia towns (a common cottage industry for Native

American families displaced from commercial fishing a generation or two earlier by

Chinese and Scandinavian workers). There was even a whaling station in Warrenton

managed for a time by Bioproducts Incorporated, as well as other ports just beyond

the study area, processing the meat and oil of humpback and sperm whales for 

various commercial uses. Later in the century, other fish would be tapped too—

herring, rockfish and lingcod, and pollock, a nondescript whitefish used in such

products as fish sticks and artificial crab. 

Among these experimental efforts to revive the Columbia-Pacific’s flagging fishing

industry, tuna may have been the most successful. By 1937 fishermen from the lower

Columbia encountered and began to fish large schools of tuna in offshore waters,

bringing new life to local CRPA operations. The CRPA began to retool their cannery

facilities in order to process tuna. By the end of that decade, the tuna industry 

outgrew the salmon industry of the lower Columbia, with both salmon and tuna

canned under the CRPA’s “Bumble Bee” label. The CRPA’s activities were 

increasingly split into two halves—one, centered on Alaskan salmon production,

and the other, much smaller, focused on tuna production on the lower Columbia 

and many other places around the globe. By the end of World War II, the CRPA was

acquired by large holding companies and its assets reorganized to eventually become

“Bumble Bee Seafoods, Inc.,” a company most popularly associated with canned

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 148 —
tuna. By the 1970s, Bumble Bee Seafoods’ offices had moved to southern California,

drawing away much of the company’s remaining administrative positions 

from Astoria.80

The canneries of the great salmon boom largely fell into disuse over the course 

of the mid-20th century. Some remnant canneries, such as Kinney’s cannery in

Uniontown, Astoria, were later converted into storage facilities for grain and other

products shipped up and down the Columbia. Many others were demolished for

scrap and to limit owners’ exposure to liability (Steen 2009). When the McGowan

cannery was finally closed in 1947, it was then reported to be the oldest fish 

processing plant in the state of Washington (Appelo 1966; McDonald 1966).The

Northshore CRPA fish transfer facility became part of the Bumble Bee operations,

fell into disuse, and was partially dismantled during the construction of State Route

12B along the Columbia shoreline in 1956, with remaining offshore facilities largely

dismantled by the 1970s (CRPA 1943).81 By 1970 the Columbia River canning industry

was only a vestige of what it had been, with just six canneries left on the river. The

last major cannery on the Columbia, the Bumble Bee facility in Astoria, closed in

1980. Since then, a few small canning operations have persisted, but outputs are

modest and oriented toward specialized niche markets, scarcely comparable to

production levels that once outpaced all others on the lower Columbia. Certain

structures from this great canning history persisted, even as they no longer

continued to operate commercially. Such structures as the Samuel Elmore Cannery 

Figure 7.18 – A label for P.J. McGowan & Sons canned shad, reflecting early 20th century efforts to

maintain the solvency of the lower Columbia River canning industry in spite of increasingly volatile

salmon numbers. Image courtesy Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum, Ilwaco, Washington.

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A Rush of Silver
on the Astoria waterfront—also closed in 1980—served as a prominent landmark of

this history— being listed as a National Historical Landmark until it was consumed

by fire in 1993 and ultimately delisted from the National Register of Historic Places

(Harrison 2011). 

Though emerging in New England and California, salmon canning grew to become

the major industry of the Columbia River in only two decades. It peaked in the 1880s

with 39 canneries on the lower river (some sources suggest up to 42, using inclusive

definitions), but declined almost as quickly as it had emerged—with some of the

industry’s founding families moving to more productive waters in the northern

Pacific (Harrison 2011). The River is much changed since the days the Hume 

brothers recruited Chinese labor to begin cutting fish at their Eagle Cliff plant. Once

considered to be the world’s most productive salmon river, some of the constituent

runs of the Columbia now receive protection under the Endangered Species Act. 

Watershed councils and nonprofits work earnestly on both sides of the river to 

sustain salmon runs that remain. In spite of these changes, fishing has been an 

enduring and central part of Columbia-Pacific community identity into recent times.

Smokehouses sell their products to tourists, and a small and resilient fleet of 

gillnetters still work in their short season. Columbia-Pacific families come together

annually to celebrate the Astoria Regatta and new festivals such as the “Fisher

Poets” gathering, hosted in Astoria since 1998. Fisher Poets brings together 

fishermen from Alaska to the Columbia-Pacific to reflect, emote, and commiserate

about the conditions of the modern industry.82

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 150 —
 )%..0/'4.-341,3*.*4"3*-2$0/'4.-342/&

The Historical Development of the Columbia-Pacific 

Timber Industry

he sprawling damp forests of the Columbia-Pacific region and the massive

scale of its coastal trees stretched the limits of pre-industrial lumbering

technologies. So too, the imagination of the region’s early settlers. For early

loggers accustomed to using physical labor to clear forests, with only the power of

muscle, oxen and horse, and with little more than crosscut saws and axes on hand,

the commercial potential of the vast forest could be envisioned but scarcely realized.

Labor requirements were high; the fuels required were food and feed. The earliest

logging practices on this coast would have been familiar to pre-industrial European

woodcutters. Yet in the few generations that followed, timber harvesting was 

revolutionized, becoming a highly efficient, mechanized and petroleum-intensive

industry that bore little resemblance to its earlier historical incarnations. 

The Pacific Northwest generally, and the Columbia-Pacific in particular, is one of 

a few places globally that was first logged during the arc of this technological 

revolution. And while the bulk of the landscape was public domain at the beginning

of this history, by the mid-20th century, corporate-owned industrial forests occupied

the majority of the study area’s lands. This transition reflected both the dealings of

land barons and the objectives of federal land policy in the American West. Today,

the majority of the study area is occupied by industrial forest, with logging history

woven through the broader history of the Columbia-Pacific region in myriad ways.

It’s not surprising that considerable interest in, and nostalgia for, the “logging 

history” of this region still exists. Logging has literally shaped the landscape of the

region. It intersects in many ways with the history of Lewis and Clark National and

State Historical Parks. 

The Native peoples of the Columbia-Pacific region were highly skilled woodworkers,

who maintained a sort of “timber industry” of their own—involving the production

and exchange of a vast assortment of wood products. Planks, removed individually

from logs or sometimes living trees, were used in the production of houses, while

— 151 —
entire logs, hollowed out with meticulous skill, were used to produce canoes, the 

region’s most important mode of transportation into the 19th century. Every manner

of object was produced from wood products, the western red cedar in particular:

wooden boxes and tools, root baskets and hats, bark mats and clothing. Wood 

products, interpreted in this sense, were central to all Native material culture, and

were actively traded with people along the coast and into the interior Northwest.

Entire books could be, and indeed some have been, written about the place of wood

in the lives of Northwest Coast Native peoples (Stewart 1984), though some locally

unique technologies and practices remain poorly documented in writing. No doubt,

considerable Native American wood procurement and processing took place on

most, and perhaps, all of the sub-units of Lewis and Clark National and State 

Historical Parks, though the only clearly visible remains are to be found in 

subsurface archeological deposits in places like Station Camp (Wilson et al. 2009).

While the North West and Hudson’s Bay Companies participated in timber 

production on the lower Columbia, their results were mixed and modest. With 

significant involvement of Native Hawaiian and French-Canadian labor, the 

Hudson’s Bay Company maintained a sawmill at Fort Vancouver and intermittently

participated in the cutting, storage and shipping of wood at Fort George. 

Woodcutting allowed the Company to supply the local lumber needs of its 

employees and early American settlers, as well as supporting a modest ship-borne

export business to Hawaii and other places where the HBC operated. This lumber

was commonly shipped along with other goods, such as furs and barreled salmon,

and it is unclear whether lumber “export” would have been profitable independent

of these combined cargoes. The geographical reach of this early logging was 

negligible, timber being felled very near the forts and on shorelines where they

dropped to the water and could be floated to fort mills and ships. 

The earliest American commercial mill on the lower Columbia, in turn, was 

constructed by Henry Hunt and Ben Wood near modern Cathlamet, Washington in

the early 1840s. As the HBC began to move operations out of the region and into 

uncontested British territories such as British Columbia, this new mill took up much

of the slack. Drawing on locally knowledgeable labor, including a number of Native

Hawaiians and Indians familiar with the HBC mills, the Hunt and Wood mill sold

lumber harvested on the Columbia River shoreline to growing settlements of the

northern Willamette Valley. They also temporarily hijacked certain HBC markets in

California and Hawaii. After most Native Hawaiians left the region with the 

departure of the HBC, the Hunt and Wood mill increasingly hired arriving settlers as 

temporary labor, while continuing to hire local Indians for mill and tree-cutting

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 152 —
work—the Native portion of the workforce often being compelled to take high-risk

jobs unpopular with other workers. 

The late 1840s and early 1850s, however, were transformative throughout the 

Columbia-Pacific, as the promise of free land brought a wave of settlers to the

Northwest and the promise of gold brought a more itinerant wave of settlement to

California. Tidewater timber within the Columbia estuary was some of the first to be

logged commercially anywhere in the Pacific Northwest, linked to these early events

(Erickson 1965). Just as the California gold rush of the mid-19th century spurred early

commercial innovations in fishing, oystering, and other fledgling natural resource

industries, so too did California’s explosive growth prompt the birth of the modern

timber industry on the lower Columbia. With the objective of providing wood for

burgeoning California markets, a number of small-scale logging and lumber 

shipping enterprises popped up along the shores of the lower Columbia in the early

1850s, most organized by arriving settlers from logging centers in the American

East. As before, logging and wood processing were centered on the slow-moving 

Columbia tidewater, where trees could be felled directly into waterways and towed

by boat to mills, or could be dragged to waterways across level terrain by oxen or

draft horses with relative ease. Several small mills appeared on the shores of the

Lewis and Clark River, including the Harold Lumber Mill, built in 1851 by Chief

Coboway’s son-in-law, Solomon Smith. One of the largest of these Lewis and Clark

River operations, and indeed one of “the largest sawmill[s] then in Oregon” sat

within what is now Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks, sitting on

the waterfront of what is today the Fort Clatsop section of the park (Gillette 1896).83

Early in the Shane family’s ownership of the land, they allowed for the occupation 

of a portion of their claim by a mill under the proprietorship of Richard M. Moore.

Largely to accommodate California market demands in 1851-54, loggers cleared a

significant portion of the native vegetation from the fort area for this mill, while 

the margins of the new clearings were planted in orchards (Gillette 1900a). 

Originally from Ohio, Richard Moore had moved as a young man to the Mississippi

River town of Port Gibson, Mississippi. In that town, he had operated a small

sawmill and married into a local family. By 1851, he and his family were eager to 

explore the economic prospects of the West and, apparently, to escape the growing

threat of civil war in the East. In that year, Moore moved to Oregon with his wife,

Permelia, their children, their nephew William Irwin (an apprentice woodmill 

operator who would one day become governor of California) and apparently the 

family’s two African-American slaves—both women. Moore had shipped sawmill

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
machinery ahead of the family, with the intention of starting a mill near Astoria

(Smith and Moore 1963). As recounted by Gillette, 

“R. M. Moore came there to build a large saw mill, and the lines of the Shane claim were

moved north so as to make room for Moore, giving him the old Lewis and Clark land...where

he erected his mill. Fort Clatsop soon became a lively place, with 35 or 40 people, all busy

clearing land, cutting sawlogs, sowing lumber, etc. For two or three years there was hardly a

week that did not find one or more ships the crew loading with lumber for San Francisco. I

have seen five there at one time” (Gillette 1900a). 

After establishing the Fort Clatsop mill, Moore later founded mills to service 

California markets in South Bend, Washington and Greenhorn, California. As Moore

discovered, the California lumber boom would be somewhat short-lived, as larger

operators, closer to California markets and with much lower shipping costs, were

usually able to edge out small-scale operators in the Pacific Northwest. California

wood demand also came in infuriating booms and busts, reflecting the chaotic 

nature of early migration to that state. Many timber operations along the lower 

Columbia came to an abrupt end by the mid-1850s, including the Moore mill which

closed by roughly 1854. Again, quoting P.W. Gillette (1900a), “In 1854 the milling 

business became so unprofitable that the mill closed down, and Fort Clatsop’s prosperity

came to a final end.” Some portion of the milling equipment at the Fort Clatsop site—

rare and coveted materials in that era – were apparently relocated to other mill 

operations in the region. By the end of the decade, Moore moved away, taking his

family to Eugene, Oregon, where they permanently settled, maintaining a farm and

still owning mill interests around the West (Smith and Moore 1963). Meanwhile, the

docks and facilities idled at the former Moore mill site were briefly used as a 

convenient place for ship repairs. As recalled by P.W. Gillette, 

“In the summers of 1860, ‘61 and ‘62, Captain Shattuck, of the United States revenue cutter

Joe Lane, stationed at Astoria, took his ship to Fort Clatsop each year to overhaul, repair,

paint and clean her. But then came the great civil war and the Joe Lane was ordered away,

and Fort Clatsop soon grew into a wilderness as silent and gloomy as when Lewis and Clark

found it” (Gillette 1900a). 

In spite of occasional downturns, though, logging persisted and even expanded in

the region in the decades ahead, supplying lumber for growing local markets—

especially in the northern Willamette Valley—while a modest ship-borne trade 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 154 —
continued with California markets. The technology of these early operations was

simple, and progress through the dense coastal forests was slow, involving crosscut

saws and handaxes taken up against giant and ancient trees. When trees could not

be felled directly into a navigable waterway, they had to be pulled by teams of

horses, mules and oxen, often over networks of corduroy “skid roads” made of logs

laid parallel to one-another. Covered with grease, these log roads allowed downed

timber to be pulled more efficiently across the forest floor to tidewater.84

Confronted with the broad, buttressed bases of ancient trees, often rotten and 

riddled with a complex grain, early loggers were required to set “springboards” into

the side of the tree at chest level and sometimes much higher. Standing on these

boards, they could cut into the trunk with crosscut saws and axes (and in later times,

hefty oversized chainsaws designed to cut old-growth trees while operated by 

two-man crews). While stumps of spruce, Douglas-fir and hemlock from the early

days of logging are very few in number, the rectangular notches made to hold

springboards can be seen in many stumps of the western red cedars, with their 

tannin-rich, rot-resistant wood, and are popular objects of public interpretation

today (Cox 1974).85

The logging history of the region was defined by certain geographical fundamentals.

While the largest mills and shipment facilities sat on the tidewaters of the Columbia

estuary, surrounded by dense and dripping Spruce-hemlock forests, the more 

marketable and rot-resistant Douglas-fir timber, which fetched the highest prices

as dimensional lumber, often stood some distance inland, much of it inaccessible to

early tidewater logging. In truth, market demand for tidewater trees seldom

matched the market for Douglas-fir, and the coastal species never matched 

Douglas-fir’s popularity as dimensional lumber. This prompted the development of

diverse specialty markets with specialized mills to match. The rot-resistant, rich 

orange wood of the western red cedar made the tree popular for outdoor uses. 

Shingle and shake mills began to appear along the coast, using local cedar and 

catering to local markets. Hemlock and alder wood were light but often fragile, 

while spruce was so solid as to be a challenge for everyday woodworking. In 

specialty mills, these woods were often cut into simple furniture, or doors and

sashes. Several small mills manufactured specialized thin-dimension lumber from

the sturdy spruce. There were cabinet mills and box factories—the boxes used 

specially in industrial shipping of fish, produce, and other goods along the lower 

Columbia. Wainscoting and other types of patterned “bead board” of spruce or

hemlock were sold on local and regional markets, manufactured by small operators

such as the Morrison mill in Seaside. These specialized ornamental-wood products

still adorn the interiors of older homes in the Columbia-Pacific region. There were

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
mills constructing railroad ties, and others producing planks for the construction of

plank roads—a standard method of early road construction on the rough, uneven

and usually muddy backcountry of the Columbia-Pacific. In later times, spruce wood

would be used for the construction of musical instruments such as guitars and 

violins. In spite of a general preference for Douglas fir, the larger plywood and 

dimensional lumber mills of the region sometimes used these woods too. In sum,

there was an impressive number of mills in the second half of the 19th century, 

large and small, some long-lasting and some fairly ephemeral. Alongside these 

operations was a complex assortment of supporting and subsidiary businesses, such

as machine and tool shops, mechanics, specialized retail stores for logging and

milling equipment, and any number of other operations catering to the variegated

timber industry of the coast (Kamholz et al 2003; Miller 1958: 214-25).

Only in the 1880s did innovations in industrial forestry begin to accelerate beyond

what was a slow and arguably ancient mode of timber production. Inventions such as

the Dolbeer Logging Engine or “steam donkey” revolutionized the timber harvest,

allowing for logs to be dragged by cable to water-, rail- or road-side loading areas

with steam-powered gears that pulled cables and attached trees across the forest

floor. Such donkeys arrived in the study area by the mid-1890s, sometimes bought

from nationwide manufacturers, but often assembled in places like Astoria and

Portland from industrial scrap. Not only were they much more efficient than teams

of oxen, but they were less expensive to maintain. Furthermore, they allowed for

operation during wet months when animal-based operations were otherwise mired

in mud. Early loggers such as Ed and Pete Malone, who had overseen logging in the

upper reaches of the Lewis and Clark River by hand and ox team, eagerly expanded

their operations by adopting the steam donkey and other revolutionizing 

technologies of the day. These steam donkeys were moved from one harvest area 

to another in the forest atop vast “sleds” assembled from large logs, pulled by 

cables attached to standing trees and other sturdy parts of the landscape. The 

remains of many such sleds can still be found rotting below the second- and 

third-growth forests of the Columbia-Pacific region (Adams 1961; Miller 1958).

Allowing for larger and more centralized harvests, the advent of donkeys fostered

the growth of temporary “logging camps” established near harvest areas to house

loggers—a practice that would persist in some form until the widespread availability

of personal cars in the middle 20th century. Especially at large logging base camps,

these were sophisticated operations, often with bunkhouses, a mess hall (often with

women or Chinese men working as cooks), a pen for livestock and a livestock keeper, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 8.1 – The L.G. Isaacson mill supply store in Raymond, Washington – one of several retail 

outlets that filled the towns of the Columbia-Pacific region in the late 19th and early 20th centuries as

part of the larger logging economy. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

impromptu small towns, these logging operations often appeared and then 

disappeared in the course of a single season. They were found widely throughout 

the low-elevation forests of the Columbia-Pacific region.

As early logging moved away from the tidal waters of the Columbia estuary, upslope

and inland, early industrial loggers developed innovative ways to transport logs to

tidewater mills. Among these were the “splash dams,” temporary dam structures

built in creek valleys to produce log ponds filled with logs. Once the pond was full,

the dams was demolished—sometimes with constructed floodgates and sometimes

by cruder means like dynamite—allowing a torrent of log-laden water to surge to

the tidewaters downstream. Splash dams of this type sometimes operated on the

upper reaches of the Lewis and Clark River, upstream from Fort Clatsop, and on

small rivers and streams in the Columbia-Pacific. While effective, and no doubt 

entertaining to behold, these methods of log transport had costs. Riparian and

stream habitats were often significantly compromised, scouring out fish spawning

grounds and compromising riverine habitats in ways that compounded the effects of

beaver extirpation a few generations before. In other places, steam networks were 

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.2 – Logging crews with “choker cables” (visible overhead) attached to steam and later 

gasoline-powered donkeys allowed for the transport of the huge logs of the region without the use of

horses or oxen – a considerable improvement in the speed and efficiency of early logging operations.

Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

a tool shop and various types of mechanics and equipment specialists. Like entirely

redesigned. On the low-gradients of Clatsop Plains, for example, forester N.B. Bain

oversaw the reconfiguration of several lake and stream drainages, straightening and

simplifying them to produce a canal so trees could be floated from as far away as

Seaside to mills in the Warrenton area. This left an enduring and distinctively 

geometric pattern to the surface hydrology on the western edges of what is today

Fort Clatsop (Miller 1958).

The great industrialization of the timber industry occurred as Scandinavian 

laborers were entering the local work force en masse. Many of the men arriving

from Scandinavia were familiar with logging practices from the old country, and able

to assume positions in the woods and mills of the Columbia-Pacific quite readily.

Norwegians and Finns were especially well represented, as were Swedes and to a

much lesser extent Danes. Many moved to the Columbia-Pacific as part of a 

two-step migration involving a stint logging in the Great Lakes region. They

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 158 —
Figure 8.3 - The Clerin Hamilton Lumber Company of Raymond, Washington, circa 1911—one 

of many small mills to appear on the tidewater of the Columbia-Pacific region in early 20th

century, as rail access improved shipping options to the Pacific Northwest interior. For the next half

century, these mills largely processed large-dimension trees from virgin forest. By the second half of

the 20th century, all equipment and operations had to be retooled to accommodate smaller trees

from the region’s second- and third-growth forests. Photo courtesy Washington State 

Historical Society.

thus arrived with a working knowledge of American industrial forestry. Indeed,

many were recruited, formally and informally, by the mill owners of the region,

bringing a succession of early immigrants’ friends and family to augment the ranks

of local timber industry labor. 

Almost all the early Scandinavian immigrant men of the lower Columbia area who

were not fishermen logged at some time during their lives. Many worked in the

woods in various logging professions, but others worked directly in the mills or in

the operation of boats and equipment that transported logs and lumber throughout

the region. In these roles, they provided the backbone of the timber industry during

the period. They also contributed significantly to the early unionization of lumber

operations, with the Finns particularly instrumental in labor organizing on the lower

Columbia. In time, a number of Scandinavian immigrant families established small 

logging firms in Pacific and Clatsop Counties, including Wirkkala Brothers, Keko and

Kendell, the Andrew Nygaard family, and the Penttila Brothers (Hummasti 2002).

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
While small-scale milling and lumber shipping thrived at the Columbia’s mouth,

the earliest and most innovative industrialization of lower Columbia logging was

centered on those portions of the river immediately upstream from the study area.

And, suitably enough, this revolution was led by figures such as Simon Benson

(1851-1942), a Scandinavian-born logger turned industrialist who sought to 

consolidate and streamline what had heretofore been a diffuse industry on the lower 

Columbia. While an exceptional person, Benson’s experience provides a window into

the Scandinavian-American experience on the lower Columbia, as well as the forces

that transformed the region into a center of industrialized lumbering. 

Born Simon Berger Iversen in Norway in 1851, Simon Benson immigrated with his

family to the U.S. in 1867, and by the following year had moved to Black River Falls,

Wisconsin, where he worked in logging camps and sawmills. In 1879, Benson and his

family relocated to the Northwest, following the general trends in Scandinavian 

immigrant migration, capitalizing on the timber skills he acquired in the Great

Lakes. Shortly after his arrival in the region, he began to use his accumulated capital

and his knowledge of the industry to acquire strategically placed forestlands along

the Columbia estuary. He spent the next decade buying and selling lands along the

Columbia River. In this way he developed major holdings in such places as Tide

Creek in Columbia County, Oregon, and Colfax, Cathlamet, and the Deep River Basin

in Washington. By the beginning of the 1890s, Benson was prompting an “industrial

revolution” within his own operations, replacing ox teams with steam donkeys as

quickly as his resources allowed. Thus he quickly became one of the best known

timber industrialists on the Columbia River, and in 1895, founded the Benson 

Logging & Lumber Company (Abbott 2013a, 2013b; Munro 2008; Tucker 2002; 

Ficken 1982; Allen 1971; Sunday Oregonian 1916). 

Benson had arrived in the Columbia-Pacific at a critical moment in the region’s 

logging history. By the late 1880s, the readily accessible tideland forests had been

largely logged over, increasing demands for the region’s interior, forested lands

(Tucker 2002). Logging railroads, introduced in this period, would revolutionize 

logging in the Columbia-Pacific. Most critically on the coast, perhaps, these 

railways allowed the old-growth Douglas-fir forests of the interior Coast Range 

to be linked directly and expeditiously to the mills and shipment facilities of the 

tidelands. First introduced nationally in the 1880s, logging railroads relied on

steam-powered locomotives that used coal, scrap wood, or sometimes oil for 

their propulsion. The Shay engine, first introduced nationally in 1882, set the 

standard for logging engines. (Shay was a national leader, producing over 2,700 

logging locomotives nationally, though there were many competing brands that

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 160 —
sought to emulate or slightly improve upon the Shay design in years that followed.)

Here too, Benson was an innovator, introducing large-scale logging railroad 

networks to the lower Columbia, beginning with the 1891 construction of a logging

railroad that delivered logs from the interior of Wahkiakum and Pacific Counties to

the Columbia at Cathlamet, Washington (Allen 1971: 27). 

The interior lands of the region, being of little interest heretofore, were cheap for

Benson to acquire as timberlands, beating the market. He was one of the few 

industrialists poised to make use of the lands. Throughout the Columbia-Pacific

networks of logging railroads were quickly developed through the 1890s and early

1900s, sometimes funded by Benson and sometimes by his competitors, linking the

upland portions of most river-scale watersheds to tidelands on the Columbia, and to

a lesser extent Willapa Bay tidewaters. As will be discussed below, one significant

rail line extended up the Lewis and Clark River from tidewater. A separate network

of logging railroads centered on the Youngs River drainage, including the CrownWillamette Paper Company Railroad, the Tidewater Timber Company Railroad, and

at least two other unidentified logging railroads. The John Day Forest Railroad,

meanwhile, had a terminus near Svensen and operated in the hills to that 

community’s south. On the Washington side of the river, the Deep River Logging

Company Railroad and H.B. & A. Logging Company Railroad operated in the Grays

Bay area, with terminuses on Rosburg and Deep River in Wahkiakum County, while

the Portland Lumber Company had a terminus in Skamokawa. All of these railroads

were active in the years between 1885 and the 1930s. Logging train engines 

continued to be produced commercially, and would largely dominate the lower 

Columbia’s logging practices until the end of World War II, at which time they 

became specialty items, eclipsed by log trucks (Oregon Historical Society 2009;

Adams 1961; O’Neal forthcoming).86

In 1906, Benson made another substantial contribution to the timber industry of the

Northwest with his creation of cigar-shaped, ocean-going log rafts, allowing for

large-scale waterborne shipping both within the Columbia and to distant markets

(Oregon Historical Society 2009; USNPS 2010:22). As an October 1906 issue of the

Oregon Daily Journal suggested at the time, “Simon Benson...is believed to have solved the

problem of marketing lumber at a minimum cost in southern California, by transporting

sawlogs by ocean raft and sawing them at San Diego” (Oregon Daily Journal 1906: 9).

These rafts, which could ship 4.6-6 million feet of lumber in rafts of up to 1,000 feet

long, allowed Benson to take advantage of the lucrative California market without

suffering high shipping costs in the process. Timber could now be towed directly

from his extensive logging camps at Clatskanie in Columbia County, Oregon, 

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.4 - While Simon Benson dominated railroad logging on the lower Columbia, many other

companies were rapidly following his example, developing logging railroads to tidewater, where logs

were deposited directly with mills or dumped in the water to be towed to tidewater mills nearby.

Here, the Ilwaco Railway and Navigation Company Railroad brings hefty logs to its wharf in Ilwaco in

the early 20th century – logs so large that a flatcar is required for each one. Photo courtesy Oregon

Historical Society.

1,100 miles to the Benson Lumber Company mill in San Diego, California (Abbott

2004; Binus 2004; Crawford 2008; Oregon Daily Journal 1906).87 Eventually, the rafts

became widespread, an industry standard on the lower Columbia, and were referred

to as “Benson log rafts” (NPS 2010:22).88

The Privatization of the Columbia-Pacific’s Interior Lands

The fundamental elements of early 20th century industrialized forestry were all 

in place on the lower Columbia River. A scramble was soon underway between 

competing milling interests for timber and land rights in the interior lands of the

Columbia-Pacific. The lowland forests provided most of the region’s timber supply

up to this time, yet were quickly abandoned for what was the largely unoccupied,

densely forested inland of the region, its ancient forests still largely intact and its

Empires of the Turning Tide

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industrial potentials still largely unrealized. Ownership of these interior lands and

their timber had long been in a kind of limbo, more of hypothetical than practical

importance. Now, with Benson boldly moving into these areas with his logging 

railroads, and many competitors quickly moving in behind him, the ownership in

the Columbia-Pacific’s interior lands became an issue of critical importance. 

Looking at a map of land ownership today, one sees that the interior lands of the 

region are an amalgam of private timberlands, in large contiguous blocks, with less

public timber land than one sees elsewhere in the American West. Most of what 

became private timber land in the region was acquired during a speculative boom,

reaching its peak within the decade of 1900 to 1909, which corresponds with 

purchases by large owners in all three counties of the study area. Yet in the mid-19th

century, almost all of these interior lands were effectively in the public domain, 

and not yet disposed of by the United States federal government. Somewhat 

incongruously, the region’s pattern of land ownership, consisting largely of private

timber company lands, reflects a legacy of federal legislation authorizing grants to

aid in the development of railroads during the 1860s. The most important of these

was the Northern Pacific grant, which was meant to subsidize construction of a

transcontinental railroad from the Great Lakes to the Pacific Northwest. This, plus

the use of public land laws by speculators and agents of the largest timberland 

owners, largely accounts for the concentration of private timberlands in the 

Columbia-Pacific. Even today, only a small number of timber companies hold title 

to the majority of the study area, reflecting this historical legacy.89

This pattern is rooted in the mid-19th century, when the U.S. Congress made land

grants to railroads as a way of providing their investors with income from land

sales—the logic being that this would serve as a de facto federal subsidy for rail line

construction, while also serving indirectly as a catalyst for regional development.

Congressional reasoning was based on the idea that railroads like the Northern 

Pacific could help to strengthen and unify the expanding, young nation. These rail

lines would link an expanding network of private lands in newly admitted states and

territories to the nation’s expanding industrial base located east of the Mississippi

River, provided there were financial incentives for railroad companies to build. 

Critical to the history of the Columbia-Pacific region: the proposed Northern Pacific

rail route connected Lake Superior to Puget Sound, and along the entire route, 

Congress gifted the Northern Pacific with alternate every one-mile by one-mile 

sections of land. A wide swath across Minnesota, the Dakotas, Montana, Idaho,

Washington and Oregon was thus donated to private investors as the Northern 

Pacific Railroad Grant, totaling some 44 million acres, as authorized by the Act of

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
July 2, 1864 (13 Stat. 365). The legislation granted odd-numbered sections of 640

acres for 20 miles on either side of constructed railroad in states, and 40 miles in

territories—producing a vast checkerboard-like pattern of railroad company land

ownership across the American West.90 Congress made the grant conditional in two

respects; first, that the rail line be completed by a certain date and, second, that the

granted land be sold to settlers in 160-acre tracts at a fixed price of $2.50 per acre.

The Northern Pacific failed to meet either condition. More than three-quarters of

their 2,138 miles of subsidized rail line was built after the grant’s expiration date, so

that the NPRR finally reached Tacoma and Seattle by way of Yakima in 1888. And 

instead of quickly conveying their grant lands to settlers, the Northern Pacific, like

other railroads of its day, retained the granted sections for speculation in timber,

mining, agriculture and real estate. Other lands were routed to Northern Pacific 

subsidiaries that developed such resources. The Northern Pacific Improvement

Company, one of these entities, owned the hillslopes above the National Park 

Service Dismal Nitch parking lot well into the early 20th century (Hedges 1930; 

Metzger 1930).91

This 1864 Northern Pacific Railroad grant affected all three counties in the study

area, especially the two located in Washington. The northern half of Wahkiakum

County fell into checkerboard ownership of the NPRR, which then sold the land—

not to settlers—but to Weyerhaeuser Timber Company in 1900 for a price of $6.00

an acre. And, apart from the Long Beach Peninsula, which lay outside the 50-mile

indemnity limit (as measured from Tacoma), this pattern of speculative 

redistribution was even more pronounced in Pacific County. Most was sold to 

Weyerhaeuser. The few sections not otherwise purchased by Weyerhaeuser were

transferred to Weyerhaeuser through various holding companies (U.S. Dept. of

Commerce 1913: 27-29). From this period forward, Weyerhaeuser maintained an 

almost monopolistic control over timberlands in southwestern Washington. As was

said in official testimony on the matter of Weyerhaeuser founder, Frederick 

Weyerhaeuser’s influence in Pacific County, made to the U.S. Department of 

Commerce (1914a: 14) in the early teens, “Weyerhaeuser controls the price of stumpage

in this county, in fact, he owns most of it.”92

It should be noted that Weyerhaeuser—a company still very prominent in 

Columbia-Pacific logging and land ownership—was first formed almost entirely

through Northern Pacific land grants. Frederick Weyerhaeuser, a German born 

immigrant to the U.S., began his career in the sawmill business on the banks of the

Mississippi during the Civil War. In the 1890s, he became interested in the timber

potential of the Pacific Coast, and by 1898, had formed the Coast Lumber Company

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 164 —
whose primary goal was to market Washington shingles in the Midwest and 

potentially develop a mill business on the Pacific coast. Learning of an opportunity

to acquire Northern Pacific Railway interests, he saw the potential for a more 

ambitious operation. He wanted to effectively “corner the market” on Northwestern

timberlands. At the height of timberland speculation in January of 1900, in what was

the largest private land transaction in U.S. history up to that point, Frederick 

Weyerhaeuser and 15 partners purchased 900,000 acres of timberland in 

Washington State from the Northern Pacific Railway. 

With three employees in a Tacoma-based office, Weyerhaeuser along with his 

investors transformed the Weyerhaeuser Timber Company into the second largest

private holder of timber in the country almost overnight. Though the Weyerhaeuser

Timber Company initially operated as a timber land holding firm, they soon sought

to develop their manufacturing capacity. Just two years after it was formed, in 

January 1902, the company acquired the Bell-Nelson Lumber Company of Everett,

and by September of that year Weyerhaeuser began salvage logging on lands burned

in large fires earlier that summer. By 1903, the Company expanded its Pacific 

Northwest holdings with a second purchase, acquiring 261,000 acres from the

Northern Pacific Railway, giving the Company roughly 1.3 million acres in land. This

figure would continue to expand in coming years, in part from the consolidation of

claims on Northern Pacific Railway lands (Ficken 1979; Jones 1974). 

Owning much of the “checkerboard,” Weyerhaeuser and other timber companies 

in the region acquired the intervening lands through various mechanisms. During

the great timber-buying boom of 1890 to 1910, land acquisition by large owners 

followed, owing to several methods. First were duplicitous uses of the Homestead

Act—the legislation allowing every man and woman to acquire 160 acres of public

domain land at no cost, provided they “proved up” the land. The law could be 

subverted in two ways, either through “dummy entries” or by “commutation.”

Dummy entries were technically illegal and could be prosecuted as fraud. In these

cases, timber companies paid individual men and women to take out a homestead

claim, which they then transferred in title to the timber company for a fee. A 

“commuted” homestead, by contrast, was perfectly legal. It made use of a provision

in the law allowing an occupant to buy his homestead for a fee of $1.25 per acre after

residing there for 14 months. In practice, these homesteads were often sold 

immediately to lumbermen or timber land brokers by townspeople who often lived

in the same county. Occasionally, these investors purchased defunct homesteads

from families who had tried and failed at homesteading in the forests of western

Oregon and Washington. Taken together, this harvesting of Homestead Act interests

— 165 —

Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
provided timber companies with powerful mechanisms for acquiring lands in the

Columbia-Pacific region and beyond. During the timber boom decade of 1900-09,

the Homestead Act was used to acquire some 6.9 million acres of land from the 

public domain in Oregon—almost twice the rate of the preceding decade, much of

the difference attributable to the acquisition of private timber lands. 

The second method for private acquisition of timber lands involved use of the 

Timber and Stone Act of 1878, legislation permitting purchase of timber from the

public domain in 160 acre tracts within Oregon, Washington, California, and Nevada

for a minimum price of $2.50 an acre. There was no pretense of occupation, and a

sizeable portion of the private lands acquired during the timber boom of 1900-09

were obtained through this method (O’Callaghan 1979).93 A third way to transfer

timber lands from the public domain was through the so-called “scripper” acts.

Among these was an 1898 appropriation act that gave the Northern Pacific Railroad

the right to freely acquire any odd-numbered sections of land the company chose in

the states transected by its rail line, if the federal government required use of any

part of its original land grant. The Northern Pacific could also receive “scrip” for

these lands, which were, in essence, coupons that could be used to acquire free 

public lands elsewhere. In practice, this allowed the Northern Pacific Railroad to 

acquire prime resource lands to “fill in” their checkerboard lands in exchange for

any federal parks, Indian reservations, military lands, or other federal properties 

established along its original rail corridor. The Northern Pacific could then sell these

additional lands or scrip to private companies, in turn, just as the company had sold

their original “checkerboard” lands.94

What transpired in Clatsop County demonstrated how all of these methods of public

land alienation could work in combination, despite this part of Oregon being beyond

the reach of the original Northern Pacific grant of 1864. A large portion of that

County’s private timber land base was originally conveyed to private owners through

a railroad subsidy, this one stemming from passage of an 1866 Congressional act 

authorizing an Oregon to California railroad, linking Portland and Sacramento. Two

sets of promoters angled to build the Oregon section, with the loser being consoled

with another grant authorized by Congress on May 4, 1870. This latter legislation

awarded ten sections per mile to a newly formed railroad company initially called

the “Oregon Central,” if they could build a rail line from Portland via Forest Grove to

Astoria through the Oregon Coast Range. To subsidize the development of this 

railroad, the company was granted a checkerboard of lands, consisting primarily of

undeveloped timberlands in Columbia and Clatsop Counties. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Under the terms of the act, lands granted to the railroad had to be sold to actual 

settlers for no more than $2.50 per acre, with tracts not exceeding 160 acres in size.

The company built a line from Portland to Forest Grove in 1871-72, but from there

turned south about 47 miles and so surrendered the uncompleted portion of the rail

easement to forfeiture in 1885 (Corning 1956: 182).95 Though no tracks were built

along this route, a number of the grant lands had already passed to private timber

companies, profiting Oregon Central’s investors. In the course of the 15 years of 

Oregon Central operations, the Northern Pacific Railroad had acquired a number of

“lieu selections” in the southern and eastern parts of Clatsop County within the 

Oregon Central’s checkerboard holdings, some of which it conveyed to 

Weyerhaeuser and associated holding companies. The loss of so large a portion 

of the “public domain” in Clatsop County to private investors, in the absence of a 

completed product produced a minor scandal. Yet the issue was eclipsed by a much

larger scandal surrounding fraudulent disposition of public domain lands along the

whole of the “Oregon and California Railroad” to which the northwest Oregon 

venture was linked. The Oregon and California lands would ultimately be returned 

to the public, in part, as the “O & C Lands,” today owned by the Bureau of Land 

Management. However, no comparable repatriation of public lands was attempted in

the Oregon Central lands of Clatsop and Columbia Counties (Puter and Stevens 1908).

A second group of investors acquired a portion of Clatsop County roughly equal to that

of the railroad companies—they consisted of five individuals including A.M. Smith as

well as Hammond, Oregon namesake and mill owner, A.B. Hammond. Like Smith,

Hammond boasted holdings in a number of states other than Oregon, and these 

investors held many billions of board feet of timber on lands throughout the West 

(U.S. Dept. of Commerce 1914b: 104-05). Throughout the West, rail development, 

timberland acquisition and milling were linked enterprises, and here the situation was

no different: Hammond in particular was noted for his diversified financial interests

in all three of these sectors within Clatsop County. He purchased the Astoria and

South Coast Railroad (the “Seashore Road Company”) that linked Astoria with Seaside

in 1897, renaming it the Astoria & Columbia River Railroad. He then forged a rail 

connection to the Northern Pacific by building a line from Astoria to Goble, in 

Columbia County, providing the first through train from Portland to the coast in

1898.96 This linkage to the transcontinental railroads gave the timber interests of the

lower Columbia new shipping options and unprecedented access to American regional

markets, allowing for lumber sales to the East Coast in particular, and increasing the

demand for local timber and timberland. These events were perfectly timed for the 

investors as they acquired their expansive timber holdings on the Columbia-Pacific. 

— 167 —

Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.5 – Frontier industrialist, Andrew

Benoni “A.B.” Hammond, as he looked during

his days in Missoula, Montana before moving

to the Columbia-Pacific region and forever

transforming the industrial landscape and

land ownership maps of the region. Having

achieved considerable financial success in

Montana and Oregon, he would later move,

along with many of his business interests, to

California. Special Collections, Mansfield 

Library, University of Montana-Missoula –

Courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

Together, these investors used a variety of mechanisms to acquire their vast 

holdings, including (but not limited to) the acquisition of homestead claims and

Timber and Stone Act claims. There were also deals with the region’s rail companies,

involving the exchange of lands and scrip, that were only thinly documented at the

time. Among his other accomplishments, Smith was notable for having attempted

to short-circuit a proposal to develop a Saddle Mountain National Park in 1908, in

spite of considerable public support for such a park. He accomplished this by 

presenting railroad company scrip, seeking to claim part of the 1,920 acres the 

federal government was prepared to set aside to create the new park (U.S. Dept. of

Commerce 1914b: 57). 97 In many parts of the County, their shared interests were

owned through an umbrella company, the Hammond Lumber Company. Much of the

rest of the County was acquired by a range of smaller business interests through

similar mechanisms.98 A patchwork of ownerships is therefore clear on 1910 maps of

the County, with such names as the Dubois Lumber Company, Oregon Timber,

Western Oregon Trust Company, Crossett Timber Company, Willamette Pulp and

Paper Company, and Gladstone Oregon Timber Company (Metsker 1910). 

Soon, this speculative bubble would burst. The feverish pace of timber land 

acquisition in the beginning of the 20th century had been fueled in part by an 

expectation that development in the hinterlands was necessary, but also that 

entrepreneurs like Benson and the arrival of the transcontinental railroad would 

result in localized shortages of timber, causing land values to continue moving 

upward. But following the rampant speculation and timberland acquisition on the

Columbia-Pacific in the first decade of the 20th century, it soon became clear that 

the cash value of timber land was flat-lining. The companies that had entered the 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 168 —
speculation market solely for investment began to drop out of the region, their lands

being acquired by the large companies actively involved in timber production. Land

holdings became increasingly concentrated in a small number of companies, 

including Weyerhaeuser on the north side of the river, and Crown-Willamette. In

the years ahead, the latter gradually acquired many of Hammond’s holdings and

other lands throughout Clatsop County. The speculative land acquisition of the early

20th century had left an enduring mark—permanently rearranging land ownership

patterns and land use practices in the Columbia-Pacific region, and conveying the

majority of the region’s lands to timber company ownership, with corporate 

inheritors and descendants still managing the lands to this day.

The U.S. Army Spruce Production Division

At the same moment speculative mania began to wane in the early 20th century, 

the attention of the timber industry ironically shifted away from the interior. 

Unforeseen events in Europe rearranged timber markets and brought lumbering

back down to tidewater. Initially hesitant to commit to a war raging in Europe since

1914, the United States officially joined Allied forces in the World War I war effort on

April 6, 1917, thus entering the foreign conflict with unprecedented commitment

and zeal. At this point, the Allies were deadlocked in trench warfare, struggling to

stay on par with the Germans’ formidable air forces. they did found themselves 

in dire need of light yet durable lumber to construct airplanes. Prior to U.S. 

involvement in the War, Allied forces attempted to use European timber to produce

combat aircrafts, but were unable to maintain adequate levels of production—in part

due to the loss of timber industry manpower to military pursuits. By 1916, wood

from the Pacific Northwest was already entering the military airplane market. 

As America entered the war, however, the timber shortage became America’s 

problem too. As noted by Brigadier-General Brice P. Disque, “it was represented to me

that our successful termination of the war was largely dependent upon an immediate and

very great increase in production of lumber suitable for aircraft purposes” (1920:I). The

Sitka spruce of the coast, with its uniquely light and durable wood, adapted to the

coastal storms spiraling off the Pacific, proved to be the military’s wood of choice.

As a result, in 1917, the United States Army established a subsidiary Spruce 

Production Division (SPD) to provide Allied forces with high quality spruce for 

combat aircraft, as well as Douglas-fir for ship manufacturing during the War 

(Tonsfeldt 2013; Military Order 2011; Crossman 2011). 

— 169 —

Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.6 – Workers from the U.S. Army Spruce Production Division in 1917 or 1918, harvesting an

old Sitka spruce tree near Seaside. Well into the early 20th century, muscle-powered logging was

the norm, with axes and crosscut saws. Springboards protrude from the sides of the tree. The wood

from these trees were shipped by rail to a number of log dumps, including Netul Landing. 

Gerald W. Williams Collection (postcards), via Oregon State University Archives, Courtesy 

Wikimedia Commons.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 170 —
Despite the large quantities of timber in the region and the increased production of

spruce in area mills, the Pacific Northwest timber industry struggled to meet the

needs of the Allies—roughly ten million board feet per month by October of 1917

(Williams 1999:2-3). The timing of this spike in demand was terrible. On July 16,

1917, the lumber, logging, and sawmill divisions of both the Industrial Workers of

the World (IWW), as well as the American Federation of Labor (AFL) had initiated a

strike against the nation’s lumber companies, seeking better work conditions and an

eight-hour workday for laborers in the rough-and-tumble mills of the era. There

was also limited industrial capacity for Sitka spruce development and, some sources

suggest, certain lumber companies maintained a cap on production to keep market

values elevated, contributing to the lumber shortfall. Together, these events created

unwelcome ambiguity in spruce markets and added to anxieties clear to Washington

D.C. and beyond. In the summer of 1917, France, England and Italy’s governments

sent a delegation from their military aviation units to the forests of Oregon and

Washington to persuade regional mills to increase their spruce output to meet the

production needs of the Allied forces (Tonsfeldt 2013; Williams 1999). 

During that summer, the United States government began to consider the need 

for direct government intervention in the Pacific Northwest’s lumber industry, 

and a number of temporary boards were developed to address the spruce supply

question.99 On May 7, 1917, General John J. Pershing and chief-of-staff General

James G. Harbord brought former Captain Brice Disque to Washington, D.C. to 

seek his assistance in evaluating the spruce production problems in the Pacific

Northwest. Disque then traveled to the region and spent several months meeting

with both mill owners and IWW representatives, attempting to understand the 

extent of the issues. He concluded his evaluation with a report back to Washington

that labor disputes could not be overcome without U.S. government intervention. 

He believed soldiers should be placed in the forests of the Pacific Northwest to 

boost production of Sitka spruce (Military Order of the World Wars 2011:9; 

Williams 1999:3-4).

Reacting to Disque’s report, the Army Signal Corps was placed in charge of rectifying

labor issues in the lumber industry and seeing to the efficiency of spruce lumber

production. On September 29, 1917, the army reinstated Disque as lieutenant colonel

and placed him in charge of creating a plan for a unit of soldiers to work within the

woods producing aircraft-quality lumber for the war (Military Order of the World

Wars 2011:9). At this point, Disque travelled to Portland, Oregon to meet with both

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
leading loggers and mill men to attempt to understand and rectify labor and supply

issues. Disque was decidedly unsympathetic to the demands of labor at this time of

national crisis. He noted,

“At that conference I learned that the entire lumber industry of the Northwest was in a

chaotic condition. The IWW seemed to be running away with things; there had been strikes

and sabotage rampant for six months. Summer development of logging operations had been

prevented and the industry was going into the winter totally unprepared for normal 

business, to say nothing of the supreme effort it had to make because of the war” (1920:I-II).

By November 6, 1917, Disque had been promoted to Colonel and was named 

Commander of a new military unit to take federal control of spruce production, 

aptly named the Spruce Production Division (SPD) of the United States Army (Evans

and Williams 1984:6). Disque’s first order of business was the recruitment of new

labor to bypass striking workers and increase production of aircraft-quality spruce

lumber. According to Disque, when he arrived back in the Pacific Northwest, labor

was scarce—not only because of the strike, but because of the mobilization of many

young men into other aspects of the war effort:

“Loyal and skilled woodsmen had left the woods in large numbers through the draft, 

voluntary enlistment, and distaste for strikes and agitation, or to secure the more attractive

wages and conditions in other war industries. It was estimated that there was a shortage of

seven thousand in October 1917” (1920:II).

In light of this, Disque requested that a modest “army” of soldiers, especially those

with prior timber experience, be mobilized to take work in the forests of the Pacific

Northwest coast. The Department of War, the Department of Labor and Samuel

Gompers of the AFL hastily devised a plan: by December 4, 1917, 5,000 men (of a total

of 10,000 authorized) arrived at the Vancouver Barracks for duty.100 The SPD men

were assigned to independent squadrons either logging or working in mills, working

on construction jobs with the SPD Engineering groups or with contractors, or working

at the Vancouver Cut-up Plant. While many in the IWW took this to be an act of

“union-busting,” Disque sought to portray the SPD forces as neutral third parties

who would work with local labor and timber companies on even terms (Tonsfeldt

2013; Williams 1994; United States Spruce Production Corporation 1920).101

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 172 —
With the labor issue largely resolved, Disque and his new SPD recruits turned to 

the difficult task of removing spruce timber from the woods and transporting it to

mills in the absence of significant infrastructure. While railroads were being built 

enthusiastically into the Douglas-fir region by the likes of Simon Benson, 

comparatively little attention had been directed at developing comparable 

infrastructure for accessing the spruce forests of the outer coast. As Kaminsky

(1989: 33) noted of Sitka spruce production on the eve of the war, “Logging companies

had not constructed any camps nor figured out how to remove the huge sticks, as prior to the

war it was of low value.” To make matters worse, the Sitka spruce that was most 

accessible, lining the shores of the Columbia River estuary, had been among the first

trees harvested by early settlers, requiring that more remote patches be sought in

heretofore undeveloped areas up and down the coast. As the Spruce Production 

Division opined, 

“The spruce family seems to have been an early fugitive from justice. At least its habitat is

fixed in the remotest, most inaccessible portions of the whole coast country. That part of the

Coast Range which faces the Pacific Ocean...It is scarred deeply with great canyons and

ravines. It is covered with an underbrush impenetrable to man without the use of tools”

(United States Spruce Production Corporation 1920:33).

So too, the milling of wood for spruce airplanes was to take place in Vancouver,

many river miles away from the outer coast, where Sitka spruce was found. In 

short order, it became clear that the SPD would have to build an entirely new 

infrastructure to link undeveloped spruce forests to the Columbia estuary. 

Originally, the SPD sought to use trucks to ship logs to milling operations, but this

proved difficult. Few roads were developed in some of the prime spruce lands, and

the roads that were developed were marginal in quality and scarcely passable in the

approach winter of 1917-18. In this era, railroads were seen as the only plausible 

solution to transportation challenges (Kaminsky 1989; Evans and Williams 1984). 

The SPD almost immediately began a railroad construction program to install rail

lines throughout the Spruce-hemlock zone of the outer coast. Rail lines were 

proposed especially for areas where grades were moderate and would allow access

into large harvestable drainage basins. These were configured in places where the

logs could be brought to tidewater and from there shipped in rafts—reminiscent of

Benson’s ‘Cigar rafts”—to large spruce mills. This included the Spruce Division 

facilities in Vancouver, Washington and Toledo, Oregon. Very quickly, the SPD 

developed thirteen principal railroads within Washington and Oregon, accounting 

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.7 – The construction of rail lines by hand was arduous, wet work – especially for the many

Spruce Production Division recruits who had little or no prior experience with the work, or with the

climate of the Columbia-Pacific region. Here, a SPD crew clears a mudslide from a freshly laid section

of track on the Lewis and Clark Railroad, some distance upstream from the Netul Landing log dump.

Photo courtesy Clatsop County Historical Society.

for 173 miles of main line and 181 miles of tributary lines and spurs. Of these 

thirteen lines, six were in coastal Oregon and seven were in coastal Washington.102

The Lewis and Clark River basin was one of the 13 places proposed for the 

development of such rail lines. By late 1917, the Spruce Division recruited local 

firms to begin laying track for the new rail line—Spruce Production Division Line

9—with its log dump site at Netul Landing, now sitting within Lewis and Clark 

National and State Historical Parks (Kaminsky 1989; Evans and Williams 1984). 

Local rail cars and engines were used on these rail lines, including the Lewis and

Clark track, but more capacity was needed. During the height of World War I, the 

nation’s rail capacities were being overtaxed by wartime demand for troop transport

and the shipment of military and industrial goods. President Woodrow Wilson 

established United States Railroad Administration (USRA) to oversee efforts to

streamline rail activities, while William McAdoo was appointed Director General of

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 174 —
the new agency. Under McAdoo, a call was put out nationwide for all unused rail cars

to support military efforts, including those of the Spruce Division. The Colorado

Midland was one of the rail lines that replied in the affirmative, offering twenty 

obsolete locomotives—two of which would become the cornerstone of the Lewis and

Clark Railroad operation. These were older, geared locomotives—crude compared to

modern locomotives of the period, but “could take the rough, hastily laid track”

through the uneven terrain up the Lewis and Clark River Basin (Kaminsky 1989: 36).

These surplus engines were operational on the Lewis and Clark River by March of

1918, and linked the Lewis and Clark River operations with those further to the

south. This included timber operations around Seaside then harvested by the large

lumber camp called “Camp Clatsop.” As far south as Cannon Beach, spruce camps

operated in large numbers—indeed, the abrupt construction of camps prompted the

beginning of downtown Cannon Beach, where a mess hall and other facilities were

hastily constructed on what is today the middle of that town’s commercial district

(O’Donnell 1996). 

The large quantities of Sitka spruce brought to Netul Landing were dropped into 

the Lewis and Clark River, sorted, bundled into rafts, and hauled away—most, 

apparently, to the Vancouver Barracks facility for processing. While spruce was the

most crucial timber for the war effort, railroads carried other types as well, and the

Lewis and Clark Railroad was no exception. In addition to spruce, it carried fir, 

hemlock and cedar to Netul Landing for processing—all of the wood being used for

the war effort in Europe (Army Air Force SPD 1920: Exhibit 10). While SPD soldiers

were involved in most aspects of these operations, local businesses and laborers

were as well. They provided mechanical support, construction, and a wide range of

services to support the Lewis and Clark Railroad and its spruce production mission.

Other connections were also forged between SPD forces and the local community.

For example, SPD soldiers were assigned to work in private lumber and logging 

companies in the lower Columbia River region deemed essential to the war effort. In

Astoria, for example, the Astoria Box Company and the Oregon Pacific Mill & Lumber

Co. retained some sixty-two SPD soldiers (Evans and Williams 1984: B-3). 

Yet this was a short-lived effort. At eleven in the morning on November 11, 1918,

Germany and the Allies signed an armistice to end World War I. With the end of 

the war came the near immediate end of the Spruce Production Division, which 

disbanded under the issuance of General Order #34 just one day after the Armistice

was signed (Tonsfeldt 2013:140). In accordance with the Spruce Production 

Corporation’s charter and telegraphed instructions from the Commanding General,

Disque issued the General Order. Logging was halted. Trees cut in the days before

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
the armistice were left on the ground where they slowly rotted away. Some are 

visible in the study area to this day. Disque also ordered that construction related to

the war effort cease, and called for contract mills to send remaining timber to the

Vancouver mill to be cut into commercial lumber. So too, the General Order 

reappointed officers immediately to a new “Sales Board” for the sale of Spruce 

Production Division properties and a “Catalogue Board” to prepare a sales catalog

for liquidated SPD assets (Tonsfeldt 2013:140-41; United States Spruce Production

Corporation 1920:93). With these final measures, the SPD was effectively disbanded

after roughly one year of service to the war effort.

Most of the lands and equipment of the Spruce Production Division in the ColumbiaPacific region were put up for auction, and much of this was sold between 1919 and

1920. The Lewis and Clark rail line continued to be used, and some portion of its

equipment obtained by the Saddle Mountain Logging Company.103 This company

continued to refer to the rail line as the “Lewis and Clark Railroad,” which extended

up to the head of the Lewis and Clark drainage, connecting with the Spruce 

Corporation Railroad near the banks of Cullaby Creek, and linking the Netul Landing

site to logging camps as far away as Seaside’s Camp Clatsop and small-scale logging

as far south as Cannon Beach (PNRBC n.d.). This Company maintained its own 

logging railroad for a few years and continued use of the Netul Landing log dump. In

the early 1920s, the Saddle Mountain Logging Company was acquired by the Eastern

& Western Lumber Company, but operations continued largely as before. The Netul

Landing site appears to have reverted to the County at the onset of the Great 

Depression (a common situation with companies in financial distress).104 Soon

thereafter, the assets of the Eastern & Western Logging Company, including Saddle

Mountain Logging Company assets, were obtained as a division of the CrownWillamette Company at roughly the same time the company merged with Zellerbach

Corporation to become Crown Zellerbach.105 Netul Landing was also posed for 

acquisition by this new company. In Depression-era Clatsop County, the County had

acquired over 100,000 acres of foreclosed timberland and other timber company 

assets. During World War II, pressure mounted to sell these lands back to private

loggers. By 1945, Crown Zellerbach had capitalized on this trend, buying up 

significant tracts of lands, and other assets of timber companies that had not 

survived the Depression (Robin et al. 1980:13). Apparently in the course of these

transactions, the company also acquired the Netul Landing site, which remained a

cornerstone of log-shipping operations on the Lewis and Clark drainage (Kaminsky

1989; Metsker 1930).106

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 176 —
Netul Landing would continue to serve as a log dump and a “wet sort yard” or “high

water log boom” even after the tracks were removed, with log trucks still bringing

timber to the site into the late 20th century. It served as a dumping ground for 

unsorted logs where they could be sorted by species, size and quality for shipment to

appropriate mills. These “sort yards” were numerous along the Columbia River 

estuary, but the Netul Landing yard was one of the larger and more active in the 

region. As O’Neal, Osburn and Williams point out,

“Eventually Oregon had at least seventeen wet sort yards and seven of those were in Clatsop

County. The largest sort yard in Clatsop County was at Netul Landing on the Lewis and Clark

River where it flows through what is now Lewis and Clark National and State Historical

Parks” (O’Neal et al. forthcoming). 

Figure 8.8 – Giant Sitka spruce logs on flatcars along the newly-constructed Lewis and Clark 

Railroad – at or close to the Netul Landing log dump where they were dumped into the water for

shipping to the mill at Vancouver Barracks or other milling facilities. Photo courtesy Clatsop County

Historical Society. 

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Many pilings are still visible in the water at Netul Landing, which were used to 

stabilize and secure log rafts produced at the site through the late-20th century.

These log rafts were largely (though not exclusively) constructed of logs harvested

on the lands of Crown Zellerbach, which owned the site and indeed most of Clatsop

County’s timberlands through this period. National Park Service volunteers have

recently produced an overview of this history, including oral histories of loggers and

other workers who used the site, that deserves more attention than it can receive

here. The source is available from Lewis and Clark National and State Historical

Parks (O’Neal et al. forthcoming).

Logging into the Late 20th Century

In the period immediately following World War I, the spruce forests of the outer

coast returned to old patterns. The market for Sitka spruce was flooded as mills

sought to liquidate inventory compiled for wartime use. Specialty mills’ use of

spruce and hemlock rebounded with new force, responding to the economic surge 

of the 1920s, buoyed somewhat by the vast new infrastructure of logging railroads,

roads and other facilities hastily built on the coast with military dollars. Yet 

especially on the tidewater, more conventional types of milling boomed. Around this

period, there was a great upswing in demand for large-dimension wood, as the final

commercially available pockets of old timber in the American South and upper 

Midwest were depleted, causing logging companies, and the equipment and labor

used to fell these forests, to migrate westward. The ancient Douglas fir forests of the

Northwest, especially those close to tidewater and train stations, were next in line. 

Throughout this period of Columbia-Pacific history, large mills were centered on the

tidewater, often located close to today’s park lands, in adjacent communities such as

Ilwaco and Hammond. Among the largest mills in the area during this boom was the

“Hammond Mill,” for example, constructed in 1903 by the brothers George and

William Hume—part of the Hume family that also constructed the Columbia’s first

salmon cannery—but soon sold to A.B. Hammond. As land baron A.B. Hammond

built his land holdings in interior Clatsop County through the first two decades of

the 20th century, he began acquiring facilities such as the Hammond Mill to 

accommodate production for logs cut from his vast and growing holdings of 

timberlands. Logs cut along the entire Columbia estuary could be towed to the site

by boat, then milled and loaded onto ships or—with Hammond’s rail link to the

Northern Pacific now in place—transported throughout the United States. If 

Hammond, the man, was the central figure in the growing timber economy of 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 178 —
Clatsop County in this period, his mill in the town of Hammond was the epicenter 

of its production facilities. 

Meanwhile, competing mills appeared at upstream sites, closer to the Douglas-fir

zone, with facilities in places like Westport and Wauna in Oregon, and Raymond in

Washington, constructing large spars, large-dimension lumber and planks. In time,

these upstream facilities—closer to the Douglas fir and fronting rail lines and deep

and relatively placid river channels—would eclipse the mills at the mouth of the

river. Even today, these upriver sites continue to have the region’s largest operating

mills, while the Columbia mouth has relatively small operations, increasingly 

devoted to specialized products or log exports.

The lumbering boom came to an abrupt halt during the Great Depression, however,

as construction largely ceased across the United States and globally. The abrupt 

decline in global demand for lumber silenced timber operations throughout the 

region. A sizeable portion of small mills closed for good. The value of timber lands

plummeted in 1929-30, and many landowners abandoned timber lands, especially

cutover lands, wishing to avoid taxes or other financial responsibilities. In other

cases, counties foreclosed on lands in lieu of taxes. Lands that had been transferred

from the public domain to private ownership just two decades prior were returned to

public ownership. A portion of these lands—especially those acquired by counties

with good stands of merchantable timber—would be resold to private entities, 

including Weyerhaeuser and Crown-Willamette companies, at the end of the 

Depression. Other lands—those that were swampy, rocky, or had been cleared of 

merchantable timber—commonly remained in public ownership after the 

Depression, becoming part of the Clatsop and Tillamook State Forests in particular.

On the Washington side of the river, some portion of these abandoned lands found

their way into the management of the Willapa Hills, Skamokawa, and Elochman

state forests, alongside numerous sections already set aside to produce timber 

revenue for schools (U.S. Dept. of Commerce 1914a, 1914b; O’Callaghan 1979).

During the Depression, other private lands were abandoned and returned to public

ownership after the catastrophic fires of the 1930s—most notably the “Tillamook

Burns” of 1933, 1939, and 1945. These fires consumed 311,000, 190,000, and 180,000

acres respectively, together incinerating vast portions of forest in the interior of

Oregon’s Coast Range, including a sizeable portion of the private land holdings in

southeastern Clatsop County, as well as northern Tillamook County, western

Yamhill and Columbia Counties, and far northwestern Washington County. The first

two fires were started by sparks from equipment at logging operations, the third by

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
an incautiously tossed cigarette (though some speculated that the third was caused

by a Japanese incendiary balloon launched in the final moments of World War II to

pull men from the Pacific front, as was attempted here and there along the Oregon

and Washington coasts). These fires occurred during the summer months, when dry

winds propelled by high pressure systems blew across the region from the east,

burning trees up to the end of the outer coast’s fog belt before losing momentum

and being extinguished by fire crews. Firefighting involved a broad spectrum of 

the community, including CCC crews in the first two fires, and the impromptu 

recruitment of local volunteers. Manpower was so limited and the scale of the fires

so big that crews even stopped random motorists along the highways of the region

to recruit potential firefighters (the lead author’s grandparents among them). 

Some effort was made to salvage dead timber. But in the economic climate of the

time, with much of the economic value of the lands lost in an instant, private

landowners largely walked away from their interests in these lands. Much of the

burned land was obtained by the State of Oregon or county governments in lieu 

of taxes. Following the passage of a reforestation bond bill in 1948, the land was 

replanted largely by state-supported foresters. They were aided in highly publicized

volunteer replanting efforts, involving children from the region—school groups,

scout troops, church organizations and others all joining the effort. Even today, one

encounters charred remnants of timber under the regrown forests of the Tillamook

Burn, as well as considerable pride among Northwest elders who helped replant the

land as children (Wells 1999; Kemp 1967).107

The Tillamook Burn lands weren’t entirely unique in being replanted, though the 

replanting of timber lands in the timber-rich Northwest had been a novelty up to

this time. The region’s timber companies, now decades into the experience of land

ownership, began to reflect on long-term land management issues, raising 

questions about timber supply for the first time. Their response drew heavily on 

agricultural modes of production. Weyerhaeuser’s “Timber is a Crop” campaign,

launched in 1937 with an emphasis on replanting its logged-over southwest 

Washington lands, was hugely influential among timber companies of the time.

Furthermore, planting allowed the company to employ laborers, largely idled by 

the Depression, with unconventional tree planting in a way that mirrored Civilian 

Conservation Corps projects. On June 21st, 1941, Weyerhaeuser dedicated the 

country’s first “tree farm” on 130,000 acres near Montesano in Grays Harbor

County, Washington, just north of the study area. Within a few years, similar 

ventures were underway on the Oregon side of the border, notably led by Crown

Zellerbach Corporation on Clatsop and Columbia County lands (Wilma 2003). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 180 —
Figure 8.9: Over the course of the 20th century, large mills near the head of tidewater, such as the

Willapa Lumber Company mill in Raymond, Washington, came to dominate wood processing in the

Columbia-Pacific region. With rail and wharf access, these mills on the eastern edge of the region and

beyond sat closer to the Douglas fir zone – as transportation, tree-cutting and milling became more

efficient, and would largely eclipse milling on the outer coast. Photo courtesy Washington State 

Historical Society.

Just as the Great Depression largely silenced timber companies in the ColumbiaPacific, the conclusion of World War II increased demand for timber products 

explosively. Returning soldiers, their spouses, and their baby boom children

prompted a burst of new construction and other wood product demands, while

American industrial forests were tapped for the rebuilding of war-torn cities of 

Europe and Asia. As logging railroads and steam donkeys had brought an initial 

industrial revolution to the forests of the Columbia-Pacific, the technological 

developments of the mid-20th century brought a second revolution. This revolution

was even more impactful. It involved the introduction of power chainsaws, log

trucks, and networks of logging roads reaching into remote parts of the region. 

Ironically, the Great Depression stalled timber production just as technological 

innovations appeared that would have transformed lumbering into a modern, 

industrial enterprise. Yet even as the forests fell silent, the elements of industrial

transformation were falling into place, allowing the Columbia-Pacific to spring into

action with unprecedented reach and efficiency. For the most part, early log trucks

in the region had been military, converted to use for timber transport for the Spruce

Production Division. After the First World War, these trucks entered civilian use in

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
support of logging, but had proven clunky and unsuited to the task. A number of 

independent inventions were made, converting these trucks into the vehicle we

know today. This included the development of an articulated, trailered back half, 

allowing vehicles to turn tight radiuses, thus navigating narrow and winding forest

roads as well as tight spaces on public streets and at milling facilities. Some sources

suggest that the articulated log truck was a technological innovation first made by

logging equipment mechanics in the Columbia-Pacific during the 1930s (Miller 1958:

213). A long list of independent log trucking companies appeared by the end of

World War II alongside a growing “gyppo” logger workforce, both working for 

timber companies on a short-term contractual basis. 

The entry of log trucks into the forest was aided by the rail grades of the Spruce 

Production Division and smaller private rail networks, which were decommissioned

by the 1930s and largely gone by the mid-1940s, converted into “mainline” roads 

leading into the forest. Meanwhile, the growing availability of “bull-graders” and

other early bulldozers was making logging road construction more plausible by the

late 1930s. The machines allowed companies at the beginning of the post-War boom

to develop a maze of rock-bed logging roads throughout the region, linked to 

mainline points of access. Over the preceding century, mills consolidated as 

operations became more efficient and centralized. With improving road networks

and the rise of log trucks, single mills could now service a vast hinterland of logging

operations, resulting in increasingly large and automated mills consolidated in 

fewer coastal communities (Cox 1974; Erickson 1965). 

So too, timber-cutting technology made great strides since the axe and crosscut

saws of the early 20th century. While a workable chainsaw prototype had been 

available since the 19th century, it was not until the late 1920s that portable 

chainsaws were commercially manufactured by companies like Dolmar and Stihl.

But production at these companies stalled almost as soon as it started when the

Great Depression eliminated much of the market. It was only in the late 1940s, as

demand for timber products surged, that American companies such as McCullough

Motors Corporation began large-scale industrial production of commercial 

chainsaws. Wartime technological innovations, America’s growing industrial 

capacities, and an abundance of cheap electricity from Depression-era hydroelectric

projects made lightweight aluminum components available for the first time. In

turn, this allowed chainsaws to become light enough for widespread and efficient

use in commercial forests. The McCullough Model 5-49, for example, one of the first

gas-operated chainsaws light enough for a single operator, first appeared in 1948-49

and was widespread in the industrial forests of the Columbia-Pacific by the early

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 182 —
1950s. With timber cutting becoming increasingly efficient and the economics of

logging becoming highly profitable with the rebound of lumber and plywood 

markets, timber companies scrambled to acquire timberlands. Large companies like

Weyerhaeuser and Crown Zellerbach bought up smaller holdings, as well as former

timberlands that had reverted to state ownership for taxes during the Depression.

This included lands once owned by the likes of A.B. Hammond and his fellow land

barons of the early 20th century (Crown Zellerbach 1958; Adams 1951b).108

By the mid-1950s, the readily accessible ancient forests had largely been cleared

from areas accessible along the old rail grades and along the most accessible 

“mainline” logging roads. Road-building and logging proceeded into the highest

mountains of the Columbia-Pacific, into the most inaccessible parts of the Willapa

Hills and the mountains of southern Clatsop County. Portions of southern Clatsop

County were still swathed in virgin forest until the 1970s and early 1980s, even as

lowland forests comprised second or third rotations. Ancient forests were finally,

and fairly completely, cleared from the private lands of the region. Only a few old

stands remained, mostly in parks and other public lands. The advent of expansive

logging in the high country had diverse and often destructive effects, sometimes

prompting landslides and accelerating erosion in certain settings. In turn, fine 

sediments drifted downstream, settling when they reached slow water. In many 

estuaries, the Columbia and Willapa Bay estuaries prominent among them, 

intensified industrial logging was matched by an expansion of mud flats and other

deposits, often filled with sediments more characteristic of high mountain regions.

In many places, salt marsh vegetation expanded onto these new sediment deposits,

creating vast lateral expansions of the tidal flats and reducing the width of navigable

channels. To this day, the phenomenon can be seen on tidal flats of the Young’s Bay

and Lewis and Clark River estuaries. 

The region having been so thoroughly logged by the mid-20th century, the federal

environmental legislation of the following decades such as the Endangered Species

Act would have little bearing on timber practices relative to other parts of the Pacific

Northwest—the impacts of such sedimentation on threatened coastal fish 

populations being among the few points of relevance. More salient were the Forest

Practices Acts of both states, which demanded the replanting of harvested lands and

eventually set upper limits for clearcut size, requiring buffers on fish-bearing

streams and the like (Pyle 2001; Dicken et al. 1961).

The region’s mills began to retool their operations to accommodate the changing

nature of the forest, and even as they intensified production by the mid-1950s, some

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Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
Figure 8.10 – The Crown Zellerbach log dump and sort yard at Netul Landing, seen here in the 1970s,

continued to operate into the late 20th century. Its railroad tracks were removed and replaced by

roadbeds long ago, as was true throughout the region – many of the old rail grades becoming the

“mainline” logging roads of the late 20th century. At Netul Landing, the area was accessed by log

trucks into the 1980s. Logs were lifted with a boom and could be deposited in the water for sorting,

then towed by boat to a number of local mills. Photo courtesy National Park Service, Lewis and Clark

National and State Historical Parks. 

of the region’s largest mills downsized their equipment to accommodate only 

second-growth logs. The industry saw other major changes as well. The production

of pulp for paper—often for export to mills outside the immediate area, such as in

Portland or California—had been part of the Columbia-Pacific’s economy since the 

late 19th century, growing quickly with the emergence of the Crown Willamette Paper

Company and other paper manufacturing interests able to use less marketable tree

species for paper production (for example, the Western hemlock). Yet an explosion

in chemical engineering in the post-War era brought access to new laminates and

resins, allowing for the region’s plywood and pulp and paper industries to expand.

By the 1950s, spruce and hemlock, always difficult trees to sell on conventional 

lumber markets, were increasingly used along with other species in the production

of cardboard, laminate plywood, and even toilet tissue. Vast mills, such as the 

Georgia-Pacific pulp mill in Wauna, Oregon that processed trees from throughout

the Columbia-Pacific region, appeared or were expanded to produce such consumer

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 184 —
products on an unprecedented scale. Ironically, the rise in paper production, 

coupled with the growing concentration of lumber milling capacity in the upper 

Columbia River estuary, just beyond the study area, resulted in an aggregate decline

in lumber milling in the region. Even in post-War years, the quantity of milled 

lumber never quite reached its pre-Depression peak on the lower Columbia River 

estuary (ODF 2005). 

In recent decades, the economics of the timber industry have changed yet again. 

Especially since the 1980s, speculation on timber land has rebounded in a manner

reminiscent of the land booms of the early 20th century. Throughout the study area,

and especially in Clatsop County, there have been many rapid exchanges of timber

land between companies that often do not log, or log much, but simply hold the land

as assets in their portfolios before passing them on to another investor. Many 

portions of the Clatsop County tree farm owned by Crown Zellerbach in the 

mid-20th century—originally comprising more than 150,000 acres of the County,

and including lands acquired by the National Park Service in the 2004 expansion of

Fort Clatsop—have been exchanged between no fewer than eight companies since

the early 1980s.109 Though certain employees have carried over between companies,

the management philosophies guiding the fate of these lands vacillate with 

surprising speed—a partial explanation for why the 2004 expansion of the Fort 

Clatsop sub-unit of the Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks into 

adjacent timberlands was vehemently opposed by one owner (Cavenham Industries)

only to be enthusiastically assisted by two of that company’s successors (Willamette 

Industries and Weyerhaeuser Company). The fate of the Columbia-Pacific’s 

timberlands is still in flux, its history still being written. 

Meanwhile, the industry’s products are in flux too. With the commercially available

ancient forests of the coast having been logged a generation ago, large-dimension

lumber is in short supply. Similarly, the quality of the wood has changed, as the

tight-grained woods of the ancient forests is replaced by relatively pithy widegrained wood of trees grown quickly in direct sunlight. New cottage industries have

emerged, centered on the salvage of what old wood is still available in the ColumbiaPacific region. Buildings built before mid-century were typically constructed of

high-quality woods irrespective of their origin. Thus, the buildings are commonly

salvaged for large beams. Large-dimension wood is even milled from the 

unblemished centers of old piers and pilings. Yet this new industry ventures into 

the forest as well. Even when Western red cedars were toppled decades ago, lying

submerged under carpets of moss, their tannin-rich wood can lie intact. Wood and

— 185 —

Cutting the Forests, Reshaping the Land
shingles salvaged from these downed trees, for use as shingles or for specialized,

often ornamental lumber, exceeds the quality of products from freshly cut secondgrowth cedars. The Larson mill sitting just south of the Fort Clatsop boundary at the

time of this writing, as well as the related Larson salvage operation to the north, are 

supported in no small part by the sale of old woods as part of a growing specialty

market—an adaptation of the historical circumstances of logging in the ColumbiaPacific region.110

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 186 —
4 20'2.0/'4.-342,

Early Lifesaving and Aids to Navigation at the Mouth of 

the Columbia River

o matter the period or the dominant industry of the day, shipping has been

the lifeblood of the Columbia-Pacific region. Fur trading vessels, ships

heavy with canned salmon, or barges of bundled lumber have come and gone

from the mouth of the Columbia, sustaining the towns that line its banks, just as the 

canoes of Chinooks, Clatsops, and visitors from coastal tribes traveled the waters for

unknown generations beforehand. Yet traversing the mouth of the Columbia is no

simple task. Here, the Columbia enters the open Pacific directly and in full force,

without the gentle transitions afforded by protected waters and sleepy bays. The

Fraser to the north and the Sacramento to the south both enter vast and protected

interior waters before entering the sea. The Strait of Juan de Fuca is vast and wide,

admitting ships in all but the roughest weather, but among the major shipping port

rivers of the West, the Columbia stands apart. 

Mariners often found, as Lieutenant Charles Wilkes did when surveying the mouth

of the Columbia in 1841, “breakers extending from Cape Disappointment to Point Adams,

in one unbroken line.” Breakers sometimes exceeding 30 feet as Pacific Ocean waves

meet surging river waters full force, the river often entering the sea at the rate of a

quarter million gallons—and sometimes over a million gallons—per second, racing

westward, picking up speed on the ebb tide, and making the entire bar deadly and

impassible. So too, the channels at the great river’s mouth were notoriously 

dynamic—the heavy sediment burden of the entire Columbia Basin meeting 

tidewater, which slowed as the river approached the river bar and dropped the 

suspended load. Islands and sandspits appeared and disappeared just inside the

river’s mouth historically, adding to the turbulence and uncertainty of an 

unforgiving waterway. The earliest non-Native navigators entering the river 

sometimes wrecked at its mouth. In 1798, the brigantine Hazard dispatched a small

boat to take soundings of the river’s mouth, and was lost along with its crew of five

men. The British bark William and Ann, carrying supplies for Fort Vancouver, wrecked

— 187 —
on Clatsop Spit in 1829, and all 29 men aboard lost their lives —an event that 

precipitated one of the few violent conflicts between Native and non-Native peoples

in the history of the Columbia-Pacific region. Returning to Wilkes:

“Mere description can give little idea of the terrors of the bar of the Columbia: all who have

seen it have spoken of the wilderness of the scene, and the incessant roar of the waters, 

representing it as one of the most fearful sights than can possibly meet the eye of the sailor.

The difficulty of its channel, the distance of the leading sailing marks, their uncertainty to

one unacquainted with them, the want of knowledge of the strength and direction of the

current, with the necessity of approaching close to unseen dangers, the transition from clear

to turbid water, all cause doubt and mistrust” (in Barry 1938: 153).

Charles Wilkes knew all too well the dangers of the river. Today, a broad bar of sand

off the western tip of Cape Disappointment is named Peacock Spit after the Wilkes

expedition ship the U.S.S. Peacock that wrecked on the spit trying to enter the river

in July of 1841 (Elliott 1917: 232). 

In some ways, the notorious river bar has come to define aspects of the ColumbiaPacific economy and culture. Since Robert Gray’s arrival at the mouth of the 

Columbia in 1792, roughly 2,000 large vessels have been lost at this river’s mouth,

along with perhaps 700 lives. Bar pilots and river pilots have been recurring, heroic

figures in the regional lore, as have the members of the U.S. Coast Guard, helping

ships navigate churning and unfamiliar waters, saving ships, cargoes and lives.

Through the 19th and 20th centuries, the residents of the Columbia-Pacific and the

shipping and fishing interests of the larger river made ambitious efforts to tame the

mouth of the river for the sake of public safety. So too, economic boosters often 

became some of the earliest and most eager proponents for jetty development,

dredging and other navigation improvements, as they envisioned Astoria and other

towns as shipping ports of national significance. 

The loss of so many ships has had numerous effects on the region, bringing a 

succession of personal dramas and tragedies to the early coast, delaying projects and

changing history. Even the landmarks bear the names of the ships that have

foundered on the coast—Desdemona Sands on the Oregon side of the Columbia

mouth, named for the American bark Desdemona that ran aground there in 1857 and

sank; Peacock Spit off the mouth from Cape Disappointment, where the Wilkes 

Expedition’s ship the U.S.S. Peacock was lost in 1841. The town of Cannon Beach is

named for cannons and other flotsam that washed ashore from the U.S.S. Shark, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 188 —
Figure 9.1 – The British bark, Peter Iredale, wrecked on Clatsop Spit in 1906, its crew being 

rescued with the aid of the U.S. Life-Saving Service and given shelter at Fort Stevens. One of many

shipwrecks on the Columbia-Pacific waterfront, the uniquely accessible wreckage of this ship remains

a popular attraction in Fort Stevens State Park today. Courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

wrecked at the Columbia River bar in 1846. Shipwrecks can still be found in 

fragmentary form along the shores of the Columbia-Pacific region, perhaps nowhere

so prominently than at the wreck of the British bark, the Peter Iredale, wrecked on

the shoreline near Fort Stevens in 1906, where its slowly deteriorating hull remains

a prominent tourist attraction today (Shine 2008; Gibbs 1973).111

As with other aspects of history discussed in this document, this aspect of the 

region’s history is vast and rich, deserving more attention than allowed here. Yet

the story of Columbia-Pacific navigation and lifesaving has sometimes played out on

the lands of LEWI parks. It is this narrower story that we turn our attention to here.

— 189 —

Navigating the Bar
Lighthouses and Lightships at the Mouth of the Columbia

From the earliest written maritime history of this coast, it is clear that mariners

have sought to reduce the dangers of navigation at the Columbia’s mouth through

the use of markers and other devices. The three most prominent landmarks at the

river’s mouth—Cape Disappointment, Chinook Point/Scarborough Hill, and Point

Adams, were all used from earliest times to navigate a course through the river’s

treacherous entrance from the sea. In 1812, members of the Astor Party placed a

white flag on the summit of Cape Disappointment and burned several trees on the

cape at night to signal their supply ship, the Beaver. Three decades later a notch was

created on the summit of the cape by cutting the tops of tall trees on its crest, so as

to serve as a bearing for vessels steering toward the river’s mouth—a landmark that

was still mentioned in 1850 United States Coast Survey sailing instructions for the

Columbia River mouth. For a time, Governor George Simpson of the Hudson’s Bay

Company had attempted to acquire a portion of Cape Disappointment for a 

navigational lookout to augment this simple marker. With the beginning of the 

Oregon Territory as a political unit of the United States, the need for bolder, more

enduring ways of marking the river’s entrance using lighthouses and other devices

became apparent to all the region’s travelers. When Congress passed an act in 1848

to establish the Oregon Territorial Government, there was not a single lighthouse

along the 1,300 miles of rugged coastline from Puget Sound to the California-Mexico 

border. This legislation, which effectively designated Oregon as a U.S. territory, 

authorized in the same instant some $15,000 for lighthouse construction at two

places now within the state of Washington—Cape Disappointment and New 

Dungeness, as well as for the placement of navigational buoys at Astoria harbor 

and the mouth of the Columbia (Noble 1989; Hussey 1957; 9 Stat. 323-331). 

Less than a decade after Wilkes’ fateful visit to the lower Columbia, and with the

territories of Oregon and Washington now in the undisputed control of the United

States, surveyors began to assess the Columbia’s mouth and contemplate strategies

for its navigation. To this end, Lieutenant William P. McArthur, with the assistance

of Lieutenant Washington A. Bartlett, plied its waters as part of the 1849-50 Pacific

Coast Survey. McArthur arrived in San Francisco in October 1849 with the intention

of assembling a survey crew in the booming new city. He was initially stymied, 

finding that the wages he offered could not compete with those offered by crews

heading to the gold fields. But after six months, McArthur finally pulled together 

a crew, noting, with some apparent relief, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 190 —
Figure 9.2 – One of the survey maps of Cape Disappointment resulting from the initial Columbia

River surveys, showing elevation, vegetation, and survey meridians. From U.S. Coast Survey 1851.

Map of Cape Hancock, Oregon, Showing the Proposed Site of a Light House. Washington, D.C. Photo

courtesy National Archives and Records Administration.

“In a few days I go to the mouth of the Columbia River and shall make a reconnaissance of

the coast both on my way up and returning. I propose also to choose Points for a Light house,

Buoys, etc., at the mouth of that river” (McArthur 1915: 254).

Ironically, witnessing the bar during calm weather, McArthur would initially 

conclude that the river’s dangers had been exaggerated by past mariners: 

“We have been successful in surveying the mouth of the Columbia River and up the same as

far as Astoria. You will be surprised when I tell you that the dangers of the navigation of this

— 191 —

Navigating the Bar
truly magnificent river have been vastly exaggerated. We have crossed the bar sometimes as

many as ten times a day for weeks together. More vessels have visited the Columbia within

the last year than perhaps ever before and not the slightest accident has occurred”

(McArthur 1915: 258).

McArthur acknowledged, though, that the mouth of the Columbia in 1850 had

changed its configuration significantly since Wilkes’ visit in 1841, with sandspits and

islands having already migrated within the river’s mouth. On this basis, he reported

back to Washington D.C. that the bar would need to be made safe for navigation:

“[It] is best under all circumstances to have a pilot...When comparing our chart with that of

the [Wilkes] Exploring Expedition, the changes of the channels and shoals at the mouth of

the Columbia river will be found to be numerous and considerable. Sand Island is nearly a

mile further to the westward now than it was in 1840-‘41. The north channel seems to be

gradually filling up, whilst the new south channel is becoming both larger and deeper. This

change will go on until some violent storm will throw up the sand again, and upon subsiding

leave the water of the river to find a new channel. To these changes in the channel is to be

attributed the great dread which navigators have had of the Columbia...I have recommended

a Lighthouse on Cape Disappointment...The greatly increasing commerce of Oregon 

demands that these improvements be made immediately. The more especially since the 

Columbia is the most important portion of Oregon for the pursuits of commerce”

(McArthur 1915: 266-68).

McArthur’s recommendations for the development of a Cape Disappointment lighthouse and other navigational improvements would be repeated, with equal or

greater urgency, by those early surveyors who followed. Of no small significance, the

amount of ship traffic at the river’s mouth was increasing dramatically. While the

gold rush may have bedeviled McArthur’s efforts to raise a survey crew, these same

events brought an economic boom to the sparsely settled Northwest. Mining 

operations and the explosive growth of the new city of San Francisco created large

markets for lumber, salmon, oysters, and other Northwestern goods. Yet as

seaborne commerce increased, so too did shipwrecks at the Columbia’s mouth. It

was during these years of frequent shipwrecks—three in 1849, five in 1852, and five

in 1853—that mariners are said to have dubbed the region “the Graveyard of the 

Pacific” (Gibbs 1950: 28). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 192 —
Also contributing to the pressures for Columbia River lighthouses, the United 

States government was under intense national pressure to modernize the nation’s

lighthouse system at the time of McArthur’s survey. Just as the Oregon Territory had

a mandate for lighthouses from its beginning, the United States government too had

been responsible for constructing lighthouses along the coastlines of the country

since 1789, only a few years after the founding of the nation. Located exclusively on

the eastern seaboard, the numbers of lighthouses had grown from 70 in 1822 to 256

over the next 20 years, to 331 by 1852. Yet the development of the system was often

haphazard, leaving some areas (especially those with powerful shipping lobbies and

congressional delegations) well protected, and others much less so, and commonly

leaving lighthouses in the care of untrained and volunteer staff. Complaints about

the nation’s “system” for aiding navigation had become intense enough that 

Congress ordered an investigation in 1851. A nationwide campaign to expand the

number of lighthouses ensued—key to this effort being the application of new 

technologies such as light-intensifying Fresnel lenses, and the training and hiring

of professional personnel.112 The types of federally supported “aids to navigation”

would expand rapidly over the next sixty years to include not only lighthouses, but

lightships, buoys, fog signals, small lights of various kinds, and jetties. (By the time

that lighthouses and functions like lifesaving were centralized under the U.S. Coast

Guard in 1939, the number of navigational aids under federal control reached some

24,000 facilities nationwide. Most of the functioning lighthouses have since been

automated and ownership of many of the older structures have been transferred to

organizations specializing in historic preservation.) 

The report of the McArthur Coast Survey recommended the development of no 

fewer than 15 lighthouses along the Pacific Coast of the United States, in addition to

the Cape Disappointment light. The southern tip of Cape Disappointment was 

designated as a “lighthouse reservation” and plans by the U.S. Lighthouse Service 

to construct a Cape Disappointment lighthouse moved forward by April of 1853.

Construction was delayed, ironically, when the bark Oriole, carrying the lighthouse’s

Fresnel lens and other building supplies, wrecked directly below the cape. Additional

supplies arrived and construction moved forward, though, with another Fresnel

lens, relocated from a New Jersey lighthouse, reaching the site by 1855.113 The 

lighthouse was fully operational on October 15, 1856. 

The Cape Disappointment lighthouse, the oldest still standing on the Northwest

coast of North America, is a 53-foot structure with a focal plane set 220 feet above

the sea. The lighthouse was accompanied by a 1,600-pound fog bell, though the bell

proved ineffective as its tolls from the high cape’s top were lost to the sounds of the

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Navigating the Bar
sea. Built in 1856, the bell was removed by 1881. An “ox-team road” built by the

Coast Survey in 1851 provided access to the lighthouse, but the steep terrain dictated

that the keeper’s residence be constructed downhill from the tower, about halfway

to Baker Bay. Completed in 1854, this dwelling deviated from the original plans,

which called for a combined lighthouse and residence. Situated on the more 

sheltered side of the cape, the house was expanded in May 1865 to provide room for

the keeper’s two assistants, while a new residential structure was built some 1,300

feet north of the lighthouse in 1871. The vessel Shubrick, the first steam-powered 

lighthouse tender, brought supplies to the Cape Disappointment lighthouse and

served as a revenue cutter from its earliest operations, while also installing and

maintaining some of the Columbia River’s first navigational buoys beginning in 

1859 (Lighthouse Friends 2013; Lucero and Hobbs 2009; Nelson 1994).

Yet even before the Cape Disappointment lighthouse was being constructed, 

President Millard Fillmore declared the same lands as a military reservation,

prompting the construction of Fort Canby. Lighthouse and military functions at

Cape Disappointment remained intertwined throughout the nineteenth century, 

and were sometimes at odds, though separate reservations had been approved for

each. Both federal outposts developed side-by-side, often with contradictory 

functions and mandates. Cannons built adjacent to Cape Disappointment were 

seldom fired, for example, for fear of shattering the lighthouse’s glass. Fort Canby’s

commanders requested the relocation of some of these functions (usually involving

the relocation of the lighthouse) on more than one occasion without success. This

odd relationship—sometimes collaborative and often not—linking the fate of the

two facilities, arguably persisted until the decommissioning of Fort Canby in 1947.114

Construction continued on other Pacific coast lighthouses in subsequent years. 

Between 1852 and 1858, all the lighthouses recommended by the Coast Survey were

erected and manned in turn by the U.S. Lighthouse Service, one of five predecessor

agencies of the U.S. Coast Guard. The early lighthouses along the Oregon and 

Washington coasts all had the same Cape Cod style structure, with the lighthouse

tower emerging from the center. The Coast Survey, meanwhile, continued to chart

the estuaries of the region—until then, most were poorly and incompletely 

surveyed—and to compile information in the Coast Pilot, an annual publication 

with data on landmarks, rocks, buoys, and anchorages (Oregon Secretary of State

2013; Nelson 1994; Noble 1989). 

Congress appropriated funds for the design and construction of additional 

navigational aids in the region on a case-by-case basis, as well as the appropriation 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 194 —
Figure 9.3 - The Cape Disappointment Lighthouse, sitting beside a cannon from the Fort Canby 

artillery battery – photographed by Eadweard Muybridge in 1871 or 1872. From National Archives and

Records Administration; War Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command; Coast 

Defenses of the Columbia (03/17/1941 - 1946). Photo courtesy Wikimedia Commons.

— 195 —

Navigating the Bar
of lands to develop such facilities. An overarching goal of the U.S. Lighthouse 

Service was to create a system of stations that might produce a continuous line-ofsight to light stations, so a mariner at sea could hold one light in view at all times

moving along the coast. (Fog signals, built in this period and powered by steam 

engines, blasted warnings from a number of the stations to warn ships away from

rocks and other navigational hazards.) With the goal of developing a continuous 

system of lighthouses, lands were placed in special “lighthouse reservation” status

through various federal authorities. In the West, where settlement was sparse, this

was a comparatively simple process, often involving the rededication of lands 

already in the public domain. Lighthouse reservations were established from the

public domain in a number of places in the Columbia-Pacific region, some 

ultimately being developed as lighthouses, and others not. 

A lighthouse was also added to Point Adams, at Fort Stevens, in 1875, sitting a short

distance south-by-southwest of the military fortifications. This was an integrated

facility with a two-story keeper’s quarters built directly into the base of the light

tower. With the construction of this light, the mouth of the Columbia was effectively

framed by the river’s two sentinels—the Cape Disappointment lighthouse and the

Point Adams lighthouse. The light was plagued by shifting sands, requiring the 

construction of sand fences and other infrastructure, but was not undermined by the

infamous erosion that plagued other parts of the Fort Stevens military reserve. This

tidy arrangement did not last for long, however. The 1892 commissioning of the

lightship Columbia replaced the functions of this light, and the 1899 extension of the

south jetty at the Columbia River’s mouth placed it some distance inland from the

sea. Together, these events all but eliminated the need for the facility. After years of

disuse, the light was burned to the ground in early 1912 by order of the Secretary of

War, an effort both to eliminate fire hazards and create space for new gun emplacements at Fort Stevens’ Battery Russell (Munson 2005; Nelson 1994; Miller 1958).

After a spate of shipwrecks on the northern approaches to the Columbia, Congress

also approved funding for the construction of the North Head Lighthouse on a 

separate lighthouse reservation sitting on Cape Disappointment’s northern end.

Work began in 1897 and proceeded slowly thereafter, with the contractor eventually

incurring so many late penalties that he scarcely “broke even” on the project. When

completed in April 1898, the tower stood 65 feet high, with its base atop the basalt

cliff situated almost 200 feet above sea level. The Cape Disappointment lighthouse’s

original Fresnel lens and five-wick oil lamp were moved to the new light two

months later, and the light was operational one month hence. The contract included

erection of a workroom attached to the tower, two oil houses located east of the 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 196 —
Figure 9.4 - A U.S. Army Corps of Engineers map of the mouth of the Columbia River in 1887, 

showing the symmetrical placement of the Cape Disappointment and Point Adams lighthouses

around the Columbia River mouth. From U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, 1888. The Columbia River

from Celilo to the mouth showing locations of the salmon fisheries. U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, 

Engineer Office, G.P.O. Photo courtesy National Archives and Records Administration. 

main structure, a keeper’s residence, a duplex to house assistant keepers, a barn, 

and smaller outbuildings. The original buildings in this well-preserved complex 

survive, the only real changes coming in the form of two lens replacements. 

(Electrification in 1937 allowed for substituting a fourth-order lens for the first-order

Fresnel, so that mariners could identify North Head through a signature of flashes

and eclipses; the U.S. Coast Guard fully automated this lighthouse in 1961 [Lucero and

Hobbs 2009; University of Oregon Historic Preservation Program 2008]).

Lights were also developed in other sites around the Columbia-Pacific region. One of

the earliest, the Willapa Bay Light, was established in 1858 on the north entrance to

that bay—being undermined many years later by erosion that continues to tear away

at the bay’s north entrance. Other lighthouses were established at points up the 

Columbia River beginning with Tongue Point (1876) east of Astoria. A light was also

constructed at Desdemona Sands in 1902, in part to account for the reduced visibility

— 197 —

Navigating the Bar
Figure 9.5 – The North Head Lighthouse, shortly after its construction in the late 1890s, 

showing the main tower, as well as the attached workroom. Photo courtesy Oregon 

Historical Society.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 198 —
Figure 9.6 – The North Head Lighthouse in truth involved a complex of structures, seen here from

the air in 1937, including an attached workroom attached to the tower, two oil houses immediately 

to its east. On the bluff further to the east were the keeper’s residence, a duplex to house assistant

keepers, a barn, and smaller outbuildings. Most of these structures remain on the site today. Photo

courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

and ultimate decommissioning, of the Cape Adams lighthouse. This lighthouse sat

in the shallow intertidal waters at the entrance of the river, east of the bar. One of

the latest lighthouses in operation, it was discontinued in 1964 (Nelson 1994). 

To guide navigation around the entire Columbia-Pacific region, as well as its 

southern approaches, a number of lands were set aside for the construction of 

lighthouses and related facilities on Tillamook Head, in what is today Ecola State

Park. The navigational and lifesaving potentials of this prominent headland were a

subject of considerable debate, so that land acquisitions happened at different times

and places, resulting in a patchwork of federal lands fringing the ocean edge of the

headland. A lighthouse reservation was proposed in 1866, on the westernmost 

summit of Tillamook Head. U.S. Congress then appropriated some $50,000—a

princely sum at the time—for the development of a lighthouse reservation in 1878

“on the bald hills on the south side of the head,” which included certain lands on

the southern flanks of Tillamook Head, proper. The U.S. Lighthouse Board initially

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Navigating the Bar
promoted the development of the Tillamook Head site rigorously, in spite of the

technical challenges of constructing a lighthouse perched atop this isolated 

headland, at an elevation of roughly 1,000 feet. As one of its early reports on the

matter noted, “The construction of the Lighthouse at Tillamook head, on the isolated rock,

will be attended with many difficulties, but the great advantage that will accrue to 

navigation will more than balance the cost” (U.S. Lighthouse Board 1879: 7). The site

was contentious, however, often being concealed by fog—even in summer, when

upwelling and orographic fog banks hover over the ridgeline—and surveyors found

that the most suitable building sites on the south face were almost entirely 

concealed from the river mouth by the hulking Tillamook Head summit. 

Even as these negative findings made their way to the Lighthouse Service, Congress

was appropriating additional funds for the project on the apparent strength of the

original proposal (including an 1881 appropriation of $25,000) and additional lands

were acquired along the rocky headland. Ultimately, lands were set aside in several

locations, including the westernmost tip of the headland, and a narrow parcel 

occupying several relatively unforested areas (former Native American village sites

and likely burned prairie areas) from Indian Beach to the vicinity of Chapman Point.

Another piece of land, encompassing roughly a quarter section was set aside “for

public purposes” on the north side of Tillamook Head in the 1880s, encompassing

lands close to the modern park trailhead in Seaside.115 Though never developed,

these lands appear on maps as “lighthouse reservations” or “public purpose” lands

for much of the late 19th century. They would later prove pivotal to the development

of Ecola State Park, as some of these “surplus lands” were redirected to other 

agencies or purchased by affluent Portland philanthropists with bold visions for the

public good (U.S. Lighthouse Board 1879; GLO n.d.)

Instead of Tillamook Head, the U.S. Lighthouse Service began to promote a more

visible alternative site atop Tillamook Rock. Completed in 1881, Tillamook Rock

Light still sits offshore from Ecola State Park. Oregon’s only offshore lighthouse, it

proved to be one of the most difficult lighthouses to construct or to operate along

the Pacific coast. A little over a mile offshore from Tillamook Head and modern Ecola

Park, the rock is often swept by huge swells. The rock had long been known by a

place name translated “Dangerous Place” in the Nehalem language—Na’yigôsh—

and events surrounding the lighthouse construction demonstrate the veracity of 

the name. In the summer of 1879, John R. Wheeler, District Superintendent of

Lighthouse Construction, managed to make it onto the rock after two failed 

attempts. The swiftly rising seas made it impossible to land his measuring 

equipment on the outcropping, and he was forced to rely on a single tape measure to

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 200 —
take measurements for lighthouse construction. Wheeler hired John R. Trewaves, a

lighthouse mason of almost celebrity status, to oversee construction. But stepping

ashore on Tillamook Rock for the first time, Trewaves was swept away by a surging

wave and his body was never recovered. The growing reputation of the rock, 

nicknamed “Terrible Tilly,” made it initially difficult to find survey and construction

crews in the months that followed. A large boom was finally installed that helped to

land men and supplies safely on the rock. The Army Corps of Engineers worked from 

October 1879 to January 1881 to build the lighthouse, with the aid of private 

contractors. Native American observers of the time noted that the rock had been an

important sea lion rookery and that lighthouse construction displaced the sea lions

to rocks below Ecola Point. They noted that construction crews shot many sea lions

to keep the rock clear during construction (Noble 1994; Harrington n.d.).116

On the night of January 3, 1881, just weeks before the Tillamook Rock light went into

operation, the construction crew experienced a dramatic incident that illustrated the

need for the light, as retold by David Nobles,

“The usual bad weather had set in around the rock, when the construction boss entered the

dwelling and stated that he saw the running lights of a ship coming toward the rock...So

close did the ship pass the rock, workers heard the shouted command, “Hard aport!” The 

laborers began to kindle a large fire and lanterns were placed about to help outline the rock.

The ship, which later proved to be the British bark Lupatia, missed the rock, but her skipper

made the wrong turn and slammed into the shore of the mainland causing the loss of the

entire crew [16 men]” (Noble 1997: 76).

Finally lit in 1881, the Tillamook Rock light station took 575 working days to 

complete at a cost of $123,493, making it the most expensive lighthouse built on the

west coast. The Tillamook Rock lighthouse served as an aid to navigation for more

than 75 years, operated by the U.S. Lighthouse Service and U.S. Coast Guard. While

this light effectively put to rest any plans to build a lighthouse on Tillamook Head,

its presence did prompt the improvement of a rough road to Indian Beach, where a

telegraph cable linked the lighthouse to the mainland for a time. The Tillamook

Rock light was superseded by a signal-sending electronic buoy and decommissioned

in 1957, being declared surplus property. The National Park Service, Oregon State

Parks, and the U.S. Navy all refused to purchase the site, and it was ultimately sold

for $5,000 to a private organization. A succession of owners developed proposals to

use the site for any number of schemes, including a marine research center, a

casino, and (most recently) a columbarium (Noble 1997).117

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Figure 9.7 - Lightship No. 50, shortly after it was grounded on the western side of Cape 

Disappointment in November of 1899. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society.

Stationary lighthouses were not practical in some settings, and especially perilous or

inaccessible areas were serviced by lightships. These were small specialized ships

that patrolled waters along rugged and dangerous shorelines, effectively serving as

floating lighthouses. A total of four lightships patrolled the Columbia River Bar from

1892 to 1979, when new technology rendered them redundant. To put their service

into national perspective: 179 lightships were built between 1820 and 1952. In 1909,

at roughly their height of use in the United States, 46 were deployed on the east

coast, as opposed to only five on the west coast of the country.118 In 1892 an 

appropriation of $60,000 funded construction of Columbia River Lightship No. 50,

the first lightship stationed in the Pacific Northwest. The ship, built by Union Iron

Works of San Francisco, measured 112 feet and had a crew of eight who for decades

kept watch over the turbulent waters on the Columbia’s approaches, maintained

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 9.8 – The Tillamook Rock Lighthouse offshore from Tillamook Head, in the 1940s. The 

Lighthouse Service originally received funds and acquired lands for a Tillamook Head lighthouse in

what is now Ecola State Park, but the service ultimately opted to construct the beacon on the more

visible, offshore Tillamook Rock in spite of imposing challenges of engineering and access. The light

was operational from 1881 until 1957. From U.S. Department of the Treasury, Coast Guard, 13th 

District (ca. 1944 - 04/01/1967), National Archives and Records Administration. Photo courtesy 

Wikimedia Commons.

kerosene lights to signal ships, and fed coal into boilers to power a massive foghorn.

In November 1899 Lightship No. 50 battled high seas and winds, running aground 

on the western side of Cape Disappointment. Unfavorable weather and difficult 

geography stranded the ship for months until it was put back into commission in

April 1901. Three additional lightships followed in succession. Lightship No. 50

(1892-1909) was followed by steam-powered Lightship No. 88, which served the

mouth of the river for thirty years from 1909-1939. Lightship No. 88 was followed 

by No. 93 (1939-1951), which served through World War II. Though modern 

technologies were making lightships increasingly obsolete, protection of the bar 

remained a high priority. Thus they were maintained at the Columbia River and in

many other places along America’s coastlines during the second World War. 

Lightship No. 604 (1951-1979) was the fourth and final Columbia River lightship and, 

in fact, the last lightship to serve on the Pacific coast. Lightship No. 604 was 

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replaced by a large navigational buoy, just one of the technological innovations that

rendered lightships obsolete. This final lightship was moved almost immediately to

the Columbia River Maritime Museum, where it is still toured by the public. The ship

was listed as a National Historical Landmark in 1989, the first ship in Oregon so

listed (Oregon Secretary of State 2013; Grover 2002; Nelson 1994; Delgado 1983;

Stokes 1968: 322).

Despite all of these navigational aids, the mouth of the Columbia continued to be the

site of numerous shipwrecks in the twentieth century. Among these incidents, the

freighter Iowa, carrying lumber and other cargo, crossed the bar in January of 1936 to

be caught in a winter cyclone with 76 mile per hour winds, smashing onto Peacock

Spit. The Coast Guard cutter Onondaga reached the wreck but all men aboard 

perished, numbering thirty-four. Thus pressure mounted to modernize the 

capacities of the lighthouses. Later that year, a class C radio beacon was installed at

Cape Disappointment lighthouse, and by 1937 the light was electrified. In 1939 the

U.S. Lighthouse Service merged into the U.S. Coast Guard, which operated under the

authority of the Department of the Navy. With this new status, the lighthouses

served as lookout posts and signal stations throughout World War II.119 The light at

North Head was automated in 1965, and the Coast Guard planned to discontinue the

Cape Disappointment light at the same time, claiming the Columbia River lightship

and entrance range lights were sufficient to mark the river. Columbia River bar 

pilots—licensed specialists possessing more than a passing familiarity with the

bar’s dangers—protested the change, and the light remained in service.120 The 

lighthouse at Cape Disappointment was automated in 1973 and, along with the

North Head light, remains active today (Lighthouse Friends 2013; U.S. Coast Guard

2012b; Lucero and Hobbs 2009; Nelson 1994).

The Life-Saving Stations of the Lower Columbia 

While the U.S. Lighthouse Service was beginning to develop aids to navigation along

the coast, other agencies took responsibility for the practicalities of lifesaving,

bringing other facilities and people to the mouth of the Columbia. The U.S.

Revenue-Marine (eventually renamed the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service) had been

established in 1790 to serve as an armed maritime law enforcement service operated

under the U.S. Department of Treasury to prevent smuggling and enforce tariff laws.

Beginning in the 1830s, the service was ordered to assist mariners in need,

beginning the life-saving tradition for which its successor agency, the U.S. Coast

Guard, would become well known. During the period when the Coast Survey of 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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1849-50 first determined a location for the lighthouse on Cape Disappointment,

Congress was begging to provide funds for lifesaving equipment and training of the

personnel who would use it, through the U.S. Revenue-Marine. This represented a

significant advance from the precedent of the early 19th century, when east coast life

stations had operated like volunteer fire departments, but with no one in charge,

and without clear standards for training and rescue. By 1848, the U.S. RevenueMarine began administering stations for the purpose of rescuing crew and 

passengers of vessels in distress, making the waters of the United States—at least

those with nearby lifesaving stations—considerably safer (Noble 1997, 1989). 

By the mid-1850s, the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service was becoming a force in the

waters of the Pacific Northwest.121 Astoria, Oregon received its first “revenue cutter”

ship in 1856, the Joseph Lane, named for Oregon’s first territorial governor and 

delegate to the U.S. Congress.122 Until the ship was decommissioned in 1869, the

Joseph Lane helped ships navigate the Columbia River bar, supplied lighthouses, and

aided mariners in distress, but also inspected vessels for contraband. The ship was 

transferred temporarily to the service of the U.S. Navy in order to halt movements of

Native Americans into the Puget Sound, especially repelling “Northern Indians” 

arriving from British Columbia and Alaska associated with the Isaac Ebey incident at

what is today Ebey’s Landing National Historical Reserve. Following the Joseph Lane,

the cutter Thomas Corwin was stationed at Astoria from 1878 to 1890 (Nelson 1994).

The U.S. Life-Saving Service (USLSS), meanwhile, was established in 1848 as a 

nonmilitary division of the Department of Treasury. In the mid-19th century, the

USLSS commissioned 19 life-saving stations along the West Coast from Nome,

Alaska, to the Golden Gate of San Francisco Bay (Weathers 2001: 3). A lifesaving 

station has been associated with Cape Disappointment since November 1877, 

though it was originally built under the auspices of the U.S. Revenue-Marine in

nearby Ilwaco. During the same period, lifesaving stations were also constructed 

on Willapa Bay and Neah Bay in Washington. 

Prior to the development of a formal lifesaving station, rescue missions at the

mouth of the Columbia depended upon volunteers, usually organized by Captain Joel

W. Munson—head keeper at the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse from 1865 to

1877. When the bark Industry wrecked near Cape Disappointment on March 15, 1865,

17 of the 24 people on board did not survive. Captain Munson believed more people

could have been rescued if a lifeboat had been available to the light-keepers at the

cape. Perceiving significant limitations on the light station’s ability to respond to

shipwrecks and other life-saving missions, and recognizing the growing need for

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such operations to support shipping and military operations, Munson became a

vocal advocate for the development of lifesaving facilities. Munson raised the funds

for such an operation by organizing dances in Astoria, and rebuilt a battered 

longboat into a lifeboat launched from the light station. Simultaneously, there were

changes afoot at the federal level that would add momentum to Munson’s campaign.

In 1871, Congress appropriated $200,000 for the development of new life stations

and the recruitment of surfmen who were to form an organization of boat crews. 

Aided significantly by Munson’s lobbying, a life-saving station was established at

Cape Disappointment in 1877, when the Revenue Cutter Service constructed the 

Fort Canby life-saving station. The station was originally located on the Fort Canby

army reservation. The Cape Disappointment lighthouse served, in turn, as the 

operation’s lookout point. Stephen Davis was appointed the first keeper of the Cape

Disappointment station in early 1878, but there were no apportioned funds to hire

other staff. Davis attempted to raise a volunteer crew from among the soldiers at

Fort Canby, but with little success. After his first effort at training, Davis wrote to

his supervisor, Captain J.W. White, that their reliance on inexperienced volunteer

crews was rendering the station dangerously ineffective:

“I took the life boat out for practice with a picked crew from the enlisted men at this Post.

The weather was pleasant with a moderate breeze from N.W. and smooth water. The men

were without exception very awkward in the use of the oars. They would require more 

training than they could give time to before even ordinary oarsmen could be made out of

them. They would not pull together or pay any attention to such instructions as I wished to

give them. They behaved as if they did not care to learn. And I despair of even being able to

make them available as a boats crew. The experiment was very unsatisfactory in every way”

(Davis 1878).

Life-saving operations continued from the Cape Disappointment station in a limited

capacity due to lack of local volunteers. When wrecks did occur, success was mixed at

best. Two years after organizing the life-saving station, Davis explained in a 

preliminary wreck report of the English bark Dilaharee,

“There is no life saving Crew at this Station, and no men in the vicinity of this Station to

makeup a Crew from. This Life Saving Station is on a Military Station [Fort Canby]. I applied

to the Commanding Officer for leave to enroll a crew among the Soldiers and practice them

in the Boats. He told me that it was against the Regulations of the service to use Enlisted

men for such a purpose. Under these circumstances I am powerless to render assistance to a

vessel in distress” (Davis 1880).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 206 —
Figure 9.9 – An early U.S. Life-Saving Service crew practicing their oarsmanship at the

mouth of the Columbia River. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

The following station master, A.T. Harris, expanded the volunteer recruitment 

efforts, focusing not only on Fort Canby soldiers but on the citizens of Ilwaco and

nearby communities, who were willing to brave the sometimes deadly waters of the

Columbia bar to rescue fellow mariners. The number of men available and willing to

volunteer began to increase, but it was still insufficient. As indicated in the wreck

report of the bark Rival, written a year and a half later than Davis’ report on 

the Dilaharee: 

“Surf boat was manned by a volunteer crew of soldiers and citizens. Strong head wind from

S.W. prevented us from getting round to wreck before they had lowered their own boat.

Wreck occurred when there was no regular crew [at the station], and of course no watch to

give the alarm; and the vessel had been in the breakers sometime, before it was known at

the station” (Harris 1881).

By this time, however, the U.S. Life-Saving Service had become a separate bureau

within the Treasury Department and was receiving a larger and more predictable

stream of federal funding. The scale of shipping on the Columbia was only 

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increasing, and reports from the life-saving stations were receiving attention all the

way to Washington D.C. Finally, in 1882, Harris was able to swear in the first paid,

full time crew of the Cape Disappointment Life-Saving Service Station. 

The USLSS soon activated other stations at the mouth of the Columbia. The Point

Adams life-saving station at Hammond, Oregon, on the south side of the river,

began operations in 1889, alongside Fort Stevens. The station was unusual for the

time in that living quarters were located in a building separate from the boathouse.

The Point Adams station was so badly affected by erosion in 1913-1914 that the 

boathouse was moved to another location. Sometime between 1905 and 1923 another

boathouse was added to the station, built on piles in the Columbia River. The Point

Adams life-saving crew earned the Gold Lifesaving Medal for actions taken during

the rescue of the crew of the steamship Rosecrans in 1913. In Ilwaco in 1891, a 

life-saving station was built 13 miles north of Cape Disappointment. Renamed 

Kilpsan Beach life-saving station in 1912, it was discontinued in 1949 (U.S. Coast

Guard 2012a, 2012b; Weathers 2001).

Until well into the 20th century, the life-saving stations were small, and the usual

staff consisted of a keeper and a crew of no more than seven men called surfmen.

Most trained to become highly proficient at the use of small boats in huge surf. As in

most west coast life-saving stations, their boats included the self-bailing Jerseystyle surfboat and the Dobbins self-righting lifeboat. Considered easier to handle in

the Pacific surf, the surfboat measured 26 feet long and weighed 900 pounds, and

was well suited to West Coast squalls. Surfboats were stored on a four-wheeled

wagon that could be pulled by men or horses, and steered into the water where it

was disassembled in order to launch the boat. They were manned by six men with

12- to 18-foot oars. Dobbins-type lifeboats were heavier than surfboats, and 

specialized deck structures at both ends made them self-righting when tumbled by

large waves. By the 1910s, these boats were replaced by early gasoline-powered 

rescue boats that could move faster through the surf—most involving variations on

these self-bailing and self-righting technologies, both essential at Columbia’s 

turbulent river bar (Weathers 2001; Noble 1989).

All later developments of the Coast Guard (created in 1915, merging the functions of

the Revenue-Marine Service and the Life-Saving Service) in the Columbia-Pacific

centered on the station founded in the 1870s. During both world wars, temporary

operations and facilities were established at the river’s mouth, largely under the

command of the Cape Disappointment station.123 The Hammond station continued

to support to the Cape Disappointment facility until 1967, when it was 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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decommissioned. Air Station Astoria was established at Tongue Point Naval Air 

Station in August 1964, and two HH-52A Seaguard helicopters were assigned to the

station. Two years later, the air station was relocated to Clatsop County airport in

Warrenton, and a number of new aircraft were added to the station’s inventory

through the early 1970s.124 When the Hammond station closed in 1967, the U.S.

Coast Guard consolidated all lifesaving activities at Station Cape Disappointment by

building a new facility on the cape. Today, this facility is located just beyond the

state park boundary and includes the only institution in the United States 

specializing in training for rough water surf rescue—the National Motor Lifeboat

School. Operated by the Coast Guard since 1968, the school and station on Cape 

Disappointment are today part of a wider network that includes an air rescue facility

in Warrenton, Oregon (Lighthouse Friends 2013; U.S. Coast Guard 2012a Lucero and

Hobbs 2009; Weathers 2001; NPS 1975).125

The Creation of Jetties

Responsibility for a national response to McArthur’s 1849-50 Coast Survey fell in

part to the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers. The Corps oversaw the development of

jetties and the dredging of shipping lanes. Due to their cost and the engineering 

expertise required to build them, the first jetties along U.S. coastlines did not 

appear until the 1820s—well after the initiation of lighthouse construction. The U.S.

Army Corps of Engineers has administered evaluation, construction, repair, and

maintenance of jetties and breakwater structures since the mid-nineteenth century,

under authority granted by the General Survey Act of 1824.Throughout the 19th

century, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers, known then as the U.S. Army Engineer

Department, had been called on increasingly to conduct large-scale civil engineering

projects around the nation, such as improvements to shipping channels and 

harbors, and began to work for the first time on large projects in Pacific waters. 

Based on the accounts of Wilkes, McArthur, and other surveyors reporting back to

Washington D.C., the U.S. Army’s “Board of Engineers for Fortifications for the 

Pacific Coast” recommended in an 1868 report that an annual survey be made of the

mean high water shoreline around the river’s mouth—in order to allow them to 

assess the rate and patterns of change in the shoreline. The Board recommended a

comprehensive survey of lands on the Oregon side of the river from Tansy Point,

continuing around Point Adams, and to a distance of one mile southward. In 

Washington, the survey was to focus especially on Sand Island, and would assess 

the position of Sand Island annually with reference to the three principal natural 

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navigational landmarks at the mouth—all part of the LEWI park system today—

including Cape Disappointment, Chinook Point and Point Adams (Humphreys 1868).

Through these surveys and the observations of military personnel stationed at the

river’s mouth, federal authorities learned that the channels and shoals of the river

were highly dynamic, reflecting not only the deposition of Columbia Basin 

sediments, but the active erosion and reconfiguration of the sand by high waves,

storm events and changing currents. While these changes had always posed a 

significant challenge to ship traffic, the U.S. government’s priorities at this point

were strategic. Of particular concern to Washington D.C. was the threat posed to 

defensive fortifications at the river’s mouth. In 1870 Capt. John A. Darling, Post

Commander at Fort Stevens, wrote to the Chief of Engineers, “The sea still continues

washing away the main land from the points north west and west of the Fort...If it is your

purpose to do anything to check these encroachments of the sea, I would respectfully suggest

that the sooner it is done the better” (Darling 1870). This, more than the reports of 

navigational hazards alone, seemed to capture the attention of the Corps of 

Engineers, whose mandate included the protection of military facilities. Three

months after receiving Darling’s message, the Chief of Engineers authorized $2,000

for repairs to the fort, involving modest revetments to the shoreline. 

These changes were minor, and did little to halt the advance of erosion at Fort

Stevens. The Post Commander’s monthly inspection report two years later, in 

December 1872, sent out an alarm call to Washington D.C., indicating that erosion

had not been contained, and that the winter now underway was likely to materially

undermine the fort: 

“The ocean during the past month has rapidly encroached upon the land of the reserve and

taken away in places so much of the high land that bordered it a month ago that now any

medium severe south west storm with a high tide would raise it over the banks. I estimate the

gain of the ocean upon the land to have been this month about 15 yards...I do not think any

steps are needed at once in regard to oceans encroachment, but it should be a matter of consideration before the coming of another winter” (Office of the Post Commander 1872).

This alert prompted some of the first concerted efforts to develop jetties at the

mouth of the Columbia. Just two months after the Post Commander’s warning, C. S.

Steward, Sr. Level Engineer in the Office of the Board of Engineers for the Pacific

Coast, recommended that the Army’s engineers develop a system of jetties at the

river’s mouth. By Steward’s description, these were to be modest jetties—similar in

construction to those we know today, but on a much smaller scale: 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 210 —
“a few piers or jetties of crib-work, filled with stone, placed at intervals between the point 

of the shore which seems for years to have remained stationary, and that where the greatest

erosion has taken place, extending from the shore line beyond low water mark, might have a

beneficial effect” (Steward 1873).

In spite of Steward’s proposal and apparently some basic design work to configure

these early jetties, no action was taken for another two years. The commanders at

Fort Stevens put out urgent calls to regional headquarters and to Washington D.C.

indicating that Fort Stevens had less than a year before erosion would undermine

the fort and, by extension, American military security at the mouth of the Columbia.

Captain Miller, Commander at Fort Stevens, wrote to the Assistant Adjutant General

of the Department of the Columbia in 1875, 

“The ocean and river have so much encroached upon the reserve the past winter, that I think

it is fully time for the Engineer Department to do something to prevent further damage. I do

not believe the Fort is safe from its encroachments for one whole year from this time. The

river encroachment is a new thing of only the past year” (M.P. Miller 1875).

The response, while imminent, was slow in arriving. In March 1876, nearly a year

after Miller’s urgent letter, Brigadier General and Chief of Engineers, Andrew A.

Humphreys126 ordered a $1,000 appropriation to re-survey the bar once again, in

preparation for a significant revetment project that would protect defensive 

fortifications at the mouth of the river (L. Casey 1876). An appropriation of $10,000

was approved in September for a revetment of brush and heavy rock work on the

river’s southern banks (Elliot 1876). The Engineers also received reports that erosion

threatened the north side of the river at the base of the Cape Disappointment 

lighthouse, though this news did not immediately prompt a response.127

The revetment on the south bank was initially reported successful in decreasing 

erosion and improving preservation of Fort Stevens’ grounds along the waterline

fronting the fort. Construction and surveying continued and, by the end of 1881,

brush jetties extended out about 450 feet from high water mark into the mouth of

the river (R.N. Holt 1881a). The brush revetment was no match for the highest 

tides, though, and was soon breached by the high waters and waves of late 

December, 1881.128

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Concerns regarding erosion became so intense that the Army considered 

abandoning Fort Stevens. Yet the Fort’s commanders and sympathizers were 

compelled to make a case for its retention.129 As part of their case, they stressed 

not only the Fort’s great strategic advantages, but the importance of navigation

shipping safety at the river’s mouth. This case, taken all the way to U.S. Congress,

finally compelled the nation to act in a decisive manner. By 1882, under growing 

political pressure from both the military and the Northwest congressional 

delegation, Congress ordered the Army Engineers to embark on thorough surveys

and to draw up a plan for permanent improvement of the Columbia River bar. 

After considering the voluminous survey data resulting from this multi-year 

investigation, the Board of Engineers proposed the development of a south jetty 

at the mouth of the Columbia. As later summarized by the Chief of Engineers, this

was to be a project of ambitious scale and scope:

“The project for this work contemplated securing and maintaining a navigable channel 30

feet deep across the bar at the mouth of the river by the construction of a high tide jetty 4 1⁄4

miles long the jetty to extend from the shore near Fort Stevens, across Clatsop Spit in a 

westerly direction, curving slightly towards the south to a point about 3 miles south of Cape

Disappointment, and to be provided with four low groins or spurs on the north or channel

side, two of them to be 1000 ft. long, one 600 ft. and the other 500 feet long... The project

was approved 1884 and slightly modified in 1893 and the work was estimated to cost

$3,710,000” (Office of the Chief of Engineers 1899).

Congress authorized the south jetty project in July 1884, and the Secretary of War 

directed that the Post and Military Reservation of Fort Stevens be turned over to the 

Engineer Department for the purpose of facilitating construction (Drumm 1884). 

Assistant Engineer Gustave Hegardt, who served 14 years at the mouth of the 

Columbia, would be responsible for much of the detailed engineering. Work on 

the monumental jetty began in April 1885 and lasted no less than ten years. 

Construction began with the development of supporting facilities at Fort Stevens,

such as construction offices, workshops, and a government wharf where stone from

upriver could be loaded from ship to rail cars. The Army Engineers then constructed

a narrow-gauge railway trestle (or “falsework”) with double tracks into the water,

and gradually extended this line as the project progressed, using a specially designed

pile driver that operated from the end of the completed trestle section. Small steam 

locomotives and a fleet of flat-bed dump cars hauled out building materials, 

principally the rocks that were dumped in a growing line west-by-northwestward 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 212 —
Figure 9.10 – The construction of the south jetty of the Columbia River through the late 1880s and

early 1890s involved the development of a falsework of narrow-gauge railway trestles on pilings, 

extending into the turbulent Columbia River bar. There, huge basalt boulders were dumped over the

side, where they were secured by a network of wooden pilings and fascines made of bundled brush.

Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

into the sea. Large basalt stones for the jetty were quarried roughly 100 miles up the

Columbia and barged down to the wharf at Fort Stevens for transfer to the railway

cars that carried them along the trestle and dumped them over the side. This

method often left the rocks in haphazard placements and the rocks sometimes 

fractured, so that the ocean immediately began to pick the structure apart. Even 

before the jetty was completed, a good deal of effort went into repairs. Not only the

trestle, but the jetty foundation itself, was prepared by driving pilings deep into the

seabed. Fascines—bundles of brushwood 18 feet long and one foot in diameter—

were secured on the sea floor to form a 40-foot-wide “mattress” to minimize 

erosion of the sea bottom on which the jetty would rest. Today’s landscape still 

exhibits many of these structures. Not only the completed jetty, but the old rail 

trestle and other fragmentary infrastructure can be seen on the land, weathered 

by wind and sea for over a century. 

By 1889, less than halfway into the initial construction, the new jetty had noticeable

effects on the configuration of the river’s mouth. As some had predicted, large 

deposits of sand began to build up around the jetty. This was vital to the security of

the jetty, since the sand broke the force of waves that would otherwise damage the

structure. Indeed, the Army Engineers augmented the jetty to retain such deposits,

heightening portions of the jetty and adding four perpendicular rock groins on its

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north side. The south jetty’s extension intensified the river’s scour of the main

channel, so that the depth of that channel, where it transected the river’s bar, 

increased from 20 to 31 feet in depth in the final years of construction. When 

completed in 1895, the south jetty was 90 feet wide across its base, 30 feet high, 

and projected about ten feet above mean low water (Malcolm 2002; Reckendorf, 

et al. 1985: 263).

Figure 9.11 – A map of early changes in the configuration of the shoreline caused by jetty 

construction between 1851 and 1905. During this period, Clatsop Spit formed, significantly extending

the northwestern reach of Point Adams, while Sand Island migrated to the far side of the Columbia

River channel. Image CGS00114, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration.

The project was initially hailed as a success. The bar and channel, while not 

controlled, were at least more predictable, and the value of shipping entering the

river roughly doubled in the decade from the start to finish of the project. However,

the Columbia’s mouth had not stabilized to the degree anticipated, and annual 

surveys beginning in 1897 showed a decrease in channel depth with each passing

year. The Chief of Engineer’s report of operations for November 1899 observed “The

survey of the bar having been completed, a report as to the desirability of continuing this

improvement, with a view of obtaining a channel of 40 feet in depth was submitted under

date of November 6, 1899” (Office of the Chief of Engineers 1899). In March of 1903

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 214 —
the Board of Engineers adopted a new plan, designed to form a secure shipping

channel some 40 feet in depth by extending the south jetty about two and a half

miles further into the sea. The plan also provided for dredging for temporary relief,

“and the construction of a north jetty should this be necessary at some future time.” The 

estimated cost, including the north jetty and dredging, was $3,715,000 (Office of the

Chief of Engineers 1903a).

For the dredging work, the War Department transferred the U.S. transport Grant

to the Engineer Department in 1903, fitting it in San Francisco for use as a dredge 

(Office of the Chief of Engineers 1903b). The ship’s name was changed to the 

Chinook.130 In addition to extending the south jetty and dredging the channel, 

the Corps developed a program to “reclaim” the sandspits at the mouth of the 

Columbia. Control of the blowing and mobile sand was of particular concern,

prompting Army Engineers to reach out to the Department of Agriculture for 

assistance. In a 1902 letter to the Secretary of Agriculture, Captain W.C. 

Langfitt wrote, 

“For experiment on Clatsop Spit, it would seem that Fort Stevens would be the natural

headquarters. As I have a force at work there continuously the necessary labor can be 

furnished by this office. If the seeds or sprouts of the grasses are furnished, with full 

directions for planting, I could have the work done without further aid...I noticed in the daily

papers that a Mr. A.B. Leckenby had been conducting experiments at Clatsop Beach. I wrote

Mr. Leckenby at Eastern Oregon Experiment Station, Union, Oregon, asking results and name

of grass used. He replied that his experiments were successful with the grass Poa Macrantha,

and that he would be glad to help this office so far as he might be able to do so” 

(Langfitt 1902).

In 1903, under the direction of Professor A.V. Stubenrauch, Assistant Horticulturalist

at University of California, a nursery for sand binding grasses was created on the

Fort Stevens military reservation. In part of its initial operations,100 sacks of sandbinding live grasses, roots of the European beach grass (Ammophila arenaria), and

one sack of seed were planted on the Fort Stevens reservation nursery, where the

drifting sands would not cover them. In addition to this, a number of roots were

planted on Clatsop Spit. The intention was to grow large numbers of sand-bearing

plants and transplant them to the spits and in the vicinity of gun emplacements

then under construction (Office of the Chief of Engineers 1903b). These efforts were

guided significantly by prior experiments by A.B. Leckenby, as noted above, who 

— 215 —

Navigating the Bar
Figure 9.12 – The 

construction of 

falsework trestles on

the north jetty, 

adjacent to the base of

Cape Disappointment,

in the 1910s. Photo

courtesy Washington

State Historical 

Society.

had been recruited by the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company to help stabilize

dune areas to facilitate extension of rail lines to Seaside and Gearhart a few years 

before the Fort Stevens effort.131 The Soil Conservation Service would expand 

considerably on these efforts at Fort Stevens as part of a Civilian Conservation 

Corps project three decades later.

Extension of the south jetty continued, using the same rail grade and roughly 

the same construction methods as the original section. The south jetty extension

was completed in 1913, extending the jetty to an impressive, and originally 

unanticipated, total of six and half miles in length. The cost was also of 

unanticipated scale: the south jetty and dredging had achieved a channel depth

through the river’s mouth of 37 feet depth, to the tune of approximately eight 

million dollars. The south jetty alone had cost as much as the Board of Engineers

originally estimated for the construction of both jetties (Roesslar 1905). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 216 —
Figure 9.13 – The rock for the 

Columbia River jetties was 

quarried roughly 100 river miles 

upstream from the construction

site and carried on barges to

wharves on either side of the river.

Here, rock is removed by cranes at

the north jetty wharf on Bakers

Bay, to be loaded onto the narrow

gauge railway that passed through

Fort Canby to the north jetty 

construction site. Photo courtesy

Washington State Historical 

Society.

On the north side of the Columbia, there was growing interest in revetments and

other improvements. During extension of the south jetty in 1913, the channel 

traversing Bakers Bay and providing ship access to Ilwaco, Washington, was dredged

to a depth of 11 feet. Ilwaco businessmen began lobbying for further improvements

that they believed would increase shipping through their small port. In 1916 the

Corps of Engineers made the case that since 1913 shipping had not increased as a 

result of dredging, further improvements could not be justified. The Ilwaco 

Commercial Club successfully petitioned for a hearing before the House of 

Representatives in 1917, but its request for additional improvements was denied

(U.S. Congress 1917). Yet the Army Engineers determined to construct a north jetty

along the lines of their 1903 plan. Anchoring the new jetty near the southwestern

base of Cape Disappointment, the Army Engineers extended the north jetty 

southwestward into the river’s mouth between 1914 and 1917. For a cost of roughly

— 217 —

Navigating the Bar
five million dollars, the privately-owned Daniel Kern’s Columbia Contract Company

built a stone jetty two and a half miles into the river’s mouth. The basic construction

techniques were the same as had been used on the south jetty, including a piling

foundation and the construction of a temporary narrow-gauge rail line on pilings

into the water. Construction offices and workshops were added along the rails, while

a government wharf was constructed on the waterfront of Bakers Bay, where stone

could be loaded from barges to rail cars. 

Hydrographic surveys in 1918 confirmed a minimum depth of 40 feet had been 

attained across the full width of the channel entrance, so that only severe conditions

created the “breakers extending from Cape Disappointment to Point Adams, in one 

unbroken line” as seen by Wilkes some 77 years earlier. Sand began to accumulate

rapidly on the western face of Cape Disappointment, as it had along the south jetty.

Here, this process soon connected the land to Peacock Spit with level sand deposits

and turning McKenzie Head into a hill instead of a rocky headland—developing

broad sandy beaches south and also north of North Head. Together, these processes

produced the entire level, sandy area now occupied by camping facilities and used as

a recreational beach in the modern Cape Disappointment State Park. Indeed, sand

redirected by the change in channel configuration was deposited along the coast on

both sides of the mouth, augmenting the width of the ocean beach for several miles

north and south of the river (Columbia River Channel Coalition 2012a; Carlson, et al.

1991; Dicken et al. 1961; Elliott 1917).

In 1938-39, an additional half-mile long jetty, dubbed “Jetty A,” was constructed

just inland of the mouth on the Washington side, extending from the southeast base

of Cape Disappointment south-southeastward into the river’s mouth. This final

major jetty project helped to stabilize the river channels, especially the narrow

channel extending to Fort Canby and Ilwaco, while also providing those locations

with modest protection from surf during storm conditions. Yet the geographical

outcomes of these structural changes were complex. For example, Sand Island—

observed to be in motion by the Coast Survey in 1850—settled roughly a half mile

offshore from Cape Disappointment by 1917, protected there by the new jetties’ 

configuration, though the island had been located formerly on the south side of the

deep water channel and connected at very low water to Point Adams, near Fort

Stevens. For this reason Sand Island remains a political part of the State of Oregon,

though it has gradually come to be connected to Cape Disappointment (Columbia

River Channel Coalition 2012a; Elliott 1917: 233).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 218 —
Figure 9.14 – An aerial photograph of Cape Disappointment, showing the sand that rapidly 

accumulated on the northwest side of the north jetty after its completion in 1917. The new beach 

became a centerpiece of the state park, occupied in part by campsites and popular for 

beachcombing. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

When the north and south jetties were completed in the early 20th century, they

contained nine million tons of rock and were at the time the largest jetties on earth.

They made it possible for the biggest ships then operating in the Pacific to cross the

Columbia bar at all stages of the tide and in all but the worst weather. They have 

required frequent maintenance to maintain their structural integrity (which may

have reduced their architectural integrity as “historical structures.”)132 As the

Northwestern economy and the size of ships have grown, the channel across the 

Columbia bar has been dredged repeatedly, making the channel deeper. The 

Columbia-Pacific’s larger ships—those that now transport bulk cargo and 

containers containing electronics, cars, clothing, and various other consumer

goods—have drafts of up to 45 feet. In recent times, the Corps of Engineers and 

six Oregon and Washington ports collaborated on the Columbia River Channel 

Improvements Project to deepen the navigation channel between the ocean and

Portland and Vancouver, increasing its depth from 40 to 43 feet. Today the Columbia

River bars main channel is vast and placid by the standards of early mariners —

approximately three miles wide and six miles long, with an entrance channel some

2,640 feet wide and some 55 feet deep. While not failsafe, these channel 

— 219 —

Navigating the Bar
improvements, plus the advent of modern boats, navigational capacities, and

weather prediction facilities, have in recent times made accidents comparatively

rare (Columbia River Channel Coalition 2012b; Columbia River Bar Pilots 2010).133

Clearly, the lighthouses, life-saving stations, and other navigational supports at the

Columbia River’s mouth were critical in the history and development not only of 

the Columbia-Pacific region, but of the Portland metropolitan area and the larger

Columbia Basin. Along with dredging and the construction of two jetties, these 

developments allowed even the largest ships operating in the Pacific to cross the

river bar, even in poor weather and at every tidal stage. Lighthouses and lightships,

evocative and often romanticized as part of the coast’s larger history, have been

particularly central to historic preservation efforts. Both lighthouses in the Cape

Disappointment Historic District are still among the 500 active (though automated)

lights along U.S. coastlines. Few places can also supply a more dramatic view of

ships crossing a river bar than can the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse, which is

accessible by means of a trail following an old road to the light. Although not in the

historic district, the Coast Guard’s station on the cape still holds a preeminent role

in maritime lifesaving efforts, mainly because of its position alongside a perilous

shipping channel of regional significance and national reputation.134

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 220 —
 /4,+2&02/4!,02/'(341#40,3

Landscapes of Militarization the Lower Columbia

hough the Columbia-Pacific region has not, at the time of this writing,

experienced a war on its soil, the region’s coastlines have been shaped by

military concerns. Like many west coast ports, the Columbia’s mouth

holds the enviable position of possessing fine forts dating from the Civil War

through World War II, but almost never having used them in battle. Almost the

entirety of Cape Disappointment and Fort Columbia State Parks in Washington

and Fort Stevens State Park in Oregon were occupied for military purposes. 

They have a military history of such depth and complexity that it can only be

summarized here. Fortuitously, the former forts are the subject of such a 

characteristically rich written military record, and possess their own skilled 

interpreters and museums, that readers curious about this history can dig much

deeper into the subject independent of this document. 

Perched on three coastal landmarks, these forts experienced three bursts of 

fortification, with long and quiet intervals between. The forts were also 

stationed during four major wars: the Civil War, Spanish-American War, World

War I and World War II. The first three had Pacific theaters, sometimes 

overlooked in conventional and abbreviated histories. While generally small,

these conflicts contributed to a growing perception of the Pacific as a place of

strategic complexity and vulnerability. Troops guarded and mined the harbors,

making a very dangerous river bar even more dangerous for ships that might

threaten American interests. There they presented a defensive “triangle of

fire”—similar to what was developed on the entrance to Puget Sound at Forts

Casey, Worden and Flagler, as well as at American ports at San Francisco, San

Diego, and other sites around the nation in the 19th and early 20th centuries. The

Army trained soldiers during these times as well, in response to broader national

military needs. The militarization of the Columbia-Pacific region came to a 

dramatic finale in World War II, when the Pacific theater provided the first 

credible threat to coastal communities in modern times, prompting a redoubling

of military infrastructure and a mobilization of even the coast’s civilian

— 221 —
residents to aid in the country’s defense. Declared surplus almost immediately 

upon that war’s conclusion, the forts now sit idle, serving as prominent objects of

historical interpretation and curiosity in three state parks.

Ironically, the most dramatic battles in the historical record tied to these military

lands arguably predate acquisition by the United States. As noted elsewhere in this

document, a gunship of the Hudson’s Bay Company leveled the main Clatsop village

situated in the middle of what became Fort Stevens. This occurred in 1829, in 

retaliation for the false rumors that the Clatsop had killed survivors of the William &

Ann, a British ship wrecked on the beaches nearby. Fortifications of the site also

have deeper precedents. Perhaps as an outcome of the HBC bombardment, the 

Clatsop people built their own defensive palisade around the village, “made of thick

planks and joists, about fifteen feet in length, set with one end in the ground” as it was 

described by Wilkes in 1841 (Wilkes 1845 [4]: 322-23). 

As a young nation borne of military conflict with the great naval superpower of

Britain, the United States began to fortify its coastlines early in its history, 

beginning as soon as 1794. Each part of the nation placed in national control was

promptly fortified, and the Northwest was no exception. The defensive posture of

the United States was quite tentative, with the Oregon Treaty having resolved the

question of international boundaries with Canada only five and a half years before,

and with the British Hudson’s Bay Company still moving its operations north of that

new border. In this context, President Millard Fillmore approved a proposal by his

Secretary of War, Charles M. Conrad, and a “joint committee for the examination of

the Pacific coast” on February 26th of 1852, calling for the development of military

forts at the mouth of the Columbia River. They were to include “Cape Disappointment,

at the northern side of the mouth of the Columbia River, Oregon, to include all the land lying

within one and a half miles of the southern point of the cape [and] Point Adams, at the

southern side of the mouth of the Columbia River, to include all the land lying within one

and a half miles of the northernmost part of the point” (Conrad 1852).135

At the time of Fillmore’s order, only seven years had passed since British spies,

Warre and Vavasour, proposed using Point Adams, Cape Disappointment and Tongue

Point as fortified strongholds in a possible war to expel the Americans and defend

the interests of Britain and its Hudson’s Bay Company. The boundary remained

tense. Boundary commissions continued to meet through the late 1850s to negotiate

the configuration of the international border through the waters of Washington and

British Columbia. Amidst all this, the “Pig War” erupted in the San Juan Islands of

Washington in 1859, resulting in a bloodless standoff between American and British

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 222 —
troops over claims to those islands, still commemorated today at San Juan Island

National Historical Park. The continued presence of British military vessels in the

harbor at Victoria also gave pause to the fledgling American settlements on the 

Columbia, not to mention the U.S. military commanders stationed at what had 

recently been the British stronghold of Fort Vancouver. Observing the unsteady 

situation in the Puget Sound region, Oregon Department commander Colonel George

Wright sent out an alert to Lt. General Winfield Scott, who had helped broker a

peaceful outcome to the Pig War and was tracking the Northwest’s international 

situation with much interest: 

“Our whole littoral frontier is without a gun for its defense...our main artery, the great 

Columbia river, navigable for steamships one hundred and fifty miles from its mouth, with

many thriving towns on its banks, the military post of Fort Vancouver, the arsenal, and the

beautiful city of Portland, at the head of steamship navigation, on the Willamette, all are at

the mercy of a single hostile steamer. This state of things demands the immediate and 

serious attention of the government” (in U.S. Secretary of War 1860; 428-29).

The area’s remoteness, however, continued to stall appropriations. Despite 

President Millard Filmore’s 1852 order, ten years elapsed before Congress approved a 

fortification bill in 1862, setting aside an impressive $100,000 to be put toward 

defenses at the mouth of the Columbia River. The Civil War had intensified their 

interests in Northwestern defense in the way that a few straggling British loyalists

could not. The British, whose navy still plied the Pacific from Victoria and other west

coast ports, maintained a strained diplomatic relationship with the United States

and significant financial interests in the plantation economies of the American

South. British intervention on the side of the Confederacy was seen as a 

legitimate threat. 

Furthermore, the wartime allegiances of the Northwest were known to be 

ambiguous, with so many settlers arriving from both Confederate and Union States

to this distant and insular outpost. And, as a largely undefended Union state, Oregon

was deemed of strategic importance in part due to the recent discovery of gold in the

southern and interior parts of Oregon, as well as Idaho, and other parts of the West.

Accordingly, there was growing concern about Confederate privateers, who were 

beginning to raid the commercial ships of Union supporters to win cargoes and

funds to support the South’s war effort—a sort of wartime piracy with a long and

venerable history within European military tradition. There were widely publicized

(and perhaps exaggerated) examples of Confederate efforts to secure gold and silver

— 223 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
leaving the California coast in the course of raids on west coast ships. Indeed, the

Union newspapers of the time spread word of a plot by Confederate sympathizers to

hijack the Shubrick—reported to have been the first steamship to travel up the Lewis

and Clark River in Oregon—that was foiled when written plans of the attack were

captured by the North. San Francisco, the strategic heart of the gold country, set to

fortifying its own harbor (Ironically, Confederate President Jefferson Davis had been

a rare voice of support for the fortification of the Columbia River mouth in the 1850s,

prior to departing from his role as United States Secretary of War under President

Franklin Pierce.)136 Meanwhile, the mouth of the Columbia remained all but 

undefended with the Americans’ small military presence concentrated upriver,

strategically oriented toward the Indian wars that rocked the Northwestern interior

rather than the international threats of the coast. The prospect of Confederate 

collaboration with the British, who maintained a formidable naval presence on 

the Northwest coast of North America, was simply too much for American 

military commanders, or Congress, to bear (McArthur 2012; Winks 1999: 162-63;

Gillette 1900a, n.d.). 

With the 1862 congressional appropriation, the Army Engineers were promptly 

dispatched to begin plans for fortifying the Columbia River mouth. Their decision

regarding fort location was not an especially difficult one. When considering the 

opportunities for the development of future defensive structures through the first

half of the 19th century, both American and British officials identified Point Adams

and Cape Disappointment as likely places for such facilities. In fact, reviewing the

historical record of the area, historian James Ronda (2001: 111) concluded “Virtually

every explorer, traveler, and military observer who visited the mouth of the Columbia noted

the strategic importance of Point Adams and Cape Disappointment for the defense of the

Western United States.” Engineers with the U.S. Corps of Topographical Engineers 

ultimately selected three sites for the new fortifications at the river’s mouth: Cape

Disappointment and Chinook Point in Washington, and Point Adams on the 

Oregon side. 

To begin, fort construction was planned for both sides of the river, in part because of

the limited range of artillery at the time. Construction began by 1863, with Captain

George Elliott overseeing construction of the “Fort at Cape Disappointment” (later

renamed Fort Canby) and the “Fort at Point Adams” (later renamed Fort Stevens).

The plans of Elliott and the Army Engineers reflected the military planning 

fundamentals of the time. During the Civil War, when the Columbia-Pacific was

being militarized for the first time, fort design was evolving rapidly, reflecting a

rapid pace of change in the nation’s coastal defense strategy. Tall masonry 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 224 —
structures with tower-mounted guns became obsolete with the rising caliber and 

accuracy of gunboat weaponry, including the accurate and powerful rifled guns, so

that forts were replaced by heavy earthworks with gun emplacements. Earthen forts

proved to be more resistant to canon fire than their masonry predecessors, and were

easier to build and repair. Most of the earthwork forts of the mid-19th century were

built hastily and inexpensively during the Civil War period (but would be virtually

abandoned by the mid-1880s when they were falling into disrepair and were 

themselves made obsolete by improved warship technologies). The two sites 

initially chosen to guard the Columbia River’s entrance (Fort Canby and Fort

Stevens) reflected the haste in which fortifications could be erected during the 

Civil War period, and were soon replaced with more elaborate and modern 

fortifications (Hansen 1997). 

Receiving from his superiors the approval to proceed, Elliott stationed himself on

Cape Disappointment to oversee development of the fort on the southern tip of the

cape, on lands reserved for military status that encompassed the recently completed

Cape Disappointment Lighthouse. Considered to be the most important of the three

sites to fortify, with its commanding position above the river’s mouth, Cape 

Disappointment was the first of the forts to be developed. Through 1863-64, Army

Engineers raised earthworks on the ridge tops of the Cape Disappointment 

headland, forming three distinct, if small, gun batteries: the “Tower” (or Right),

Center, and Left Batteries. Initially thought to be temporary, these earthworks 

persisted for many years to come. Within the protection of these earthworks, they

installed Rodman cannons behind parapets. Yet finding that the Rodman cannons

were difficult to fire accurately at the downward angle required from the cape, the

Army experimented with alternatives, ultimately adding Parrott smoothbore 

cannons to the artillery array. Wood-framed garrison buildings, including enlisted

and officers’ quarters, were constructed below, fronting the water at Bakers Bay and

nearby Lake O’Neil. Finally, Company A of the 9th U.S. infantry under the command

of Captain William Jordan, formerly based at Fort Vancouver, was dispatched to 

occupy both forts. Cape Disappointment was the first fort activated, with Jordan and

his men commencing operations in April of 1866 (Hanpf 1980; Hussey 1957).137

At Fort Stevens, construction on earthwork fortifications was also underway by 1863,

but was somewhat lower in priority for the Engineers, who were competing for labor

with the lure of the gold fields (indeed, the gold fields, plus the tedium of occupying

a fort so far from the front, proved an obstacle to retaining military recruits for years 

— 225 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Figure 10.1 – The earliest gun installations at the Fort at Cape Disappointment, as they appeared in

1864 – the gun mounts pointing downward over a low earthwork, reflecting the cliff-top position of

the fortifications. The Rodman cannons mounted in 1864 were augmented in 1866 with Parrott

smoothbore cannons on their southeast side, due to the difficulty of firing at this odd angle with the

former weapons. Firing of the cannons was kept to a minimum, because of the effects of the blast on

sensitive lighthouse equipment, windows, and lenses. From War Department, Fourth Army and

Western Defense Command; Coast Defenses of the Columbia. (03/17/1941 - 1946) – National

Archives and Records Administration. 

to come). First, Elliot found he had to clear the land of its prior occupants. In 

occupying both sites, but especially Fort Stevens, the military was confronted with

the unusual appeal and strategic importance of the locations. By the time of 

construction, a number of officially sanctioned settlers, and a few “squatters”, 

occupied lands on both fort sites. On Cape Disappointment were Elijah White and

James Holman—introduced earlier in this document, though the fort ultimately 

included portions of Donation Land Claims filed by James Cameron and E.G. Loomis

as well. All lost their lands in whole or in part. Across the river, Frederick G.

Schwatka was still processing his family’s Donation Land Claim to much of Point

Adams as military officers asked him to leave. Adjacent Donation Land Claim owners

B.C. Kindred and W.W. Raymond also lost large tracts of land.138 Some portion of 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 226 —
Figure 10.2 – Fort Canby, ca. 1890s. Like all three forts, Fort Canby housed a number of woodframed garrison structures sitting a short distance from the gun batteries. At Fort Canby, these 

buildings occupied the lowlands along Bakers Bay and Lake O’Neil. Photo courtesy Washington 

State Historical Society. 

these settlers—including Schwatka and Holman—would later seek financial 

compensation from the United States government for their losses, but 

compensation came late when it came at all (Penner 1998; U.S. Senate 1878, 1877). 

Yet this reoccupation had even more disruptive effects. While early non-Native 

settlement was ephemeral, these forts displaced sizeable Native communities from

their traditional lands. By the time Elliott initiated fort construction, there were still

perhaps 160 permanent residents of the village at Point Adams, though the 

population swelled to many times that during social events, trade, and peak salmon

fishing in the Columbia (Frost 1934). Decades later, Native elders from adjacent

tribes recalled that the Point Adams village continued to bustle until the moment

fort construction began: “[they] used to go there and have a big time and all go but ‘the

fort got that!’“ (Harrington n.d.: 386). Though the Clatsop people had been promised

the lands of Cape Adams in their treaty over a decade earlier, the treaty had not been

ratified and was superseded by (and perhaps because of) Fillmore’s order. Elliott

pressured the Clatsops of the Point to abandon their ancient village site. After some

initial resistance, the Clatsops living there —now under the leadership of Coboway’s

nephew, Chief Tostom—relented, agreeing to move to an alternative location some

— 227 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
distance up the Skipanon River drainage. Elliott had many words of praise for

Tostom and the Clatsops, who did not openly resist the development of the fort,

which was built almost directly atop their former village and occupying traditional

gathering sites and burial grounds. At the conclusion of their construction of Fort

Stevens, Elliott wrote an open letter of endorsement of Tostom for his peaceful 

departure from the site:

“[Tostom,] chief of the Clatsop Indians has lived for many years at Point Adams, and his 

ancestors, his children and many of his tribe are buried here. He has an excellent reputation

at the Mouth of the Columbia and while constructing the works here he has given me no

trouble and has been entirely quiet and honorable” (Elliott 1867). 

Tostom and his people continued to live on the periphery of the fort, their numbers

in the Warrenton area shrinking with time as the fort continued to grow. Still, the

forts would always be of interest to the tribes and to the other people who crowded

so near the rivers’ mouth. In this light, one can see that, through their entire history

of operations, the forts competed for space and with abutting uses. For example,

military personnel were forced to maneuver around lighthouses with fragile 

instrumentation and glass lenses that did not respond well to cannon fire, were

pulled inadvertently into shipwreck rescues, and were partially isolated from the 

sea by the extension of jetties and other navigational aids. 

The lands cleared of their prior occupants, Elliott was able to proceed with the 

development of the fort. It featured a single triangle-shaped Vauban earthwork,

largely flat and featureless on its interior, designed to give protection to troops and

artillery under siege and to provide clear lines of fire along the exterior walls in the

event of a ground assault. The entire earthwork was encircled by a moat, which

could be crossed by drawbridge to the “sallyport” entrance in the earthwork’s 

exterior wall. Stone walkways linked gun emplacements inside the structure, while

also leading to wooden garrison buildings outside the fortifications. Though Fort

Stevens was not yet armed with cannons by November of 1864, the earthworks were

in place. At that time, General Benjamin Alvord, District of Oregon Commander, 

directed Captain Jordan at Cape Disappointment to dispatch an officer and ten men

to the new fort to guard against a possible escalation of Confederate military efforts

“if at the ensuing election Mr. Lincoln is reelected” (quoted in Hanft 1964: 345). 

Construction continued until 1865, even as the fort was occupied. At the time, some

29 platforms were ready to mount artillery around the fort’s perimeter. Rodman

cannons and 200-pounder Parrott “rifles” were installed at these mounts on the 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 228 —
Figure 10.3 – A portion of the original 1860s plans for the Fort Stevens earthwork. From War 

Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command, Coast Defenses of the Columbia

(03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and Records Administration.

earthwork walls, and munitions structures and other buildings were added beside

these emplacements. A portent of things to come, a number of buildings at the

fort—a residential building, a stable, a blacksmith shop and storage space—were 

retained on site for the future use of Army engineers (Hansen 1997; Hanft 1980,

1964). As later described by Julia Gilliss, wife of Captain James Gilliss, it was “a 

beautiful little earthwork bristling with guns and near as a model, the gravel walks as 

precise and the grass as green as if they knew they were supposed to do their best” (Gilliss

1866). The fort was christened in honor of Isaac Ingalls Stevens, former Washington

Territorial Governor and Congressman who had been killed in the battle of Chantilly

in September of 1862. He had negotiated many of the treaties with tribes in what 

became Washington State, including treaties that shaped the future status of the

Chinook and others tribes with ties to the Columbia-Pacific region (Hazard 1952).

— 229 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Figure 10.4 – The “Sallyport” entrance into Fort Stevens’ Civil War-era earthworks. Image courtesy

Oregon Historical Society. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 230 —
In spite of considerable national dread regarding the possibility of a “Pacific 

front” emerging in the Civil War, a Pacific theater never fully developed. What did

materialize were a few, largely abortive Confederate efforts to raid Union 

commercial craft,and no part of that intrigue found its way to the ColumbiaPacific region. Since no foreign powers posed a credible threat to the region at 

the conclusion of the Civil War period, Fort Stevens and the Fort at Cape 

Disappointment (like others erected for coastal defense by the American military)

received no further upgrades to armaments for the next two decades or more

(Hansen 1997: 7-8). Instead, periodic appropriations were paid to modestly expand

support facilities at both forts that had not been included in the hasty construction

of either facility. With the advent of heavily armored warships and more powerful

weapons of the 1870s, earthen forts of the previous decade no longer served as 

deterrents, and the forts at Cape Disappointment and Point Adams were no 

exception. Within a decade of the Civil War’s conclusion, they could have been

passed easily, with the cities beyond them being vulnerable to attack (Berhow 1999). 

While neither installation could fend off the most modern of contemporary sea

power, they presented an attractive appearance and a modest military deterrent. 

As noted elsewhere in this document, they were of some use to ships in distress, 

serving as lookouts and the venue for mobilizing ocean rescue efforts, especially in

the years before the establishment of a lifesaving station at Cape Disappointment in

1877. It was also during this period that the name “Fort Canby” was applied to the

fort at Cape Disappointment, through an order from Army command at the 

Department of the Columbia in Vancouver. This came as a tribute to the only 

American general killed in the various nineteenth century Indian conflicts, E.R.S.

Canby, who died in the Modoc War on April 11, 1873, an event still commemorated 

at Lava Beds National Monument on the California side of its border with Oregon.139

The growing obsolescence of these forts was compounded by other, natural forces.

The harbor defenses, Fort Stevens in particular, occupied a uniquely changing 

environment, where shifting sands would threaten to undermine military forts, 

only to accumulate in a way that certain gun batteries were partially landlocked and

in need of replacement. As noted earlier, Fort Stevens’ commanders reported 

concerns as early as 1870 that the fort was undermined by erosion of Point Adams.

By 1875, there were warnings that the entire structure was about to be undermined

by the erosion, prompting construction of a small jetty. The jetty failed and by the

beginning of the 1880s, some in the military hierarchy considered decommissioning

the fort. Congress responded by approving the survey and development of the first

jetty on the Columbia. 

— 231 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Between 1884 and 1898, with no military actions anticipated in the region, the Army

Corps of Engineers effectively took over operations at Fort Stevens and used the 

fort and its facilities as a base for building the south jetty and making other 

improvements to the Columbia River channel, both to protect the fort and to aid 

the safe passage of ships across the Columbia River bar. Even when the fort was 

reactivated for military use in 1898, a Chief Engineer’s residence was constructed on

the fort site, somewhat east of the Civil war fortifications, allowing continued 

operations of engineering efforts in spite of military reoccupation of the facility. 

Other environmental challenges also arose. Blowing sand and salt spray quickly 

corroded facilities, expediting their obsolescence (In today’s parks, signs warn 

visitors to steer clear of certain parts of the forts, termed “ruins,” for safety’s sake,

reflecting the advanced state of decay that has taken hold of the old forts.) By the

time the fort was reoccupied for military use, sand had accreted so much to the west

along the new jetty that Fort Stevens no longer possessed a commanding view—or

firing range—into the Pacific entrance of the bar. It sat increasingly landlocked from

open waters.140 While the probability of enemy fire was slim in this period, Fort

Stevens sat at a decided strategic disadvantage. Lying beyond the range of artillery at

Fort Stevens, enemy warships that ventured into the mouth of the Columbia could

have put understaffed Fort Canby out of action without much difficulty or risk

(Berhow 1999; Hansen 1997; Hussey 1957).

The Endicott Program and Redevelopment of the Columbia 

Harbor Defenses

Reconstruction after the Civil War had cast such a shadow over the appropriations

process in Congress that it took 20 years after Appomattox for a President to appoint

a board to evaluate proposals for new defenses. As Civil War battlements began

falling into disrepair across the nation, however, President Grover Cleveland 

appointed his Secretary of War, William C. Endicott, to chair a board composed of

military and civilian representatives popularly known as the “Endicott Program.”

Reflecting the growing international strength and ambitions of the nation, this new

federal initiative sought to upgrade coastal forts. It sought to provide the United

States with the most advanced coastal defenses in the world (and to improve the

American Navy’s offensive capabilities). The Endicott board’s report of 1886 

recommended a $127 million construction program that would take more than two

decades to implement. 141

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 232 —
Of the 27 harbors proposed for refortification in their report, only three West coast

ports were included: the three forts at the entrance of the Columbia. However, the

Columbia forts placed eighteenth among national priorities for proposed harbor 

defense systems. In the board’s estimation, the region did not warrant higher 

prioritization as it was simply too remote, not only from the population centers of

the nation but from anticipated theaters of military action in Europe and beyond.

The Endicott list was used to prioritize federal military expenditures, leaving the

lower Columbia waiting for funding that arrived more slowly and in smaller 

quantities than some West coast commanders would hope or anticipate. In the case

of the Columbia River harbor defense, Army planners determined that Fort Stevens

would become the central facility and headquarters of the new defenses, to be 

reinforced by Fort Canby on Cape Disappointment and a new post on Chinook Point.

In spite of its challenges, Fort Stevens benefitted from its relatively large and level

grounds, as well as an imminent direct rail link to the transcontinental railroads,

which neither of the other posts possessed. 142 While the plans for the ColumbiaPacific defenses were modest by national standards, they dwarfed anything 

considered previously on the coast, and revolutionized the configuration of all lower

Columbia forts. Plans included a mix of multiple batteries with mounted guns on

“disappearing” carriages, a system of harbor mines that could be fired electronically

by cables, and an elaborate complex of supporting facilities on either side of the

river (Hansen 1997). 

While the vision of the Endicott plan was ambitious, in practice its implementation

was slow, proceeding down the original list in order of national priority. Lodged in

eighteenth place, Fort Stevens’ fortifications did not begin until August 1896, with

construction beginning at Chinook Point in March 1897. And not until 1904 did 

construction start at Fort Canby. The work, which prioritized Fort Stevens, but also

resulted in the first military structures at Fort Columbia, began under the direction

of Captain Walter L. Fisk. Fisk worked from plans drawn by the Army Board of 

Engineers, but with some modifications made in response to local conditions. The

cost of arming all three sites during the phase of construction approached 3 million

dollars (Hansen 1997; Hanft 1980, 1964).

While proposals for Columbia River fort redevelopment and redeployment had been

on the books for years, international events added pressures to militarize the coast.

While the “close” of America’s Western frontier in 1890 brought some consolidation

and reduction in the 65 existing military posts, especially in the nation’s interior,

the Army’s growth less than a decade later focused especially on improvements in

coastal defense. National defense was increasingly conceived of in global terms. If

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
the coasts were drawing more attention, the Pacific was growing in its strategic 

importance in the run-up to the 1898 Spanish-American War. In this conflict, 

which included a Pacific front, the United States saw military action in Cuba and

Puerto Rico. Moreover, by 1898, the U.S. was publicly and actively involved in the

revolutionary wars of the Philippines, seeking to aid insurrections against (and to

ultimately supplant) the Spanish colonial government. Conflicts with Spanish, but

also German, naval forces in the Pacific islands culminated in naval battles in

Manila, drawing the United States into the Philippine-American War through 1902,

and beginning almost a half century of American occupation of the Philippine island

chain. To add to the complexity of America’s security posture in the Pacific, gold

seekers were now rushing into the Klondike gold fields, placing the United States at

odds with Britain over the matter of boundary lines between British Columbia and

Alaska. This struggle continued through the late 1890s. The U.S. Army grew from

roughly 25,000 to an average of 65,000 over the course of the Spanish-American

War, a number that held steady until the first rumblings of World War I. In part due

to these events, and in part due to the Endicott refortification of the coast, Fort

Stevens was reactivated in 1898. Active-duty military forces supplanting some 

portion of the engineering staff that had maintained the base since the mid-1880s.

Construction at the Columbia River forts came from standardized plans developed

and deployed around the nation at a time when the Army mobilized for the SpanishAmerican War. Key to the new forts was the “disappearing gun carriage,” an 

innovation developed by Army officers in 1894. This new technology formed the 

crux of the American seacoast defense system until World War I. Instead of being

mounted atop earthworks, guns on this type were mounted on a concrete 

foundation, nestled into a protective contour of earth, so that the crews servicing

the weapon would remain hidden from the fire of enemy ships. A two-story 

concrete wall was built into this protective contour, so that guns could be loaded in

safety and then raised to fire above the wall through the use of hydraulics, a 

counterweight and long levers. The upper levels of these forts held gun carriages 

behind a protective wall, with the lower story having space for ammunition 

magazines and other supporting facilities. Extended levers holding the cannon 

could raise the gun to fire above the wall. When fired, the gun—secured by chains or

cables linked to ring wall mounts, many of which are still visible in the coastal 

batteries today—recoiled and could be instantly dropped out of view. In this way, the

gun emplacements were designed (using a principle called the “horizontal crest”) to

conceal the guns, and indeed the entire fort, from the view of enemy ships so that

the disappearing gun’s location was not clear from offshore even at the height of

combat (Hansen 1997: 8-10). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 234 —
Depending upon local conditions and military necessity, weaponry such as 

disappearing guns could also be complemented by large mortars or rapid fire guns in

fixed positions. Between 1891 and 1903, guns in American seacoast defenses of the 

Endicott period ranged in caliber from three to twelve inches, while featuring several

different types of fixed position mounts or carriages. With a firing range of seven 

to nine miles, these weapons supplemented the strategically and structurally 

dominant disappearing carriages. While Fort Stevens, for example, would possess

five batteries with disappearing guns in two-story concrete batteries by 1903, it also

had guns capable of firing from four different types of fixed carriages. A smaller

number of disappearing guns overshadowed fortifications at Cape Disappointment

and Chinook Point, while by October of 1900, the latter also boasted three rapid-fire

fixed guns in a battery placed behind a two story concrete “masking parapet” (Hanft

1980; Hussey 1967).

“Fire control” structures were also built in association with the battery complexes at

this time. These served as lookout stations of a sort, identifying the precise location

of enemy craft and calling in firing positions to the gun batteries. (At Fort Stevens,

both military efficiency and a rapidly changing dune landscape ultimately prompted

the consolidation of small fire control stations into a single facility for all fort 

batteries, located on a sand hill with commanding views near Battery Russell,

dubbed “Fire Control Hill”). These fire control structures were also used to operate

harbor mines, allowing personnel to observe the planting process and fix the 

location of each mine, but also to track the position of enemy ships when mines

might be detonated. Only during wartime (such as the short-lived conflict with

Spain in 1898, and during the two world wars) were mines actively deployed. 

Meanwhile, at all three facilities, many of the garrison structures, including 

enlisted barracks, officers’ quarters, and supporting facilities, consisted of 

simplified wood-frame Queen Anne-style buildings erected from standardized

Quartermaster Corps plans used at a number of other installations, including 

those on Puget Sound (Lingo 2008; Bethow 1999; Hussey 1957).

The advent of effectively producing and transmitting electricity gave harbor 

defenses of the Endicott period capabilities not anticipated even a few years prior to

the development of the Columbia River defenses. Ammunition hoists—still visible

throughout the batteries of the three forts from this period—could be electrically

powered from munitions storage rooms below. So too, underwater mines could be

fired with electrical fuse systems. A member of the Board of Engineers, Henry L. 

Abbott, published the first manuals on the use of mines (either sitting on the 

bottom or buoyant) that could be fired electrically through a system of underwater 

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Figure 10.5 – The construction of Fort Stevens’ West Battery and associated fortifications between

1897 and 1900 involved the development of wooden molds and metal revetments for its extensive

concrete walls, as well as the creation of a “parados” earthwork to protect the batteries from a

southerly attack. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

cables. These might be set to explode on contact or triggered by an operator. 

The network of cables terminated on shore in structures called mine (or mining)

casemates, usually buried underground. As part of the Endicott program, electrical

mine casemates were constructed at Fort Columbia and Fort Stevens. Critical to the

success of these early installations, then, was dependable electric power. Yet these

coastal fortifications were built in remote locations away from even the most 

primitive transmission lines, necessitating self-contained power plants (as was the

case at many Endicott-era forts). This was true even after commercial electricity 

became available, since the plants could be protected by stout construction and 

secret locations. While most early lighting needs of garrison buildings at the forts

were met with mineral oil, and while coal and wood were commonly used for heat,

the Army constructed power plants at each installation throughout the Endicott era,

supplying almost all of the posts’ needs. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 236 —
Figure 10.6 – The original plans for Fort Stevens, constructed in 1904, show some of the essential 

elements of the “Sewell” style construction that characterized almost all of the gun batteries of 

the Endicott period, including two-story construction with ammunition storage below, and “

disappearing” gun mounts in circular emplacements on the second level. Image courtesy Oregon

Historical Society. 

Specific details of the Endicott-era buildup on the Columbia-Pacific coastline are

impressive in scale and complexity. Clearly, Fort Stevens was the epicenter of 

construction activity in these years, reflecting military decisions at the national level

declaring that facility the core of the Columbia defensive fort system. In 1897, as a

response to the Endicott initiative, Fort Stevens began what was the one definitive

expansion of its 80-year history. This program consisted of constructing eight 

concrete batteries and a large number of supporting facilities. Indeed, a solid 

majority of the structures still visible at Fort Stevens date from this period. By this

time, Clatsop Spit had progressed so far to the west that the entire Columbia River

entrance could not be covered by a single facility, contributing to a decision to divide

defenses between the multi-battery river-front complex and the oceanfront Battery

Russell. Facing the river mouth, a short distance to the west of the original Fort

Stevens, was the West Battery. Completed between 1898 and 1900, the West Battery

consisted of constituent Batteries Walker, Lewis and Mishler, all featuring 10-inch

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
disappearing “rifles.” Walker and Lewis featured guns mounted at conventional 

disappearing carriages,while those at Mischler sat in unique circular pits allowing a

360-degree range field of fire. A steam plant was built concurrently to support the

West Battery, while a parados—a tall defensive earthwork structure hailing from the

same Vauban defensive design tradition of the original Civil War Fort—was placed

on the south side of the West Battery to protect it from attacks from the rear by land

or sea. The West Battery Command Station, sitting behind and above the battery,

was completed in 1899, and by 1911 that station was augmented to include a mine

observation facility. The outlying ocean-facing Battery Russell (1904) had 

disappearing 10-inch guns, similar to those at Batteries Walker and Lewis. Other 

batteries were built in the core facility fronting the Columbia River mouth. Battery

Pratt (1900), featuring 6-inch rifles, and its accompanying command station also

completed in 1900, would later serve as a meteorological station for the entire fort.

Battery Clark (1899), the only mortar battery built at the fort, was fitted with 12-inch

mortars, and an independent command station was constructed nearby. 

Two small-caliber rapid-fire batteries, Smur and Freeman (1902), were added to

protect mine fields located at the mouth of the river, Freeman being built largely on

top of the old Civil War-era Fort Stevens and its earthworks, marking the end of that

facility. Mine loading docks were extended into the river, and a torpedo loading 

facility was added on the eastern edge of the fort by 1900. A central oil-powered

power plant was built by 1910, providing electricity for most purposes in the central

fort, and a coal yard was added for heating buildings. South of the batteries, near

the rail spur entering the fort, were the bakery, commissary and artillery engineer

buildings –all added around 1900. Also built near this entrance was a guardhouse

(1908), a hospital and a mine cable storeroom (both ca. 1910). Non-Commissioned

officers quarters, built in 1907-08, were added south of the original Civil War fort

site, while a men’s dormitory from this period, built in 1911, now houses the park

museum. By the end of this impressive Endicott-era buildup, carried out over a 

12-year period, the majority of the buildings known to modern park visitors 

were in place. 

While Fort Canby did not undergo redevelopment on the same scale, it was 

retooled to contribute to this new era of defense. Massive emplacements holding

disappearing carriages marked a new era at the fort, where the earthworks built 

during the Civil War had, by 1872, been described as “rapidly falling into decay”

(Hussey 1957: 26).143 As at Fort Stevens, during the post-Civil War period the Army

allowed the batteries at Fort Canby to become obsolete (though several older 15-inch

guns at the site were converted to 8-inch rifled bores in 1883, with more converted

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 238 —
in 1890). The facility was largely derelict, so that by 1904 when the Endicott 

reconstruction program finally came to Fort Canby, the business directory for 

Astoria characterized the cape as “formerly [having] a post there, but only [at present]

with a lighthouse and population of 24” (Polk 1904: 232). 

In 1904, Congress finally made an appropriation for the two Washington forts, as

well as allotments in 1907 and 1908 to pay for new barracks and other buildings.144

In August of that year, work began on two of the three batteries that would 

ultimately stand at Fort Canby. The old West Battery was replaced with Battery 

Harvey Allen, housing three 6-inch guns on disappearing carriages, located 

approximately 1,000 feet north of the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse. Also built

in 1906, battery Elijah O’Flyng, with two 6-inch guns in disappearing carriages, 

occupied the site of the old Center Battery, situated about 1,000 feet east of the

lighthouse on the promontory of the cape’s southern tip. At this time, additional

garrison structures were added in the lowlands fronting Lake O’Neil and Bakers Bay,

in addition to the repair and expansion of older garrison buildings (Hussey 1957).

Under the Endicott Program, the nascent military base at Chinook Point was 

developed for the first time. As the Chinook people had appreciated for unknown

generations, the point provided a rare, commanding view of the entire river’s 

entrance, from the open ocean to points far upstream. Military planners determined

that the site would be suitable for the development of gun batteries, producing a

“triangle of fire” across the river’s mouth along with the other two forts. The 

location was also deemed suitable for the development of harbor mining 

infrastructure. Army construction at the site came in two phases. The first 

occurred under the auspices of the Corps of Engineers—beginning in 1896 with the

construction of a wharf and other fundamental infrastructure, and continuing until

fortifications were all but complete at the end of June 1900. These included four gun

batteries, serviced by two power plants, and a mine casemate. The construction 

included two batteries high on the hill near the barracks, treated as a single battery

for operational purposes, and two independent batteries fronting the water at the

base of the point. Midway through this construction, in the summer of 1898, the fort

was largely operational and an 11-man detachment was dispatched to the fort. It was

officially designated as “Fort Columbia” one year later. At Fort Columbia, the 

naming of batteries all occurred as a result of one general order of 1904, with the

first two, linked batteries completed in 1898 being named “Battery Ord,” numbers

one and two, for Jules Ord, a first lieutenant killed on San Juan Hill, Cuba, during the

Spanish American War. (In 1906, the Army designated a single outlying gun as 

“Battery Ord #3.”) The disappearing gun battery completed in 1900 and located

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Empires of the Turning Tide
closer to shore became known as “Battery Murphy,” after a captain killed in the

Philippines that year. The battery consisting of three fixed guns, also completed in

1900, took the name “Battery Crenshaw” after another captain who died of his

wounds in the Philippines that year (Hussey 1967; Meaney 1937).

Housing and other facilities at Fort Columbia were inadequate to house a full 

detachment. Although the military reserve was large, the Engineers determined 

it had to be expanded beyond its original footprint, in part to accommodate the 

development of new structures, but also to secure a sufficient water supply for the

growing fort. Some 33 acres was secured from the public domain, and an additional

53 from the Northern Pacific Railroad. By 1900, the Corps of Engineers launched a

second phase of construction on the expanded reserve, involving the building of

plank roads, water reservoirs, pipelines and other utilities, as well as 14 buildings

that included a hospital, an administration building, four different types of quarters

for officers and noncommissioned staff coordinated through the Quartermaster

General’s Office, a guard house, bakery, stable, work shop, store house and oil 

storage. Soon thereafter, the Army Engineers added a post exchange building 

(including a bowling alley), a gymnasium, and separate store houses for wagons,

ordnance, mines and other items. The steep topography of Fort Columbia meant

that only 25 acres (of the 729 acres in the military reservation) were suitable for

building any kind of structure, so the post lacked components such as a parade

ground, target range and cemetery, which were relegated to the other forts. The first

permanent garrison, an artillery company, was reassigned from Fort Canby to Fort

Columbia in 1903. Totaling roughly 100 men and four officers, the approximate size

of the garrison into World War I, they arrived just as the forts’ first and most 

substantial period of construction drew to a close. They activated the mine 

casemate, began training in the new gun batteries, and settled into the new 

residential buildings of the fort. 

Almost immediately, construction resumed. The original 1898 mine casemate

proved to be exceedingly damp and uncomfortable. It was abandoned by 1907, but

a need for generating equipment and switching devices led the Army Corps of 

Engineers to build a new mine casemate, located further west from the batteries and

just behind the rock outcropping on Chinook Point. It was completed in 1911, at the

same time the commanders’ station for Fort Ord was moved from its position 

upslope from the battery into a combined fire station facility alongside (Beerhow

1999; Hussey1967; Meaney 1937).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 240 —
In the midst of these ambitious construction projects, new directives regarding

methods of military construction arrived from Washington, D.C. In 1905 President

Theodore Roosevelt convened a board chaired by his Secretary of War William

Howard Taft, intending to provide an update to the Endicott report. Most of the Taft

Board’s recommendations were technical, though they gave impetus to adding

searchlights as part of an integrated plan for harbor defense (U.S. Congress 1906).

(Some sources allude to fortifications built after the release of this report through

World War I as “Taft Period” fortifications, though they continued to be developed

largely under the prescriptions of the Endicott report.) On the Columbia River, the

“Taft Period” was arguably still guided by the Endicott vision, reflecting the fact that

Columbia defense buildups were occurring so much later than Endicott-program 

developments elsewhere in the country. Still, in the following decade, engineers 

installed 30- and 36-inch portable spotlight models with lightly built wooden 

shelters at all of the Columbia River harbor forts, following the outline of the Taft

program. These lights, designed to spot enemy craft but also to illuminate the 

harbor to aid mine placement, were replaced by more powerful versions of the

lights, with diameters enlarged to 60 inches just a decade later (Beerhow 1999;

Hansen 1997). 

World War I and its Aftermath

The start of World War I in Europe put the coast defenses of the Columbia, and 

indeed the entire nation, on high alert. Even before the United States entered World

War I in 1917, the Army recognized how susceptible “Sewell-type” buildings might

be to fire from heavy artillery. This reflected a growing realization of how powerful 

armored warships had become by the time major conflict commenced in Europe. In

1914, modern ships possessed the capacity to bombard coastal defenses from beyond

the range of guns in land batteries. Another military board of review was convened

in 1915 by the administration of President Woodrow Wilson, to review the state of

seacoast fortifications and recommend changes to what had been produced by the

Endicott Program and the Taft Board. Relatively few of their recommendations 

were actually implemented given the short duration (18 months) of American 

involvement in World War I, but several changes did affect the function and 

appearance of the three forts located near the mouth of the Columbia 

(Hansen 1997: 42-43).

While Pacific coast fortifications were low priority for the nation at this time, they

were not left wholly undefended as the United States entered the war. Germany

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
maintained its own active naval forces in the Pacific, defending colonial holdings on

the Chinese coast, as well as in Samoa, New Guinea and several other Pacific islands.

Allied forces would engage German and Austro-Hungarian forces across the Pacific

throughout the war, eventually routing the Central Powers from much of their 

Pacific holdings. As a result of these events, and the revelations of the Wilson 

review, the forts were given renewed attention. A possibility of direct hits from

naval bombardments on mine casements at Fort Stevens and Fort Columbia spurred

the Army to develop a project aimed at strengthening these buildings—principally

by thickening the concrete walls of existing batteries. Work at Fort Stevens 

proceeded first, eventually remodeling the harbor mine casemate so it now 

possessed the same interior layout as the earlier Sewell-type structure at Fort 

Columbia. The biggest change was that the Fort Stevens casemate of 1917 now 

possessed reinforced concrete walls 8-feet thick, a roof of the same material 5-feet

through, and a covering of sand 9-feet deep (Hanft 1980; Hussey 1957).145

Still, ironically, the biggest change to the Columbia fortifications resulting from

World War I came from Wilson’s board of review proposing the addition of portable

guns on railway mounts in the European theater. This prompted the Army to 

remove a number of large guns from American coastal defenses especially in 

the comparatively secure Pacific theater and ship them to Europe for use in 

land-based warfare. While the Army retained sufficient guns to keep the Columbia

harbor forts operational, several guns were shipped from these forts to Europe’s

western front. The four guns from Fort Stevens’ Batteries Lewis and Walker were

dismantled and sent to France. At Fort Canby, Battery Harvey Allen’s guns were sent

to Europe as well. They were replaced by the guns of the very short-lived Battery

O’Flyng (1906-18), which was decommissioned at this time. At Fort Columbia, the 

6-inch guns at Battery Murphy remained in place due to their value in protecting

Fort Columbia’s minefield, but all three of the 8-inch guns at Battery Ord were 

removed for service in Europe, resulting in the decommissioning of Battery Ord 

after little more than 20 years of service. 

Perhaps the biggest role Columbia harbor forts played in World War I, other than

providing guns for the war effort, was in their use to train artillery regiments for

service overseas. The mustering-in process swelled the ranks of artillery units 

stationed there from a force totaling 20 officers and 450 enlisted men at all three

forts just prior to the United States entering the war, whether as regular Army or 

as officers and enlisted men of the National Guard.146 When completed in August

1917, the mustering-in had furnished enough men to largely fill the Columbia River

coast defenses’ fortifications to capacity for the first time. The peak total of staffing

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 242 —
for all three forts combined reached roughly 2,600 men. All three forts were used

for elaborate training exercises, including war games. The Fort Stevens men’s 

dormitory built in 1911 (now the park museum) was converted to a War Games 

Building, with communications links to the functioning batteries, and served as a

focal point of training exercises during the height of the war (Lingo 2008; Hansen

1997: 42-43). 

Figure 10.7 – Fort Columbia in 1937, showing the locations of all facilities, including the 

Endicott-era gun batteries following the World War I decommissioning of Batteries Grenshaw 

and Ord. From War Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command, Coast 

Defenses of the Columbia (03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and Records Administration.

At Fort Canby, the development of the jetty in the years immediately preceding

World War I, beginning in 1914, brought new life to the fort as it had to Fort Stevens

years earlier, though Army Engineers had to work around a fully developed and 

occupied military facility in this case. As noted elsewhere in this document, World

War I also brought a surge of activity in the forests, as Sitka spruce was harvested for

airplane manufacturing on the outer coast and Douglas fir was harvested from the

region’s interior for ships. The later part of the war also witnessed the arrival of the

great influenza pandemic on the lower Columbia, filling to capacity the Fort Stevens 

hospital, where roughly 50 men died (Hanpf 1980; Hussey 1967, 1957). 

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Figure 10.8 – The configuration of Fort Stevens in the years between World War II still 

significantly reflected the objectives of the late-19th and early 20th century Endicott program, with a

number of Sewell type gun batteries oriented toward the mouth of the Columbia River. Image from

War Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command, Coast Defenses of the Columbia

(03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and Records Administration. 

The military buildup as part of the Endicott Program to strengthen coastal defenses

came to an end about the time of American entry into World War I in April 1917. Still,

as already mentioned, there were a number of structural changes to the forts during

the war and thereafter. To better control the harbor, a mine casemate and mine

commander’s station were added at Fort Stevens by 1918. Searchlights and a small

searchlight power station were added at Fort Stevens concurrently, to illuminate the

mine operations in the harbor. Also, by the middle of American involvement in

World War I, Army commanders around the nation were expressing frustration with

the two-story design of the Sewell-type installations, due to the complexity of 

moving ammunition between different levels of the fort. They preferred new coast

artillery equipped with cannons and mortars removed from fixed emplacements and

readied for use on mobile mountings. In 1918, four 12-inch mortars from Battery

Clark at Fort Stevens were also moved across the river to a new Fort Canby battery

for fixed gun emplacements—Battery Guenther—in part to provide better cross-fire

and to reduce the complexity of operations at Battery Clark. Battery Guenther was

operational by 1922, but its location proved to be subject to landslides and created

almost constant maintenance headaches (Hansen 1997: 44; Hussey 1957: 30).

As at the end of the Civil War, the end of World War I in November of 1918 prompted

a rapid demobilization of these forts (and forts across the nation). Troops returned

home and obsolete structures were decommissioned due to rapidly thinning fort 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 244 —
detachments, returning the forts to a state of almost complete inactivity. At the

three forts on the lower Columbia, the years following World War I brought a drastic

downsizing of full-time staff. One company of 40 men remained on duty at Fort

Stevens, which dispatched small caretaker detachments to Fort Canby and Fort 

Columbia. Aside from annual National Guard training exercises that lasted for two

weeks each summer, the contingent of servicemen at Fort Canby declined to as few

as two or three over extended periods. Fort Columbia, too, became a sleepy post, run

by one sergeant and one or two enlisted men, detached from the main artillery 

company at Fort Stevens (Hansen 1997: 46; Hussey 1957). 

Several batteries were decommissioned. By 1920, Batteries Smur and Freeman 

were deactivated at Fort Stevens. At Fort Columbia Battery Ord and Battery 

Crenshaw were already outdated and in poor repair. They were scrapped—their guns 

dismounted and sent to facilities in other parts of the country, their carriages sold 

to private parties locally. Other support structures, in poor repair or obsolete, were 

removed over the following two decades. Buildings for outmoded activities were 

especially targeted, such as stables, blacksmiths’ shops, coal sheds, wagon sheds,

mine storerooms, wharf houses, and quarters for teamsters. A new mine casemate

completed at Fort Columbia in 1921 represented one of the few Army construction

projects on the west coast of the World War I period, though the post and many 

others fell into inactivity thereafter. In 1922, Fort Stevens added a communications

bunker that reflected the experiences of troops in World War I, consolidating all fort

communication functions into a single building designed to be gas-proof. A testing

facility for cables used for harbor mines was built adjacent. 

The main organizational change for forts intended to serve as part of harbor 

defense systems during this period came in 1924, when the coast artillery went from

separate companies of varying sizes (still stationed at Fort Stevens, in the case of the

Columbia harbor defenses) to standard regiments. This move reflected an emphasis

on mobility and new responsibilities such as anti-aircraft protection, rather than

manning large guns and mortars. The rapid growth of tactical airpower developed

during World War I had rendered the Endicott forts obsolete as the main defenses

against potential attacks made inland. Nevertheless, over the next quarter century,

the seacoast fortifications retained some value as bases for training along with 

deterrents to enemy ships and submarines as harbor defense systems (Hansen 1997:

45-46).147 They remained quiet and largely inactive bases, with skeletal crews. 

According to one newspaper account from the early 1930s, the men stationed at Fort

Columbia often had long gaps in their schedule, allowing them time to herd cows

and sell milk to fishermen. By 1931, things had become so quiet that the Army’s

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
chief of staff, General Douglas MacArthur, recommended “partial disposal” of Fort

Canby. The Army took no action on this recommendation, and the post remained

armed by one battery of mortars (Guenther) and two batteries of “light” artillery,

Allen and O’Flyng (Hansen 1997: 46-47; Hussey 1957: 31). 

Depression-era Improvements

Election of President Franklin D. Roosevelt during the depths of the Great 

Depression in 1932 brought about a succession of programs aimed at stimulating 

the American economy and putting people back to work. The Civilian Conservation

Corps (CCC) job-training program was one of FDR’s favorites and operated 

6-month enrollment periods between 1933 and 1942. The Army recruited unskilled

young men as enrollees and operated camps established to complete projects on

federal, state, and even private land throughout the country. These camps could 

remain in place for one or more enrollment periods, depending on work demand.

Figure 10.9 – Fort Canby in 1937, showing the locations of all facilities, including the Endicott-era 

gun batteries following the World War I decommissioning of Battery O’Flyng. From War 

Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command, Coast Defenses of the Columbia

(03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and Records Administration.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 246 —
Figure 10.10 – Camp Clatsop, the National Guard base on Clatsop Plains. Later renamed “Camp

Rilea,” the facility is one of the last remaining military facilities in the region. Photo courtesy Oregon 

Historical Society. 

The program peaked in overall numbers in 1935, and numbers declined thereafter as

the economy improved. At Fort Canby, the Army ran its own camp through 1935-36,

employing members of a different CCC company each time. Unlike other camps,

where tents or prefabricated barracks had to be erected along with utility systems,

the fort’s existing infrastructure allowed Army personnel and enrollees at Camp

Canby to focus almost exclusively on work projects. The most enduring consisted 

of road improvements south and west from Ilwaco, throughout much of what is now

Cape Disappointment State Park. As noted elsewhere, Fort Stevens also hosted a

CCC camp and crew, who worked diligently to control the shifting sands that 

threatened fort operations, developing nurseries of beach grass and other plants 

and planting the strand from the south jetty to Seaside (Donella Lucero pers. comm.

2013; Carlson et al. 1991; Reckendorf et al. 1985; Hanft 1980).

The National Guard was also a growing presence on the lower Columbia at this 

time. The Guard had emerged nationwide during the Spanish-American War when

chronically underfunded state militias received federal aid in return for more control

by federal military authorities. By 1927 the Oregon National Guard had founded

Camp Clatsop (renamed Camp Rilea in 1959) on Clatsop Plains, south of Fort

Stevens. The camp was used for training purposes by Oregon’s National Guard, but

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
was also integrated into federal operations, so that National Guard troops from the

facility were sent to the three harbor defense forts for part of their training. In turn,

Army trainees were able to use Camp Clatsop for small tactical military maneuvers

involving equipment or munitions having the potential to remove vegetation and

create destructive “blowouts” in the sand dunes. The practice of using Camp Clatsop

for these damaging operations aimed to avoid further destabilization of dune fields

around Fort Stevens. By 1935 the camp had three miles of ocean front with mobile

dunes that were migrating toward camp facilities and lakes, requiring an ambitious

dune restabilization program overseen by the Civilian Conservation Corps crews 

stationed at Fort Stevens (Carlson et al. 1991; Reckendorf, et al. 1985:266-67) 148

The Events of World War II

With war once again looming in Europe and the Pacific, the Army began in the early

days of World War II rebuilding and modernizing its coastal defenses, reversing the

shrinking footprint and declining relevance of the Columbia River’s military posts.

Recognizing the growing dangers overseas, Congress authorized a new construction

program in September of 1940. At that point Fort Columbia and Fort Canby shared

an initial appropriation of $130,000, one largely earmarked for new barracks and

other buildings needed for the mobilization and housing of additional troops. This

coincided with reactivation of units in the Army’s coast artillery as well as the 

activation of troops from the National Guard (Berhow 1999; Hansen 1997;

Hussey 1957). 

In terms of weaponry, the Columbia River defenses fell into the second tier of 

Army priorities. Still, even as the United States was drawn into the war in December

of 1941 by a Japanese strike at Pearl Harbor, Hawaii, the Columbia forts received

funding for new batteries, searchlights and support facilities. At Fort Stevens the 

reactivation and buildup of facilities was abrupt. The defunct gun battery at Battery

Mishler was capped with a concrete roof, and its interior halls converted to a 

combined Army and Navy control post for the entire Columbia River harbor 

defense—the “Harbor Defense Command Post” and the ‘Harbor Entrance Control

Post” being the two halves of this operation. Battery Pratt was upgraded to oversee

and defend minefield operations at the mouth of the Columbia, and the fort added a

special mine loading building. Endicott-era mine loading docks were modernized on

the waterfront to facilitate easy loading and unloading of the large, powerful mines

of the period. The Fort Stevens mine casemate was deactivated, however, its 

functions consolidated at Fort Columbia. By the time the United States was fully 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 248 —
engaged in the Pacific theater of World War II, only three of the original Endicottera batteries—Clark, Pratt, and Russell—were still operational. The remains of 

Battery Freeman, as well as what remained of the original Civil War-era Fort Stevens

earthwork, were unceremoniously leveled at this time to produce a parade ground. 

A new barracks complex was added south of the original Civil War Fort Stevens 

site, and an automotive training facility, fire station and chapel were constructed

immediately adjacent. New, privately-run laundry facilities were housed in a 

structure on the eastern edge of the fort. At Fort Columbia, meanwhile, the Army

added new barracks, officers’ quarters and a recreation building, built from 

standardized plans issued by the Office of the Quartermaster General. Fort Columbia

received new guns, some support structures, an improved mine system and an 

expanded casemate for better operational control of the minefields at the Columbia

River’s entrance.149 This modernization program led the Army to acquire 86 acres of

additional land that was added to the Fort Columbia military reservation. At Fort

Canby, the problematic Battery Guenther was decommissioned by 1942, with battery

operations being consolidated at the one remaining battery, Battery Harvey Allen. 

Figure 10.11 – Although the war largely raged thousands of miles away, there were frequent 

reminders of the Pacific front. Here, a Japanese mine that had drifted across the Pacific to the 

oceanfront of Fort Stevens is seen in April of 1945. From War Department, Fourth Army and Western 

Defense Command, Coast Defenses of the Columbia (03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and

Records Administration.

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Figure 10.12 – A portion of the Japanese nautical chart of the Pacific Northwest reported to be 

used by I-26 when shelling the coast of Oregon in June of 1942. A lack of detailed intelligence and

navigational information contributed to the attack’s very limited success. Image courtesy Oregon 

Historical Society. 

A variety of freestanding structures—open and “pill box” machine gun 

emplacements, phone and radio boxes, lookouts, sentry buildings and others—

were added to what was already a diffuse constellation of such sites around the forts’

perimeters, where they can still sometimes be seen amidst the encroaching tangle

of coastal forest (Beerhow 1999; Hussey, 1967, 1957).

In the midst of this redevelopment, events on the Pacific focused national attention

on the military preparedness of the Columbia-Pacific region in unprecedented ways.

Partially in response to United States bombers successfully attacking outlying

Japanese islands from aircraft carriers in spring of 1942, the Japanese navy 

dispatched a number of long-range, I-class submarines to attack American shipping

interests that summer, with the submarines designated I-25 and I-26 being sent to

lead the campaign on the coast of the Pacific Northwest. On June 20th, I-26 fired on

ships off the northwestern Olympic Peninsula and even a lighthouse facility at 

Estevan Point, on Vancouver Island. On the evening of June 21st, the I-25 submarine

operating under the command of Commander Meiji Tagami, was able to navigate

close enough to Fort Stevens to fire several rounds from its 5.5-inch deck guns. Fort 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 250 —
Figure 10.13 – Inspecting a crater from one of the Japanese shells that landed at Fort Stevens 

in June of 1942. From War Department, Fourth Army and Western Defense Command, Coast 

Defenses of the Columbia (03/17/1941 - 1946) – National Archives and Records Administration. 

Stevens became the only military installation in the contiguous United 

States to be attacked by an enemy warship since the War of 1812. The quality of

Japanese intelligence about this coast was mixed, and Tagami believed he was firing

on a submarine base (an information gap that may also explain the decision by the

crew of I-26 to fire on an obscure and remote Canadian lighthouse). Although seventeen shells were reportedly fired, the number that landed was smaller—as low as

nine by some accounts. The shells landed on the Fort Stevens military reservation,

most on the south end of the facility near Battery Russell, leaving a number of

craters in the sand. The only damage was to a baseball diamond backstop and a

power line. The fort did not return fire, as the submarine was out of range of the

fort’s guns—many still dating from World War I or earlier—and the commander did

not wish to give away the fort’s exact location. A stone monument was later constructed south of Battery Russell to commemorate the episode, and a monument remains on the site (Webber 1995, 1975). 

In Japan, the attack of the I-class submarines was hailed as a strategic success, a

psychological victory of sorts, intimidating the American enemy while providing

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Japanese naval leadership some level of consolation for the humiliating springtime

American attacks on Japanese soil. The Japanese attack certainly had a psychological

effect in the United States and Canada, as the newspapers of the time attest, but the

effect may have been different than the Japanese anticipated. These events

prompted the rise of a robust civil defense program in coastal communities that

lasted for the remainder of the war (Kann and Kann 1990a, 1990b, 1991). Families 

set to work building bunkers. Indeed, a privately constructed bomb shelter, built

right after the attack, sits within the boundary of Fort Stevens State Park, and can 

be viewed by visitors today. (In Canada, the shelling prompted the darkening of

lighthouses along the coast, creating great inconveniences for mariners, fishermen

and shipping interests throughout the duration of the war.) Critical to the Columbia

harbor forts, the Japanese attack intensified efforts to fortify the coast. Immediately

after the attack, Oregon’s Senator Rufus Homan made headlines deriding the west

coast defenses as “criminally obsolete, woefully inadequate and poorly distributed”

(United Press 1942). Congressional appropriations were streamlined and the Army

hastily approved construction of new 6-inch gun batteries for all three forts. 

By October of 1942, construction began on Battery 245 at Fort Stevens, Battery 246 

at Fort Columbia and Battery 247 at Fort Canby. These were examples of “regelbau”

construction, a German military term referencing use of standard designs in bunker

fortifications, often involving several linked subterranean rooms and passageways

that protected interior spaces even if the entry was under attack. With these

bunkered gun emplacements, the Army intended the batteries to protect the 

Columbia River’s entrance by producing a new “triangle of fire” through two

6-inch guns, on pedestal or “Barbette” mounts, designed to deliver a 105-pound

armor-piercing projectile with a range of 15 miles or more. These guns were 

sufficiently powerful to deter enemy ships attempting to enter the Columbia, or to

fire on them from near-shore waters. These batteries had other advantages as well.

They eliminated the problematic ammunition hoists found in older gun batteries,

since a single level accommodated all of the interior spaces. The design also built on

lessons about concrete construction and represented improvements on the Endicott

defenses of 40 to 50 years earlier. Furthermore, improved construction techniques

removed condensation that had plagued the older batteries at all three forts, and the

new batteries had their own power sources, switchboards, plotting rooms, latrines,

air filtration systems and even drinking fountains. 

At Fort Stevens, a new rifle range was added on the sandy flats just south of 

Battery 245. This allowed soldiers stationed there to train in use of M-1 rifles. The

Columbia’s south jetty and Jetty A were also militarized for the first time, with the

addition of 90mm AMTB (Anti-Motor-Torpedo-Boat) batteries right on the 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 252 —
Figure 10.14 – A photo and plan view of Battery 245 at Fort Stevens, constructed rapidly at the 

height of World War II. The three batteries constructed at the Columbia River forts during this 

period reflected recent advancements in military standards, including the use of bunkered gun 

emplacements in a “regelbau“ style underground bunker. From War Department, Fourth Army and

Western Defense Command; Coast Defenses of the Columbia (03/17/1941 - 1946) – 

National Archives and Records Administration. 

— 253 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
waterfront. Several of the forts’ searchlights were moved and improved. To these

were added a number of searchlights along the coast, including 22 lights placed at

strategic points from Klipsan Beach on the Long Beach Peninsula down to Gearhart,

Oregon. Small power plants were added, including plants to support searchlights as

well as new radar facilities at these forts. Other lands outside of the forts, such as an

added fire control station in Hammond, were placed in military control at this

time.150 Beyond this, the forts participated in the extension of support facilities 

outside the boundaries of the forts, adding some 34 miles of barbed wire around

strategic points, and supporting the development of beach patrols. Staffing at all

three installations reached a combined total of 2,800 men by 1943, not including the

significant civilian support underlying the efforts (Hansen 1997: Hanft 1980; 

Hussey 1967, 1957).

As part of this rapid mobilization along the coast, the reach of the military extended

to places with no prior military use in what is today Ecola State Park. The Tillamook

Head Air Warning Station (AWS Site J-23) was one of the last pieces of military 

infrastructure developed in the study area during World War II, and remained in

military control slightly longer than the forts. The top of the headland was acquired

in 1943-1944 by the federal government and was developed as the site of a U.S. 

Army radar operations bunker, using early radar to detect the approach of potential

enemy airplanes and ships. Sitting just south of the Tillamook Head summit and

“Clark’s Point of View,” the station included a combination of federally-owned

acreage and leased lands. In addition to acquiring the former Lighthouse reservation

lands, the military promptly bought fifty acres from Crown Zellerbach for $2,336, as

well as leasing one acre from Crown Zellerbach and another 25 acres from the State

of Oregon. Both leases cost the United States one dollar (Fanflik 1948). The 

Tillamook Head Radar Station was code-named “J-23”and was apparently a “Chain

Home Low” radar installation of British design, with some portion of the equipment

manufactured in Canada.151 The facility also served as a manual lookout for enemy

airplanes and ships. 

This type of radar facility, also of “regelbau” construction, was ideally located atop

steep headlands that lent it a commanding position. Moreover, the cliff face below

the facility concentrated and amplified the radar signal. The station was one of 

several along the Oregon coast under the command of the Portland Air Defense

Wing, which also included small facilities on Cape Meares, Cape Foulweather, Cape

Perpetua, Cape Arago and Cape Sebastian. On the Washington side of the Columbia,

the Seattle Air Defense Wing commanded an array of similar radar installations 

including one located outside Grayland near the northern boundary of Pacific

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 254 —
County, as well as at Point Grenville, Cape Elisabeth, Ruby Beach, Cape Flattery,

Portage Head, Neah Bay and points inside the interior waters of Washington (HAER

2005). These facilities were typically constructed by civilian construction companies

working under contract for the War Department. Built into surrounding slopes, 

intentionally inconspicuous, the Tillamook Head radar installation’s subterranean

bunker is still detectable to passers-by due to its six primary vent ports and two 

entrances. Though both are now blocked by Oregon state park grates that prohibit

human visitors, they still admit bats. Several buildings, including garrison 

structures, sat adjacent to this main installation. In a surplus property report by 

the War Assets Administration, the installation was described in 1950 as consisting

of 15 buildings, 14 of which were “wood frame,” and one described as “Operations, 

(underground) concrete, outside dimensions 21’ x 80’” (Fanflik 1950). 

The construction of the Tillamook Head radar facility led to the development of a

road to Indian Beach from Highway 101, along the route sometimes known as “Radar

Road.” A portion of the modern park road between Ecola Point and Indian Beach 

follows this route, as does the old road grade from Indian Beach to the Tillamook

Head summit radar facility, which serves as a state park trail. (The easternmost part

of this road is a working logging road accessing private timber lands just east of the

park.) At the time of road construction, the military determined that the tall timber

lining either side of the road from Indian Beach to the summit up the Indian Creek

drainage should be removed. They wished to mitigate the cutting off of the radar 

facility in the event of winter tree fall. Thus, a long, linear strip of young forest, 

following the road through adjacent old-growth, is clearly visible along this segment

of the park road. Unfortunately, when “Radar Road” was developed in 1943-44, the

road-builders demolished a significant portion of the Indian Beach village 

archaeological site (Minor 1991; Ross 1985).152

Oral traditions of coastal residents of this period suggest an impressive level 

of commitment at the civilian level, and hint at the degree to which the war 

transformed coastal life. Accounts exist of horse patrols riding the beaches of 

Clatsop and Pacific Counties through much of the conflict. Town elders still identify

the locations of stables, sleeping quarters and hay storage racks used to supply these

operations, which were variously supported by the Coast Guard, the Army and local

volunteers. Some describe weapons stockpiles at the Clatsop County airport and

other places, creating depots that were suddenly off-limits to the general public. To

the south, accounts exist of American bomber aircraft using offshore rocks for target

practice, scenes that were viewed with interest from Ecola State Park, and accounts

of Highway 101 being closed off when the Arch Cape tunnel was crammed with

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An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
stockpiled munitions. Since gas rationing marooned most Northwest residents in

the cities, tourist traffic was negligible. According to oral tradition, miles of coiled

barbed wire and spotlight stations lined the beaches, and lookout zeppelins flew

lazily above the strand, sometimes dragging tow lines and allowing local children to

drag along the beach holding the lines. Accounts exist of blackouts, of covered 

windows, and of specially designed car-light covers that emitted only a thin band of

light to avoid drawing the attention of enemy craft. As was typical throughout the

United States, there were bomb shelters and victory gardens and scrap drives. While

not yet organized in one volume, oral histories of this period on the coast are rich

and, at the time of this writing, still recoverable.153

All three Columbia-Pacific forts were deactivated for military use following the end

of World War II due to technological advances emanating from that war—from jet

aircraft to nuclear weapons—that made coastal artillery forts obsolete. Even before

the war was over, as Japan began its retreat throughout the Pacific, the forts at the

mouth of the Columbia were being decommissioned. The last operational old gun

battery at Cape Disappointment, Battery Harvey Allen, was decommissioned by the

end of May 1945. The AMTB guns installed on the jetties were deactivated by July 

of 1945, barely two and a half years after their installation. Dismantling of the 

remaining forts began just after the Japanese surrender in August 1945. By March of

1947, when the forts at the mouth of the Columbia had been listed as among 35 Army

posts and airfields declared surplus, several older structures were fully or partially

dismantled at all three forts. Further dismantling continued even as the disposal 

of the lands proceeded, so that the housing, medical facilities, shops and other

structures built at the bases largely disappeared before federal authorities conveyed

what later became state parks to state and local governments in the mid-1950s. The

posts passed into the hands of the War Assets Administration in 1947 and 1948. 

By 1947, the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers took over operations of Fort Stevens, once

again using the fort as a base to maintain the mouth of the Columbia River. Almost

492 acres of the Fort Canby reservation went to the Coast Guard at around the same

time, the barracks and other salvageable infrastructure being scheduled for sale or

removal from Fort Canby, while all Army personnel were vacated from the premises

by October 1947 (Hansen 1997; Hussey 1967, 1957). Having been overshadowed by

obsolescence for much of their existence as forts, they ultimately succumbed to

technological changes that eliminated classic coastal harbor defenses across the 

nation. In time, all three forts passed to the state park systems on either side of the

river, a point discussed in later sections of this document. The radar installation

atop Tillamook Head was briefly reactivated after World War II and remained 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 256 —
active in the late 1940s with upgraded equipment, as the United States retooled 

old radar installations in response to a growing Soviet threat. Yet the site was 

decommissioned within a few years of its extended operation, the land ultimately

acquired by Oregon State Parks to expand Ecola State Park (HAER 2005; Boardman

1956). Of the military facilities discussed in this document, only Camp Clatsop—now

known as Camp Rilea—remains an active military base, serving as a training facility

for the Oregon National Guard.154

Figure 10.15 – All three forts were declared obsolete, and disposed of as surplus property through the

late 1940s. Seen here is Battery Ord, shortly after the transfer of Fort Columbia to Washington State

Parks. Cape Disappointment sits in the background – its own Fort Canby transferred to Washington

State Parks at roughly the same time. Photo courtesy Washington State Historical Society. 

— 257 —

An Arcadian Triangle of Fire
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 258 —
— 259 —

4 ),32.0/'4$2+3*41#4"3+,32.01/42/&4)1/*3,2.01/4

0/4.-34)1(% 022+0+4"3'01/

rom the beginning of American resettlement of the Columbia-Pacific 

coastline, people understood the scenic and recreational potential of the place,

with its sprawling beaches, rocky headlands, looming mountains and views to

the Pacific horizon. Beach resorts were already a widespread phenomenon on the

coasts of the American East and Europe. They were known to arriving settlers, who

saw potentials for similar development of West Coast beaches. Still the very 

remoteness of the coast in the 19th century, and the barriers to transportation 

between the coast and the rising cities of the interior Northwest, long posed 

obstacles to the realization of this vision. Transportation set narrow parameters 

for tourism, even more than was true for resource extraction, yet expanding 

transportation technologies and infrastructures would eventually eliminate the 

burden of distance. In its earliest days, tourists were adventurous souls and 

disproportionately affluent, having both the money and spare time to reach a 

remote place for recreational purposes. Intrepid tourists began arriving on day-long

trips by steamship and wagon, which were soon replaced by railroads, which were 

replaced just as quickly by private automobiles. The socioeconomic spectrum 

represented by the coast’s tourists broadened, as the burgeoning middle class of 

the Northwest discovered the coast and its tourist institutions became more “democratic”. Today, the ubiquity of automobiles and a network of highways place the coast

within day-tripping range of metro Portland and millions of potential tourists.

As tourists increasingly flocked to the beachfront to swim, sunbathe, and play in the

sand, the entire region shifted at its core, transitioning from small, densely packed

industrial settlements on interior tidewaters to diffuse communities lining sandy

beaches on the open Pacific. This transition fueled rampant real estate speculation

along beachfronts of the late 19th century, funded in part by local industrialists, 

a pattern arguably persisting into present day and continuing to shape coastal 

landscapes. Concurrent with these changes, Pacific Northwest residents underwent

a fundamental shift in their relationship to “natural resources” on the coast, 

reflecting cultural trends both national and international. Throughout the 20th
century, a growing number of Columbia-Pacific residents sought to protect scenic

and biologically rich landscapes. Especially in places previously seen as “marginal

lands”—meaning too rocky, sandy, or remote for occupation—and often with the

backing of tourist interests, they helped create parks and other protected lands. All

of these events had profound effects on the story of Lewis and Clark National and

State Historical Parks. 

Like most early history of the region, the early history of tourism intersected with

LEWI lands in diverse ways. Travelers along the Columbia often stopped and stayed

at Fort George in Astoria through the first half of the 19th century, even if their 

interests in the place were largely avocational. Elijah White’s short-lived hotel 

development on the promontory of Cape Disappointment in the early 1850s, like a

few others in the region, provided general boarding for travelers no matter their 

interests in the area. People who were ostensibly “tourists” stayed at such early and

modest hotels alongside ship crews, resource workers, surveyors and others passing

through the area. Families such as the Latties, on their Seaside lands that included

today’s National Park Service Salt Works, operated a guest house for many years in

the mid-19th century. They fed and housed people traveling along the coast for any

number of reasons. Indeed, long before these events, Native peoples of the area

hosted visitors from myriad tribes who passed through for social, ceremonial and

economic purposes. Today in fact, some tribal people suggest the Corps of Discovery

were, in a sense, “tourists”—and not tourists of the highest caliber. Answering the

question of when tourism began in the Columbia-Pacific region would require 

volumes, and is more a matter of perspective and definition than of firm 

historical fact.

Yet certain events were definitive and almost revolutionary. In Seaside, for example,

where the Latties’ small and somewhat remote guest house was such an important

institution, things changed quickly. By the late 1860s, railroad magnate Ben 

Holladay discovered the tourist potential of the area and set modern ColumbiaPacific tourism in motion. Having grown rich running stage lines in the California

gold rush, even owning the “Pony Express” for a number of years, Holladay moved

to Oregon in the late 1860s and worked assiduously to build a transportation empire 

in the Northwest. Within just a few years, the brash and confident Holladay owned

the Oregon and California Railroad, the Portland Dock and Warehouse Company, the

Oregon Transfer Company and the Oregon Steamship Company (which later merged

to become part of the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company—a major player in

the development of coastal tourism). By 1871, Holladay had purchased the Lattie 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 260 —
Figure 11.1 – Prior to the development of railroads in the 1880s, beach tourism was the domain of a

handful of hardy souls, such as these Long Beach visitors – willing to travel for a day or more from

more urban settings, bringing many of their supplies with them. Photo courtesy Washington State

Historical Society.

family claim and embarked on the development of the first large-scale summer resort in the community, the ostentatious Seaside House, for which the town was

eventually named. Here, on lands that included the Natioanl Park Service Salt Cairn

site, summer tourists were supplied with food and entertainment such as 

storytelling, all supported in part by the Native American community living 

nearby. Emma Miller’s description of the halcyon days at the Seaside House, 

an account based on multiple sources, is salient here:

“[Holladay] maintained a stable of fine horses, barns, and a race track. A foundation was

placed in the center of the track; cages of wild animals were on display near the hotel, and

tame deer wandered over the grounds. A trap in the river provided fresh fish each day. A flag

flew from a flag staff, to be saluted by the firing of a cannon aboard Holladay’s steamers as

they passed up and down the coast. In that establishment Holladay entertained with a 

lavishness which was rare in the pioneer days of Oregon. He brought parties from Portland

on his steamers and nothing was too good for the people whose influence or financial 

assistance he desired. Seaside was looked upon as a “high-fashion” resort and many of the

visiting ladies arrived with two or three trunks full of gorgeous clothes” (Miller 1958: 254).

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
With his broad influence in business circles of the region, Holladay used his 

transportation interests to promote the Holladay hotel in Seaside, and in turn used

his hotel to generate business for his fledgling coastal transportation network. The

Holladay resort would continue to serve as a center of Northwest coastal tourism

well after Holladay’s death in 1887. Small clapboard hotels and guesthouses popped

up alongside the Seaside House in the narrow strip between the ancient Sitka spruce

forest and the strand, many built on lands platted from the old Lattie claim, serviced

by wagon and later rail services developed by Holladay and his business associates.

In time, this tourist district evolved to become the Seaside “promenade,” with its

beachfront walkway and shops catering to middle-class tourists, modeled loosely on

beachfront towns like Atlantic City.

As with most early tourist developments on the coast, the Seaside House was 

supported by a combination of Columbia River steamers and coastal stage lines that

linked tourists, most from the Portland area, to the fledgling resorts of the coast.

Unlike most of these early tourist developments, however, Seaside’s benefactor

happened to own (or have tremendous influence over) a sizeable portion of the 

region’s steamers and stage lines. During this period, and with Holladay’s influence,

the steamship companies of the Columbia established a pattern. They carried 

passengers to Astoria’s waterfront, where they were transported by smaller boats to

wharves connected to crude stagecoach roads leading to the ocean beach. In time,

the Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company (OR&N) dock in Astoria, near the site

of today’s Columbia River Maritime Museum, became the primary terminus for the

large river steamers, with tourist passengers brought there by OR&N boats and those

of competing companies. Smaller boats then carried passengers and their luggage to

smaller docks. Those bound for Seaside landed at points along the south shore of

Youngs Bay (Peterson 2006; Affleck 2000; Timmen 1993; Stewart 1950). 

During the early days of Ben Holladay’s Seaside House, the Shane family worked

with Holladay and the OR&N to run steamers directly from the Astoria docks to the

family claim in what is today Fort Clatsop.155 This was one of several developments

pursued by the Shanes. For a brief time the family even succeeded in leveraging the

development of a dock, a wagon road, and a small stage operation to carry tourists to

Ben Holladay’s Seaside resort. Writing in 1900, P.W. Gillette wrote, 

“The owners of the property [the Shane family], aided by others, cut out and graded a good

wagon road from there to Clatsop plains, and through the Influence of Ben Holladay, the O.R.

& N. Co. was induced to run their steamers during the seashore season direct to Fort Clatsop,

where the passengers were met by stages to convey them to the seaside resorts. But this 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 262 —
Figure 11.2 – Ben Holladay’s Seaside House, the opulent hotel that launched the tourist industry 

of Clatsop County’s Pacific coast, as seen in the late 19th century. Photo courtesy Seaside 

History Museum. 

route to the seashore was soon abandoned, and the resound of civilization was no longer

heard at Fort Clatsop; and I believe it is still silent and alone to this day” (Gillette 1900a). 

The road had the advantage of providing a short route to Clatsop Plains and—as 

the Corps of Discovery appreciated—offered a dry upland landing point along what

was a largely marshy and shallow estuarine coastline. Still, the wagon route 

required the crossing of the low but muddy hills west of Fort Clatsop, as well as a 

few marshy tidal creeks. The route of the Shanes’ wagon road roughly approximated

the northern edge of the Fort Clatsop unit, crossing the Skipanon River close to 

the modern Fort-to-Sea Trail crossing. This operation and its wagon road were

short-lived, as Gillette suggests.  The road was soon circumvented by alternative

wagon routes, with their terminus at the steamer docks in Warrenton, near the

mouth of the Skipanon River. From Warrenton, wagons could follow a relatively

straight and direct route down the Clatsop Plains toward Seaside, free of hills and

running parallel to the creek drainages instead of across them.  So too, the large

docks and a burgeoning town of Warrenton were in a better position to support these

wagon operations, with ample goods and services available at its tidewater wharf that

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
were unavailable at the Moore landing.156 Today, evidence of the original Shane trail is

largely absent along its former route, except to the extent the road was incorporated

into later roads and trails. It has been long overgrown with dense forest.

Similar developments were soon underway on the opposite side of the Columbia.

Through the 1870s and early 1880s, people and goods traveled from the Long Beach

Peninsula to the outside world by a hodgepodge of routes. Some used a preexisting

Native American trail to shuttle people and goods by horse or wagon from Ilwaco on

the Columbia to Oysterville, on the Long Beach Peninsula, though only a small and

dedicated contingent of visitors attempted this trek. Beginning in 1870, settler

Jonathan Stout developed a regular stage line that linked the two towns. From

Ilwaco, steamers moved people and goods across the mouth of the Columbia River to

Astoria. Meanwhile, on the northern end of the Long Beach Peninsula, steamers

brought passengers from wagon roads from the interior Northwest who traveled to

Raymond and South Bend at the northeastern head of Willapa Bay, thence traveling

by boat to Oysterville or Tokeland. Both options were slow, but introduced a small

number of tourists to the golden-sand beaches of southwest Washington. The small

town of Tokeland, and the Tokeland Hotel—the oldest hotel still operating in the

state of Washington and a National Register property today—were beneficiaries of

this early and somewhat cumbersome arrangement.157 A beachfront resort sitting on

a sandspit on the northern entrance of Willapa Bay, immediately adjacent to the

Shoalwater Bay Indian Reservation, Tokeland was in some ways improbable as a

tourist destination. Yet with the construction of the Tokeland Hotel (originally the

Kindred Inn) in 1885 and the development of other tourist facilities, Tokeland briefly

thrived. It hosted visitors from the cities of Puget Sound and Portland until rapid

erosion washed away sizeable portions of the community and beach a halfcentury later.

The Ilwaco Railway & Navigation Company (IR&N), also known as the “Clamshell

Railroad,” soon precipitated dramatic changes in these arrangements. Operating

from 1888 to 1930, this narrow gauge railroad was completely isolated from the

larger rail networks of the West, making a small circuit between Ilwaco (and later,

Megler) on the Columbia and Nahcotta, Washington fronting Willapa Bay on the

Long Beach Peninsula. The IR&N was rooted in the operations of a small regional

business, the Ilwaco Steam Navigation Company (ISNC). Arriving in the “North

Beach” area (the Long Beach Peninsula) in 1872, New York-born Lewis Alfred

Loomis was a catalytic partner in this enterprise.158 After three years in the region,

Loomis partnered with Astoria ship captain, J.H.D. Gray, Portland transportation

company owner, Jacob Kamm, Pacific County Surveyor, H.S. Gile, and local farmer,

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 11.3 – The wagon between the Columbia River estuary and the early beachfront resorts 

followed a number of different routes, usually including a long beach trek. For a brief time, wagons

headed to the Holladay resort met steamships at Fort Clatsop, carrying passengers along a route to

the beach, which provided unimpeded passage as far as the Necanicum River (shown here), which

could be crossed at low water. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

John R. Goulter, to form the ISNC. Their company began with a single steamship, the

General Canby, used to ferry passengers and freight between Ilwaco and Astoria. This

steam ship, in combination with Stout’s Willapa Bay stage line—recapitalized and

redubbed the Loomis Stage Line—effectively provided a regular connection between

the Long Beach Peninsula at Oysterville and Astoria. Encouraged by their success,

Loomis and his partners expanded their steamship line to provide service to 

Portland. They founded the Ilwaco Wharf Company to acquire a landing site in that

town, allowing them the option of bypassing Astoria altogether.159 The partnership

continued to expand through the following decade, using their direct lines to Ilwaco 

to secure contracts to deliver mail and a variety of other essential supplies to Ilwaco

and the North Beach area of the Long Beach Peninsula (Ott 2011; CPHM 2009;

Jessett 1957).160

Throughout the 1880s and 1890s, as the IR&N developed its infrastructure, 

competing transportation companies advanced proposals for rail lines linking the

coast and the interior, bringing a surge of land speculation and development even

before the proposals came to fruition. In Washington, the Northern Pacific Railroad

extended spur lines into Grays Harbor by 1892 and South Bend on Willapa Bay by

1893. The extension of the Northern Pacific line into the head of Willapa Bay—the

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
only rail line to reach the Columbia-Pacific region by this period—brought a surge of

new visitors to the resorts at Tokeland and the northern communities of the Long

Beach Peninsula via Oysterville. So too, in Oregon, the Astoria and South Coast 

Railroad was also making plans for a coastal line south from Astoria to Holladay’s

Seaside resort, as well as possible links to the Northwestern interior. Loomis, along

with ISNC partner Jacob Kamm, recognized that these railroads, entering the region

from several directions, posed a threat to their transportation interests on 

Washington’s southwest shore. By 1882, Loomis began to raise capital for the 

construction of a railway to be integrated into the company’s operations, primarily

for the transport of mail. Talk of a new railroad on the north side of the river was

met with general excitement, and capital was found on both sides of the river. The

Daily Morning Astorian reported in December 19, 1883 that, “the route selected [from

Ilwaco to Oysterville] is an excellent one...and it is reasonable to suppose that the 1st of May

will see the conductor at Ilwaco sing out ‘All aboard for Oysterville!’”(1883: 3). 

In 1884, Loomis commissioned a survey showing feasibility of the railroad project,

and by 1887, was able to purchase a right-of-way from Ilwaco to the town of 

Tinkerville, on the Long Beach Peninsula. Construction began in spring of 1888 and

was complete by July of that year.161 Accounting for the new railroad portion of their

business, the ISNC officially changed its name to the Ilwaco Railway & Navigation

Company (IR&N) later that summer, with Loomis and Kamm becoming its principal

managers (Strack 2013; Becker 2012; Jessett 1988, 1957; Feagans 1972). The town of

Oysterville added a number of residential and commercial buildings to its founding

core centered on the waterfront oystering business. Reflecting this early history and

the integrity of structures still standing from these 19th century developments, 

Oysterville is now listed on the National Register as a National Historic District.

As in Seaside, the arrival of new transportation linkages to the Columbia River 

tidewater brought almost instant development in tourism. When Tinkerville founder

Henry H. Tinker bought the land claim of Charles Reed at that site in 1880, he was

seemingly aware of the potential transportation corridor through this land. 

Though it was largely sand, pine scrub and grassland, Tinkerville was platted to 

accommodate a booming city well before the boom occurred, and the arrival of 

the railroad did not disappoint. Tinker provided a depot site along the tracks, and

organized the construction of an ornate hotel nearby. With the arrival of the IR&N

railroad in 1888, property values in Tinkerville—today’s Long Beach—shot upward,

rising from roughly eight dollars per acre to two hundred dollars per acre in a matter

of months. The size of the town quadrupled from about one hundred to two hundred

cottages between 1892 and 1894. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Later the Tinker Hotel, and ultimately the whole town, was renamed Long Beach, in

part to capitalize on the recreational potentials of the community’s greatest natural

asset— “The Longest Beach in the World” by some estimations. Tinker’s hotel and

the IR&N depot became the nucleus of a tourist community of cottages, boardwalk

shops and hotels that spread from this core, along the tracks and toward the beach,

in no small part on Tinker’s platted lands. The IR&N too began to capitalize on the

budding tourist industry. It promoted summer beach tourism to drum up new 

business. While the most revolutionary effects of the railroad were seen in the 

budding tourist towns of the Long Beach Peninsula, the resource industries of the

Peninsula also surged with new life. From the initial Ilwaco/Tinkerville line, the

IR&N line continued to grow, and by 1889 a narrow gauge line linked Tinkerville and

the wharf at Nahcotta, a premier oyster town and port. This Nahcotta terminus 

provided access to a deep-water channel, affording water access far exceeding that

at existing Oysterville docks.162 The IR&N began to carry large numbers of Willapa

Bay oysters from Nahcotta to Ilwaco, where they were shipped aboard the General

Canby to Astoria. From Astoria, they travelled to the San Francisco market and 

beyond. In time, canned clams from Ocean Park, as well as logs and cranberries

from around the Willapa Bay region, rode the rails of the IR&N (CPHM 2013; Ott 2011

CPHM 2009; Hobbs and Lucero 2005; Jessett 1988, 1957; Feagans 1972).

Figure 11.4 – The tourist community of Tinkerville – later renamed Long Beach – first developed along

the railroad tracks. The earliest commercial district, sometimes called “Rubberneck Row,” developed

alongside the “Clamshell Railroad” depot – visible in the background, circa 1909. Photo courtesy

Wikimedia Commons.

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
By the turn of the century, the

“Clamshell Railroad” had 

become big business, and even

more substantial companies

took note. In 1900, the Oregon

Railway & Navigation Company,

with its roots in Holladay’s 

enterprises a generation before,

started buying up stock of the

IR&N. By 1900 it had purchased

a controlling interest in the

IR&N. The OR&N retired Loomis

and began to modernize and

standardize the company’s

equipment and rail operations,

making them consistent with

other OR&N operations and

adding lumber shipping to the

Ilwaco operation. Desiring a

deeper, less congested terminus

accessible through a wider

spectrum of tides, the OR&N

determined to move the 

terminus upstream. In 1906,

the company initiated 

construction on a 13.4-mile 

The beaches of the Clatsop County

coastline, as envisioned in the early

tourism promotional literature 

developed by the Spokane, Portland

and Seattle Railway. Coaxing tourists

to visit the beaches, such brochures

brought new development to theocean coast while also ensuring a 

growing clientele for early rail

operations connecting the coast to

urban areas beyond. Courtesy 

Washington State Historical Society.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 268 —
line east, along the north bank of the Columbia River. This linked their rails from

Ilwaco Junction, just a mile north of Ilwaco, to a new wharf at Megler—its 

terminus located at today’s NPS Dismal Nitch parking area. First called “Cook’s 

Station,” the site was later named “Megler Station,” and was briefly among the

largest and busiest wharves on the lower Columbia, well-known to early tourists of

the Columbia-Pacific region.163

The extension of this rail line was no small feat of engineering. It involved the 

development of new rail grades in the spongy tidal margins of the Columbia River,

transforming the waterfront of the Station Camp area and requiring a tunnel to be

excavated beneath the military facility at Fort Columbia. (The tunnel is now listed on

the National Register of Historic Places as one of several historic tunnels in the state

of Washington.) As part of the Company’s arrangements to acquire right-of-way 

for the tunnel, a depot was constructed along the rail line to transport military 

personnel and goods to the fort above. The costs of this extension seem to have been 

disruptive to the OR&N. The Ilwaco rail interests were sold and reorganized in the

midst of this extension, becoming the “Ilwaco Railroad.”164

Under new management, and in spite of a number of engineering and financing

challenges, the rail line to the Megler wharf was completed by June of 1908. Two

years after its completion, in December of 1910, the entire line was acquired along

with 15 other small railroads in Oregon, Washington and Idaho, and placed within

the Oregon Washington Railroad & Navigation Company (OWRR&N)—an operation

ultimately falling under the ownership and management of the Union Pacific 

Railroad.165 The consolidation precipitated changing the name of the original Ilwaco

Railroad to the Ilwaco Division (and later Ilwaco Branch) of the OWRR&N. In spite of

all these changes, service continued more-or-less without interruption through the

1910s and 1920s, with a train terminus, train turntable, and a ferry dock operating at

what is today the NPS Dismal Nitch property. They provided access between 

Washington’s southwest coast and the Oregon cities of Portland and Astoria.166

Certainly there were challenges. Small landslides were common along the steep

shoreline, and in the late 1920s a lawsuit erupted when it was determined that the

turntable sat on Northern Pacific Railroad lands. Still, this terminus of a 29 mile,

three foot gauge railway with no physical connection to any other railroad—the

“Clamshell Railroad,” as it was affectionately called—became the principal link 

between the tourists of the greater Portland area and the Peninsula. It ushered in a

golden age of rail-based tourism still celebrated by local communities today.167 The

railroad operated according to the tides, rather than an official timetable, as tides

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
dictated the movement of steamers at either end of its short, but important line.

In this capacity, the Ilwaco Railway & Navigation rail was popular among locals 

and tourists alike, playing an important role in the lumber, oyster and 

cranberry industries. 

Parallel efforts were made to develop railways to the beaches of Clatsop County.

After a number of proposals to link Seaside and other Clatsop Plains communities to

Columbia River tidewaters, a group of local investors led by D.K. Warren—for whom

Warrenton is named—pooled resources to create the “Astoria and South Coast 

Railway” (A&SCR). This small railroad extended passenger service from steamer

docks on the south side of Youngs Bay, a half mile from Skipanon, to the coastal 

resort towns of Seaside and Warrenton. The original line was completed between

1890 and 1891, beginning an era of rail-based tourism in Gearhart and Seaside.168

It almost instantly eclipsed the wagon road networks of the northern Clatsop Plains,

while largely replicating portions of their routes. Marshall Kinney, founder of the

fish transfer station at Megler Cove immediately adjacent to the NPS “Dismal

Nitch,” was in the vanguard of early real estate activity relating to the arrival of the

line. In 1888, he bought out the Phillip Gearhart Donation Land Claim, platting and

beginning sales of luxury homesites at “Gearhart Park” at the modern location of 

Figure 11.6 – The “Clamshell Railroad” depot and steamship wharf, at the site of today’s Dismal Nitch

parking area. Operating between 1906 and 1930, this was the primary point of entry for tourists 

traveling to Pacific County’s beaches. Photo courtesy Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum, Ilwaco WA.

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Gearhart, Oregon. Anticipating the arrival of the rail line, he developed the Gearhart

Hotel, the first hotel of consequence in that community and the nucleus of what

would—upon the rail line’s arrival—become the resort district as second home

owners and hoteliers purchased Kinney’s lots adjacent to the hotel. 

Meanwhile, Gearhart’s son-in-law, Jonathan Stout, carried out a similar rail-based

promotional feat on the north side of the Columbia. Acquiring and platting lands

three miles north of Ilwaco, the family constructed the “Seaview House,” a central

institution in what became the community of Seaview. As Hobe Kytr notes,

“Stout platted his lots fifty-feet wide, and sold them for $25, then $50, and later $100. 

By the 1880s, numerous families, predominantly from the Portland area, were building 

unlined, board-and-batten beach cottages. Most of them cost in the range of $200 – $300

to build, unless they were adorned with jigsaw trims. Many of those beach cottages of 1880s

and 1890s are still standing today, lending Seaview a kind of timeless charm” (Kytr n.d.a)

The Stout’s hotel soon burned and real estate promotions floundered for a time.

Still, the town persisted and the Stouts’ daughter and son-in-law built the 

Shelburne Inn—a landmark hotel still in operation today (Kytr n.d.a).

Over time, landowners adjacent to these early resorts would plat their own lands to

capitalize on the new tourist traffic from the urban Northwest—some increasingly

oriented toward mass tourism and some, such as Surf Pines with its “almostpalatial homes” catering to affluent Northwesterners (Miller 1958: 115). As Kinney’s

case suggested, even the rumors of a rail line could bring rampant real estate 

speculation. There was speculation that the line would be extended further south

along the coast, prompting some to acquire (mostly through homestead claims)

lands south of Seaside, in places like Cannon Beach and Arch Cape. Many of these

lands were promptly platted into small lots and sold in urban markets as 

recreational real estate in imminent railroad towns (O’Donnell 2003; Paulson 

2007; Laubaugh n.d.).169

Efforts to build a line linking the short coastal rail line to the Portland area through

the Coast Range encountered myriad obstacles. It was quickly bogged down in 

financial and engineering challenges. With this critical link stalled, the small A&SCR

underwent changes in ownership and was ultimately incorporated into the Seashore

Road Company. In this new guise, the Company turned its attention to the 

development of local rail lines, constructing a bridge across Youngs Bay, directly

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
connecting Astoria to Seaside by rail, as well as extending a branch from Warrenton

to Flavel.170 In April of 1895, industrialist A.B. Hammond organized the Astoria &

Columbia Railroad (A&CRR) to organize rail development in the region, in a 

maneuver that would dwarf and, by 1898, absorb, the efforts of the Seashore Road

Company. By 1898, under Hammond’s management and with the support of 

Astoria’s civic leadership, the A&CRR completed its rail segment connecting Astoria

to Northern Pacific Railway tracks in Goble, Oregon, and signed a 99-year lease with

the Northern Pacific guaranteeing access from Goble to Portland. This instantly

linked the coast of Clatsop County to the national rail network for the first time. 

On May 16, 1898, a beach-bound train carried 700 passengers from Portland to

Astoria, celebrating the opening of the line (Gordon 2013; Paulson 2007; 

Miller 1958; ARRPA n.d.). 

Figure 11.7 – An inset map

from the 1908 plat of Arch

Cape Park, on the coast of

southern Clatsop County –

one of several real 

estate ventures that 

featured an imagined 

“Railroad Extension” of the

A&CRR tracks over the 

imposing Tillamook Head

cliffs to the elusive beaches

south of that headland. 

Clatsop County Surveyors

Office.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 272 —
In 1911, after changes in ownership, the A&CRR was officially sold to the Spokane,

Portland and Seattle Railway (SP&S), which operated the coastal line through its

subsidiary, another former Holladay enterprise, the “Oregon Traction Company.” In

addition to spurring development of the timber industry on the coast and shipping a

large quantity of Columbia-Pacific salmon, the SP&S was successful in capitalizing

on tourism. It actively promoted the coast’s scenery and beach resorts. With SP&S

promotion, affluent Portlanders started moving to the coast for the summer season.

Working fathers took advantage of the “Daddy Trains,” leaving Portland for towns

on the coast—Gearhart and Seaside especially—on Saturday and returning for work

on Monday. Though the halcyon years of the “Daddy Trains” were the first three

decades of the 20th century, the seasonal pattern of coastal tourism persisted in 

reduced form through the Great Depression (Gordon 2013; ARRPA n.d.). 

As suggested by these accounts, coastal rail lines brought with them a flurry of real

estate speculation. Long Beach and Gearhart are instructive examples. It’s fair to say

their experiences set the tone for the entire beachfront of the Columbia-Pacific. 

Beginning with the rail development of the 1880s and 1890s, owners of large tracts

of land on the outer coast rapidly subdivided their properties into small lots. They

had observed the success of early rail-side tourist towns, even in places ignored a

few years before. In some cases, longtime land owners, realizing the limited value of

their land for agriculture, timber and other economic purposes, subdivided land

claims to produce potential resort towns; in other cases, people used the Homestead

Act and other legal mechanisms to acquire unclaimed lands for development. Very

quickly, the unoccupied portions of the outer coast—including much of the Long

Beach Peninsula and the beaches of Clatsop County, were divided into a patchwork

of hypothetical subdivisions. By the early 20th century, even the wind-blown sands

of James Taylor’s land claim at Sunset Beach had been subdivided into a fine 

network of recreational lots oriented toward the beach, encompassing everything

west of Sunset Lake.Other portions of the land had been acquired by the Astoria Golf

and Country Club, which engaged in ongoing real estate activity in the area (Miller

1958; Mestker 1930; Lockley 1928).

In practice, some of these impromptu towns soon had actual roads and facilities. But

more often they existed as hypothetical towns in what were largely undeveloped

forest and dune lands. The configuration and even names of each partition were

strategically designed, some invoking beach resorts of the eastern United States and

event Britain. “Sunset Beach” was among these names, bestowed when land was 

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Figure 11.7 – The original plat of Sunset Beach – one of several lining the beachfronts of the region –

which laid the foundation for an imagined tourist mecca that now lies partially within the Sunset

Beach State Recreation Site, a LEWI park. Wide boulevards lead to the beach and a central 

commercial district, while streets are named for Lewis, Clark, and 19th century landowner James 

Taylor. Most of the community was never developed. Clatsop County Surveyors Office. 

subdivided for promotion and sale at that location. Lots in such partitions were

often configured so many buyers had ocean views from their purchased properties.

Streets were sometimes thin but dense to allow a profusion of coveted “corner lots,”

enhancing the value of the speculative endeavors. 

Less scrupulous developers platted lots on unbuildable parts of their property—

down cliff faces, into bays, and onto blowing sand fields. As these lots were based of

vague maps and often purchased sight-unseen by city people, they created legal 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 274 —
headaches for years to come. (Seen in a certain light, these lots were fanciful: the

50-by-100 foot lots of the initial Seal Rock Beach plat—now Cannon Beach—

extended a fine network of lots across unvegetated dunes, onto broad swaths of the

beach concealed at high tide, and over Chapman Point’s cliff faces. The promotional

literature for Seal Rock Beach showed spindly rope bridges linking lots to pavilion

overlooks perched atop offshore rocks at what would become Ecola State Park.)

Questionable as homesites and ultimately a tax burden for developers or the 

unfortunate souls who purchased them, the lots often found their way into county 

or state hands in lieu of tax payments.171

Many other partitions—especially those of well-capitalized ventures—featured

blocks of lots punctuated by promenades, waterfront parks, greenways, rail-side

merchant districts, and many other elements meant to present the hypothetical

communities as resort towns. Maps of these grand towns, as imagined and depicted

by developers, often accompanied brochures sent to Portland, Seattle, and other

urban places as part of land promotion efforts. In truth, surprisingly few of these

grand parks, merchant rows, and other features were constructed. Lots developed

slowly and haphazardly in many of the platted communities, stalled by events like

the Great Depression, but also by the harsh realities of land markets and rough

coastal terrain. Still, ironically, the arrangement of these subdivisions continues to

shape the configuration of the coast’s towns today, with oddly conspicuous gaps in

development where grand promenades were once planned, and with densely packed

roads with superabundant corner lots, reflecting the unrealized visions of 19th

century land promoters. Long after their departure, the land speculators continue 

to shape the land (Meinig 1999; Reps 1992; MacColl 1976). 

Soon enough, the era of rail-based tourism came to an end as automobiles brought

an even larger number of tourists, who spread more diffusely along the coast. In

spite of a paucity of federal funding, the 1920s witnessed unprecedented highway

development along the Oregon and Washington coasts as the state governments

sought to improve limited access to these areas. In Oregon, inspired by the “Get

Oregon out of the Mud” campaign, highway development leapt forward in the 1910s

and 1920s. By 1916, Highway 30, the “Lower Columbia River Highway 2W” ran from

Portland to the coast along the Columbia River, almost immediately cutting into the

business of the passenger steamer and rail routes along the Columbia. The 1920s

also marked a period of dramatic expansion along the Roosevelt Highway lining the

Oregon Coast.172 Similar developments were underway in the state of Washington.

By 1923, the state developed new state Highways 9 and 12, linking the Pacific Coast

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
to the Puget Sound, and by 1926 these were tied to a coastal leg of Highway 101 with

connections to the Long Beach Peninsula. 

By the Depression era, Work Projects Administration (WPA) funding supported the

improvement of several of these older highways, including widening projects and

the construction of new bridges, as well as the completion of highway segments

leading to the coast. With the aid of federal dollars and WPA labor, a number of key

linkages, long anticipated by state and local authorities, were finally completed. By

1937, the state of Washington extended Highway 12B from Ilwaco to the Megler dock,

further transforming the shoreline of what are today the Station Camp and NPS 

Dismal Nitch properties, while converting the Fort Columbia rail tunnel into a 

passageway for private automobiles. Similarly in the early 1940s, the state of 

Oregon finished construction of the coastal section of Highway 101 south of Cannon

Beach. Originally planned as a low-traffic detour from the main highway, allowing 

motorists to behold the impressive scenery of Neahkanie Mountain, this soon 

became a thoroughfare, allowing expeditious travel to the Columbia-Pacific region

from the wider Oregon coast. 

Launched as a combined CCC and WPA project in 1933, completion of the “Wolf

Creek Highway” through the Oregon Coast Range was accelerated to support 

military mobilizations in 1941. Eventually redubbed the “Sunset Highway,” Highway

26 was a fully functioning public highway not long after war’s end, allowing what is

still the most direct and rapid route of transportation between Portland and the

coast. The effects of these highway developments, most occurring over a 20-year

span, would be revolutionary, bringing unprecedented opportunities for 

development even as it undermined old transportation monopolies of steamship

and rail (Blakeley 2006; Boardman n.d.).173

While the development of so many roads represented good news for beach-bound

tourists and coastal resort businesses, they marked the death knell of tourist 

railroads. Bypassed by the use of personal automobiles, the “Clamshell Railroad” 

operated at a loss through much of the late 1920s. The Union Pacific added ferry

service from the Megler wharf to Astoria by 1927 in an effort to salvage the wharf’s

operations, even as other companies initiated competing ferry operations. (This 

effort emerged amidst what was sometimes termed a “ferry war” in the late 1920s,

which witnessed the development of several competing ferry operations along the

north shore of the Columbia River estuary—not only at the Megler wharf, but on the

waterfront of McGowan, at today’s Station Camp.) Still, by October of 1929, the

Union Pacific applied to the Federal Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC) to

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 276 —
abandon the original Ilwaco Railroad. As explained by the Union Pacific’s magazine

at the time, “This historical miniature road, with no physical connection with any other

railroad, has outlived its usefulness to the public after 42 years of service [due to] the 

substantial improvement of main highways” (Hays 1930: 15). The ICC granted 

permission by July 12, 1930, and on September 9th of that year the last train 

rolled down the narrow gauge Ilwaco Branch to the Megler terminal. Almost 

immediately, the land and right-of-way were sold, in part to help offset the 

railroad’s considerable losses. The site would be converted to a ferry wharf, 

allowing automobile traffic to and from Astoria—a function that continued 

until July of 1966 when the Megler Bridge was completed.174

Figure 11.8 - The arrival of highway access transformed the nature of tourism, allowing 

unprecedented access to different parts of the coastline – such as Beard’s Hollow, near the 

northwestern base of Cape Disappointment – to an unprecedented number of people. 

Almost all of the railroad wharf infrastructure was demolished through the 20th

century, with the construction of Highway 12B and the development of a 

Washington Department of Transportation wayside at the site. The Seaside spur of

the SP&S line fared little better. In spite of a slightly longer lifespan—thanks to rail

connections to the urban Northwest and a host of “Daddy Train” loyalists—this line

was eventually discontinued by 1952. The rail line was ultimately sold to Portland &

Western Railroad, and much of the railroad and its tracks were decommissioned in

the decades that followed.175 In Seaside, the former rail grade has recently been 

redeveloped into a public trail and park. So too, the City of Astoria has recently 

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Figure 11.9 – The Fort Clatsop replica, based on William Clark’s sketches, became a popular historical

tourist attraction almost immediately after its construction in 1955. The original replica burned to the

ground in an accidental fire in late 2005, prompting the development of a new replica on the site in

early 2006. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

overseen the redevelopment of its waterfront portion of the SP&S track as a tourist

destination, complete with passenger trolley service in the downtown waterfront

area (Strack 2013; Ott 2011; WADAHP 2010; CPHM 2009; Leahy 2005; Bonham 1991;

Jessett 1988, 1957; Feagans 1972; Shaw et al 1949; Hays 1930).

The decline and ultimate disappearance of the tourist railroads had diverse effects

on the character of the tourist towns in the Columbia-Pacific region. As business

had been in decline, each of the local railways made efforts to expand their markets.

Not only were fares reduced, but the companies increasingly sought to market

coastal tourist destinations beyond the affluent clients who had been their 

mainstay. The commercial districts at the terminal ends of these rail lines—Seaside

and Long Beach, especially, so dependent on rail-based tourism—developed shops

and services to cater to middle-class beachgoers who had traditionally been 

overlooked by tourism boosters of the 19th century. As rail-based tourism largely

disappeared, and an increasingly diverse range of tourists came to the coast on new

highways, these two towns were well-suited to capture a broad segment of the

Empires of the Turning Tide

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tourist market, a trend that only intensified as middle-class Portlanders flocked to

the coast in unprecedented numbers after World War II. In contrast, communities

like Gearhart and Cannon Beach increasingly became second-home communities to

affluent Portlanders, who sometimes actively resisted these populist models of

tourist development. At times they sought to limit the scale and character of

tourism-oriented development. These patterns of development and tourism, rooted

in the 19th century history of the coast, are still somewhat apparent in differences

between the communities today.

The arrival of so many tourists along the shoreline of the Columbia-Pacific region 

in the early 20th century had diverse impacts on the process of park-making, 

contributing in time to the formation of Lewis and Clark National and State 

Historical Parks. Certainly, the idea of creating a historical park or monument at

Fort Clatsop had been longstanding. As noted elsewhere, visitors to the ColumbiaPacific sometimes set out on impromptu historical tours in search of the fort during

the 19th century. The growing accessibility of the coast, however, coupled with 

growing regional interest in the commemoration of Pacific Northwest history, lent

this effort new urgency. In 1899, the newly formed Oregon Historical Society 

dispatched a team led by Olin Wheeler, and including Portland lawyer and Chief

Coboway’s grandson, Silas Smith, to locate the Fort Clatsop site, the Seaside salt 

cairn, and other sites central to the Lewis and Clark expedition. Community support

for some sort of commemorative treatment, and even acquisition of the site, was 

increasingly strong. As P.W. Gillette, a frequent proponent of this idea, observed: 

“I believe the state of Oregon should possess herself of Fort Clatsop, and keep it forever in

commemoration of the spot on which the flag of the United States was first planted on the

Pacific coast, and of that marvelous exploration of Lewis and Clark which did so much to 

establish our claim and secure to the United States this vast Northwestern empire” 

(Gillette 1900a). 

The team was able to interview local residents about the location of sites from 

the Lewis and Clark expedition, including Jennie Michel, the Clatsop elder who 

identified the Salt Works site. In time, these efforts led to the gradual public 

acquisition of both the Fort and the Salt Works sites, beginning with a 1928 purchase

of Fort Clatsop lands by the Oregon Historical Society and leading to National 

Monument status in 1958.176 In 1955, to mark the sesquicentennial of the Corps of

Discovery, a coalition of volunteers constructed a replica of the original fort, and the

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Lions Club constructed a replica of the Salt Works, both based on William Clark’s

journal sketches (Daily Astorian 2007; Brown 2006; Cannon 1995).177

Yet surprisingly early in the history of the coast, efforts were underway to create

parks based on natural and scenic values—a trend that would reshape the region

over the 20th century. Admittedly, many of these earliest conservation and parkcreation efforts did not fully come to fruition. Prominent among these was a popular

effort in the early 20th century to declare Saddle Mountain a national park, well 

before that mountain’s incorporation into a park of any kind.178 Inspired by the 

recent creation of national parks surrounding other prominent landmarks in the

West, such as Crater Lake (designated as a national park in 1902), a number of 

Clatsop County residents, including many promoters of tourism, actively advocated

for such status for the highest peak in the Columbia-Pacific region. Supporters

pointed to the mountain’s stunning views of the Pacific Ocean and mouth of the 

Columbia River, as well as their desire to preserve examples of ancient forest at the

mountain’s base at a time when timber speculators moved into interior lands. Some

interests—hunters among them—also advocated the park as a permanent reserve

for deer and elk, believed to be imperiled in this rapidly developing corner of 

Oregon.179 The land had few competing uses at the time, and civic organizations

from many parts of northwestern Oregon supported the concept, in part due to its 

potential to spur tourist-based economic development. This was a progressive 

position that gained a foothold on Oregon’s north coast even before the 1916 

creation of the National Park Service. The Oregon congressional delegation agreed. 

Together these interests worked as a united front to promote the creation of a 

national park.

As a first step to park creation, proponents succeeded in November 1908 in getting

the unappropriated lands around Saddle Mountain temporarily withdrawn from 

the public domain. Bills to establish the park on the 1,920 acre withdrawal were

successfully passed by the United States Senate in 1909 and 1910, but foundered in

the House Committee on Public Lands both times—in part because of uncertainties

regarding funding for park access and maintenance.180 With changes made to 

address these concerns, Senator George Chamberlain of Oregon introduced another

national park bill for Saddle Mountain in 1912, which passed the Senate but again

died in the House.181 Still undeterred, Chamberlain introduced yet another bill in

March 1913 that met the same fate.182 At this point, park supporters faced a lapse of

the temporary land withdrawal. On behalf of the national park concept, however,

President Woodrow Wilson intervened, renewing the withdrawal by executive order

so Chamberlain and other members of the Northwestern congressional delegation

Empires of the Turning Tide

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could try again. Still faced with an intransigent House, Chamberlain amended the

bill authorizing establishment of Saddle Mountain National Park to one granting

land for a park to the state in March 1914.183 Not only did this bill attract support

from a number of civic organizations in Clatsop County, as with previous bills, but

also from the Oregon Geographic Names Board, which drafted an open letter of 

support signed by its president W.G. Steel, the founder and superintendent of Crater

Lake National Park. Among the proposed park’s many benefits, Steel predicted, was

that trees embraced by the grant “will assist in reforesting the great areas which have

been, or will be, denuded by the lumbermen and fires” (Oregon Journal 1914).

Chamberlain’s bill of 1914 also failed. Within a week of Chamberlain introducing 

the legislation, a business partner of A.B. Hammond—Mr. A.M. Smith, an investor

publicly implicated in the Oregon railroad grant land frauds a decade or so earliercame forward with land scrip from the Northern Pacific Railroad grant of 1864.

Smith wrote to the federal government’s General Land Office informing them that,

with this scrip, he had acquired rights to unsurveyed lands on Saddle Mountain from

the Northern Pacific for $2,500.184 This left the federal government with only 802

acres of the original grant. The land was ultimately transferred to the state of 

Oregon through a bill passed by Congress on August 11, 1916 (Armstrong 1965: 182).

Oregon hadn’t reserved or operated any state parks up to this time. And instead of

developing the site, the land grant lay fallow with the State Land Board, even after

the Northern Pacific “donated” another 600 acres of rocky land near the mountain

for park purposes.185 Establishment of Saddle Mountain State Park did not come

about until private parties made another donation of 1,280 acres in November

1928.186 Their donation went to the Oregon State Highway Commission, which 

possessed authority to acquire and develop parks for the traveling public, despite 

the land being over seven miles from the nearest highway (Merriam 1992: 219-20; 

Armstrong 1965: 128; Portland Oregonian 1928). 

The setting aside of Saddle Mountain lands came just prior to appointment of a 

full-time state parks superintendent for all of Oregon, Samuel Boardman. With

highway commission support, Boardman eventually orchestrated the transfer of the

1,400 acre grant from the State Land Board in December 1935 after having initiated

park development by the Civilian Conservation Corps. The park has never been 

included within the NPS umbrella, but is clearly linked to the history of LEWI parks

in many ways. It may yet be integrated into the interpretive mandates of these parks

(Merriam 1992: 219-20; Armstrong 1965: 128; Portland Oregonian 1928).187

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Other park concepts soon followed as visitors became more familiar with the 

scenic opportunities and challenges of the coast. Among the consequences of road

development into the Columbia-Pacific region was that “negative externalities” of

resource extraction became more visible to visitors and policymakers. This included

a growing number of individuals with no direct personal interests in local natural 

resource industries. Ironically, this would lead to the launching of one of the 

nation’s premier state park systems. In late summer of 1919, Assistant Secretary 

of the Interior and National Park Service Director, Stephen Mather, and his ally in 

national conservation efforts, Madison Grant, petitioned Oregon’s governor, Ben 

Olcott, to consider the advantages of developing a state park program. Olcott 

remained unconvinced. Yet as retold by Thomas Cox in his book, The Park Builders, a

trip to Clatsop County, just east of today’s Ecola State Park, transformed Olcott’s

position on the matter:

“a trip to the coast did for Ben Olcott what Mather and Grant had been unable to do, and

new life surged into the movement. Olcott, who was deeply interested in the state’s 

developing highway system, had journeyed across the Coast Range to inspect the Cannon

Beach-Seaside road (later U.S. 101).Crown-Willamette Paper Company was logging the

dense virgin forest that flanked the route, and the scarred, barren hills left at roadside

shocked the state’s chief executive. On his return to Salem, Olcott wrote to William Pierce

Johnson, president of Crown-Willamette, and urged that his firm hold off cutting timber

alongside the Cannon Beach-Seaside road until equitable arrangements could be made for

its preservation. Johnson’s reply expressed general agreement with Olcott’s desire to 

maintain roadside beauty. The correspondence, released to the press by the governor’s 

office, received wide circulation” (Cox 1988: 36).

Governor Olcott’s comments on the issue were bold for the times:

“The preservation of forest beauties is a matter of deep concern to the lumber industry. And

it is not my intention or wish to deprive private owners of valuable lands of those things

which they have acquired by rightful and legal process. This move is not backed by socialistic

intent, now any propaganda to disturb the progress of an industry. Rather, I find the timber

owners generally eager and willing to cooperate. But it would be wrong to ask them to 

surrender vast tracts of valuable timberlands without just compensation, nor do I believe it

could be done. In fact, vast tracts are not needed to carry this plan to fruition. Isolated tracts

tucked away in pretty nooks; virgin stretches of forest along highways, to be retained of 

sufficient width to leave the beauties of the landscapes unimpaired; new plantings of trees,

shrubberies and foliage along the highways, all of these things can be accommodated 

without too great expense and without arbitrary confiscation of property...

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Figure 11.10 – Bradley State Wayside, overlooking the Columbia River, in the 1920s – one of the 

scenic byways developed along Oregon State Highway 30 as part of the early roadside beautification

efforts. Overseen by the Oregon State Highway Department this effort would evolve to become the

Oregon State Park system. Roadside beautification initiatives for the Columbia River corridor,

launched by such figures as John B. Yeon, would set a precedent for coastal highway and park 

development in the decades that followed. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

“This matter should not be cast lightly aside. While the hand of man has done much and is

doing much to make Oregon a great state, the hand of God fashioned here in the primeval

wilderness an ideal earthly paradise which we must preserve as nearly intact as possible

without impeding the ordinary progress of civilization” (Olcott 1921). 

The Governor launched a successful bill to develop what became the Oregon state

park system, under the direction of the state’s Highway Department. He hired a

special committee to investigate the issue.  Among the members of this new board

were real estate investor, L.A. Lewis (who would later sell a portion of his holdings to

create Ecola State Park) and Mary Kinney (whose brother-in-law founded the fish

transfer station at the NPS Dismal Nitch, platted Gearhart, and many other things)

(Olcott 1921).188 The Highway Commission was supportive (indeed, Commission

member and prominent lumberman Simon Benson proposed going well beyond the

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
board’s modest proposals, advocating the condemnation of roadside timberlands 

to preserve Oregon’s scenic beauty).Based on Olcott’s efforts and his reaction to 

Clatsop County logging, the Oregon State park system was born, starting as a widely

supported roadside beautification movement centered on the preservation of 

roadside scenery and the development of waysides along the rapidly expanding state

highway system (Oregon State Planning Board 1938).189 In time, an Oregon Highway

Department wayside designer and roadside tree planter from east of the Cascade

Range—Samuel Boardman—was hired to oversee the small division of the 

department that would eventually become Oregon State Parks.190

Among all of the parks within the LEWI umbrella, Ecola was the site most clearly

protected for scenic reasons, with the considerable involvement of Boardman. Ecola

was in many respects the culmination of forces set in motion by governor Olcott’s

park-making initiative. Certainly, the scenic values of the rugged Ecola shoreline

had long been appreciated by travelers along this coast, including William Clark,

who beheld there “the grandest and most pleasing prospects which my eyes ever 

surveyed,” and 19th century figures such as P.W. Gillette, who remarked that he 

“was delighted with the scenery along the beach. High mountains of rocks projecting in the

ocean—magnificent—and pyramids of rock standing in the sea, beautiful works of Neptune

and home to sea fowls” (Gillette n.d. – July 8, 1863). Collaborating with beneficent

land owners in the late 1920s and early 1930s, Boardman saw the potential of the

place to become, in his terms, one of the “crown jewels” of Oregon’s new 

park system. 

The families instrumental in the process—the Glisan, Flanders, Minott and Lewis

families—were in fact a tight circle of extended family and friends. All were 

members of “Portland society,” the men of the group having been part of the 

Portland Chamber of Commerce and other civic institutions. Most were also part of

the prominent Couch, Glisan, and Flanders families—pioneer settlers and 

benefactors of early Portland—for whom streets are still named in the center of the

city.191 This extended family had acquired title to the shoreline from Indian Beach to

the vicinity of Chapman Point—lands formerly set aside as U.S. lighthouse reserve

land. Though temporarily occupied with a few small lifesaving structures, it was 

declared surplus and made available for private purchase after the completion of the

Tillamook Rock lighthouse in the late 19th century. The families acquired the land

and developed grand ocean-view homes at Ecola Point by the beginning of the 20th

century, very near today’s principal parking lot at Ecola State Park, and in the early

years of the 19th century, the homes served as bases of operations for considerable 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 11.11 – An early Oregon State Park image of Ecola State Park as seen from Ecola Point – the 

location of the park donors’ homes prior to the creation of the park in 1932. The Civilian Conservation

Corps developed trails and other facilities in the decade that followed. Photo courtesy Oregon 

Historical Society. 

adventuring and exploration along the northern Oregon coast (O’Donnell 2006;

Glisan 1909; Gainor Minott pers. comm. 2009). 192

The involvement of the families in the creation of Ecola State Park represented a

striking early example of private philanthropic efforts in land conservation for the

public good. Amply wealthy, guided by strong family traditions of philanthropy and

noblesse oblige—a likely consequence of witnessing the Great Depression, and having

acquired the land from the public trust only a few decades before, the families 

resolved to give their lands as a park to the citizens of Oregon. Representatives of

each family—Florence Glisan Minott, Caroline and Louise Flanders, L.A. Lewis, and

Rodney Glisan—placed their holdings in common, creating the “Ecola Point and 

Indian Beach Corporation,” with the intention of donating the shared lands to the

new state parks system. They agreed to give up impressive Ecola Point beach homes

to do so. Negotiating on behalf of the group was the celebrated outdoorsman and

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
civic activist, Rodney Glisan. A Portland based attorney, Glisan was an energizing

representative of the group. As a former city council President, he’d also been active

in the Portland Rowing Club, the Mazamas and other mountaineering organizations,

and many other Northwest civic and conservation organizations of the early 

20th century. 

Guided by similar visions and values, Glisan and Boardman developed a congenial

professional relationship that fostered a smooth and constructive negotiation of

terms. Together, all parties agreed to transfer most of the families’ holdings, 

representing the initial 451-acre core of Ecola State Park, from its southern 

boundary to Indian Beach. The extended family consisting of the Glisans, Minotts

and Flanders agreed to donate their land outright, though Lewis, a longtime real 

estate investor in rapidly declining health, opted to sell rather than donate his share

in the company. They agreed to have their own homes dismantled to make way for

public facilities in the park’s core. In exchange, the families retained tracts for their

personal use on the southern end of the park, building new second homes above

Crescent Beach and Chapman Point. Boardman agreed that the park would maintain

trails and utility access for the benefit of these families. Clearly touched by their

sacrifice for the public good, Boardman also worked independently to build a stone

monument, still visible in the park today, commemorating the generosity of the

families (Merriam 1992: 175-77).193 Ecola State Park became an Oregon state park—

one of the most visible and popular in the Pacific Northwest—in 1932, only two years

before Glisan’s unexpected death. As summarized by Samuel Boardman, 

“The 450-acre nucleus of Ecola State Park came through the gifts and purchase of the Ecola

Point and Indian Beach Corporation of which Rodney L. Glisan, Florence G. Minott, Caroline

Flanders and Louise Flanders owned forty-nine percent of the stock and L.A. Lewis, fiftyone percent. The first four gave, without solicitation, their share of the 450 acres which 

included substantial summer homes. To Mr. Lewis the state paid $17,500 for his share.  We

have had many gifts of a recreational nature, but never one that so involved pure sacrifice of

such a beautiful setting and lovely homes.  Would that every visitor could know of the origin

of the park through the generosity of Mr. Glisan, Mrs. Minott and the Misses Flanders”

(Boardman 1956). 

Having secured this donation, Boardman promptly began his efforts to both develop

and expand the park, spurred on by local civic and tourist interests, as well as the

support of entities such as the State Planning Board. Support for park expansion was

remarkably popular among the newspapers and civic organizations of the day, who

Empires of the Turning Tide

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arguably saw no comparable competing economic uses of this rugged headland—

least of all at the height of the Depression—and viewed the preservation of 

Tillamook Head as contributing to the growing tourist economies of the towns at its

base. As the Oregon Planning Board (1934) noted, Tillamook Head was “a scenic 

feature upon which much of the property values and resort patronage of these communities

have been indirectly predicated.”194 In addition to reaching out to private timber 

interests regarding possible land sales adjacent to the donated core of the park,

Boardman began negotiating for Oregon State Park acquisition of the former 

lighthouse reservation lands at the summit of Tillamook Head. These plans were

temporarily put on hold when the lands were put into military use at the onset of

World War II (Boardman 1956, n.d.). 

The Great Depression would be critical to the formation of the early Oregon park

system. Land values were depressed, allowing Boardman to begin acquiring park

lands from enthusiastic sellers and agencies in possession of defaulted properties.

Oswald West State Park, portions of Saddle Mountain State Park, and other Clatsop

County state park lands were secured in this context. Moreover, during the height of

the Great Depression, the Civilian Conservation Corps played a vital role in 

reshaping most of the units of what is today Lewis and Clark National and State 

Historical Parks. CCC crews helped transform the land at the military facilities on

both sides of the river, improving roads at Cape Disappointment, but also planting

European beach grass and other dune stabilizing vegetation at that facility, at Fort

Stevens, and along the shoreline of what would become Sunset Beach State 

Recreation Site. In turn, the CCC directed their attention to Ecola State Park and

Saddle Mountain State Park.195 With Boardman’s intercession, CCC camps were built

at both parks to support these efforts. At Ecola State Park, the crews participated in

several deployments between 1934 and 1941, constructing trails or maintaining 

historic ones, developing the park road from Cannon Beach, constructing barbeque

pits of local beach stone, and building picnic tables and caretakers’ buildings 

(Armstrong 1965; Tilden 1962; Boardman 1956, n.d.). Regrettably, a massive 

125-acre landslide largely obliterated the core CCC-constructed facilities in 1961. 

The remaining CCC-era infrastructure was not maintained with attention to 

historical significance, so little remains of CCC’s legacy in Ecola’s landscape.196

Environmental conservation measures came in other forms during the Depression,

including the development of National Wildlife Refuges in the Columbia-Pacific 

region. The region was (and remains) rich in wildlife, with sea mammals and birds

both breeding in and migrating through the coastal zone. In Oregon, the boldest

refuge concept of the Depression centered on the development of the Oregon 

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Islands National Wildlife Refuge. This effort was inspired in no small part by the 

development of the Three Arch Rocks refuge a generation earlier. At these offshore

rocks, located in nearby Tillamook County, photographers William Finley and 

Herman Bohlman witnessed the wanton shooting of seabirds for plumes and for

sport, and the commercial harvesting of sea lions and bird eggs. Inspired by Finley

and Bohlman’s efforts, Theodore Roosevelt arranged for the protection of these

rocks in 1907. And in 1935, inspired by Teddy Roosevelt’s example, Franklin D. 

Roosevelt agreed to extend protections to all islands and offshore rocks along the

320-mile-long coast of Oregon, creating Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge 

by executive order. In Clatsop County, this new refuge encompassed the rocks 

immediately offshore from Ecola State Park (the Tillamook Head, Ecola Point and

Bird Rocks) as well as Castle Rock in Arch Cape. (In 1978, the Oregon Islands 

National Wildlife Refuge became a designated wilderness area under the 

Wilderness Act.)197

In Willapa Bay, with its sprawling intertidal areas, visited by an impressive 

diversity of shorebirds and migratory waterfowl, Roosevelt saw other opportunities

for preservation. Employing the provisions of the Migratory Bird Treaty Act of 1918,

Roosevelt authorized the purchase of Willapa Bay lands for bird conservation with

money raised by the Migratory Bird Hunting Stamp Act of 1934. In 1937, he signed

the executive order authorizing the Willapa Harbor Migratory Bird Refuge. Expanded

in the late 1960s and early 1970s as part of the nationwide conservation movement,

this refuge managed lands on Leadbetter Point, on the northern end of the Long

Beach Peninsula, as well as two refuges protecting intertidal marshes on the lower

Columbia estuary: Lewis and Clark National Wildlife Refuge and the Julia Butler

Hansen National Wildlife Refuge. The broader refuge was renamed the Willapa 

National Wildlife Refuge. All of the wildlife refuges are managed today by the 

U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (Wilson 2010; Mathewson 1987).198

Other effects of the Great Depression would reconfigure the tourist landscapes of

the Columbia-Pacific. In beach towns founded or platted in the optimistic years of

the late 19th and early 20th centuries, community dreams of a Columbia-Pacific

tourist mecca stalled. Through the Great Depression, tourism did persist, but feebly.

And even as the economy rebounded in the World War II era, wartime gas rationing

and the militarization of the waterfront prevented a sizeable number of potential

tourists from traveling to the beach. Though the development of roads to the coast

allowed unprecedented access, many of the region’s tourist towns lingered in 

suspended animation from the late 1920s through the 1940s. Their economies and

main-street landscapes were funkier than any real estate promotion could have 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 11.12 – After the decline of tourism through the Great Depression and World War II, tourists 

effectively rediscovered the ocean coast in the post-War era, with newfound affluence and a 

highway system significantly upgraded in intervening years by WPA and military efforts. These 

visitors to the Washington coast stand near Beard’s Hollow, with Cape Disappointment in the 

background. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

anticipated. The end of World War II did, however, bring an abrupt rebound. Returning soldiers and their “baby boom” families began to explore the coast with

renewed interest and affluence. Automotive traffic on the coast skyrocketed, more

than doubling its wartime totals by the end of the 1940s. And it has steadily 

increased ever since (Deur 1994). 

The surge in automotive tourism stoked interest in state and national park 

development on the coast. The decommissioning of U.S. military sites at the 

end of World War II presented a unique opportunity to accommodate that interest,

ultimately playing a critical role in the development of network of federal and state

lands representing today’s Lewis and Clark National and State Parks. Almost all of

Cape Disappointment State Park, Fort Columbia State Park, and Fort Stevens State

Park, as well as portions of Ecola State Park, became parks as part of this abrupt

conversion of lands. In 1947 the U.S. Army announced that the cornerstone military

facilities at the mouth of the Columbia were obsolete, bypassed by the rapidly 

developing military technologies of the time. So at the conclusion of World War II,

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
the U.S. War Assets Administration (replaced by the U.S. General Services 

Administration [GSA] in 1949) was responsible for disposing of the properties. 

The communities at the mouth of the Columbia, having watched for decades the

forts’ struggle to upgrade facilities with limited success, weren’t surprised by 

these developments. They generally supported the conversion of military lands

to park use. 

By the late 1940s, slow but ongoing discussions took place between the federal 

government and Washington State Parks regarding acquisition of the Washington

military forts for use as state parks. In contrast to Oregon’s breakneck pace of park

development in pre-war years, Washington’s pre-war state park system was 

relatively modest. But a period of rapid expansion commenced post-war, prompted

in part by the surge in automotive tourism. The Washington system was lean and 

increasingly eager to add sites like Cape Disappointment and Fort Columbia to their

holdings—especially in the southwestern corner of the state, which represented a

veritable “black hole” in the park system up to that time. 

In many respects, the park’s nascent status simplified the process of acquisition

of surplus military lands, which occurred in a rather bureaucratic “slow motion

transfer,” with little objection or fanfare. Local governments, newspapers, and 

nonprofits had lobbied for park acquisition of the lands since 1947 when they were

declared surplus, spurred along by eager promotion of Fort Stevens on the south side

of the river. In March of 1950 Washington State Parks was approached by the GSA

about the availability of lands at Fort Columbia. The Washington State Park 

Commission agreed to sign the transfer agreement, and in June of that year, the

Commission accepted the property as a State Park.  Several land transfers were 

involved. The first deed to the property was signed in June of 1950, and in June of

1954, the Commission dedicated the museum in the barracks, signing another deed

transferring portions of land.  A final land transfer from the GSA was approved by 

the Commission in May of 1958 and the third (and apparently final) deed was 

signed in June, 1958. It wasn’t until the late 1960s that Washington State Parks

added visitor facilities to the park (Alex McMurry, pers. comm. 2013; Louter 2010;

Cox 1988; Hoyt et al. 1949; Boardman n.d.).199

The acquisition of Fort Canby, while a bit more complex due to the site’s many 

historical uses, followed similar lines. In 1957 an initial deed to the State of 

Washington from the GSA was signed, transferring portions of the fort property to

the state, and a series of subsequent deeds were signed through the 1960s, reflecting

the complex pattern of ownership at Cape Disappointment. Through this process,

Empires of the Turning Tide

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the state acquired park lands on the northern part of the cape, as well as a strip 

extending west. The federal government, not wanting to depart with strategic lands

and assets, retained a portion of the headland, transferring ownership to the Bureau

of Land Management (BLM). The BLM, in turn, allowed for a long-term lease to 

the State of Washington for park use. The Army Corps of Engineers retained the

southern portion of the Cape, including the Columbia’s north jetty and adjacent

beaches, but allowed these lands to be managed as part of the new state park. Land

transfers have continued into recent times, with no less than 16 different parcels,

involving 11 state, federal, or local government agencies! All have contributed to 

the expansion and consolidation of the park. Washington State Parks did not 

develop visitor infrastructure at the site until roughly 1966 (Alex McMurry, 

pers. comm. 2013).

The acquisition of Fort Stevens, while initiated sooner than the Washington 

proposals, did not go smoothly. By 1946, well before the GSA formally announced

Fort Stevens’ availability, Sam Boardman started petitioning for acquisition of the

fort by Oregon State Parks. As he observed in an early report on the matter, “The idea

of converting this former military reservation into an Oregon state park has much to 

commend it. The site itself is historic, in surroundings that are identified with the earliest

written history of the Northwest...there is a wide choice of buildings for any and all needed

park purposes, and ample cleared land for further development or the installation of any

specialized park features...If surf bathing is desired, there is a splendid beach on the outside

of the spit” (Boardman 1947: 6-7). As with Cape Disappointment, the proposed park

contained a complex patchwork of federal, state, and county land ownerships, as

well as a garbled pattern of land ownership from the accretion of new lands for jetty

construction in the late 19th century. Newspapers and civic organizations of the

northern Oregon coast were soundly behind the proposal, actively lobbying the state

government and Oregon’s congressional delegation for the transfer of the fort to

state park use. Prominent voices included the Astoria Chamber of Commerce, the

Warrenton Grange, Kiwanis Clubs, the editors of the Astoria Daily Budget and the

Oregonian, among many others. The State Highway Commission, whose approval

was required for all new park acquisitions, did not agree. Overwhelmed by 

Boardman’s ambitious park-building efforts of the last two decades, seemingly 

wary of the gargantuan maintenance responsibilities associated with the old 

facilities, and unclear on the fort’s public value, the Commission rejected 

Boardman’s proposals to acquire the land—not once but twice. Moreover, matters 

of ownership were complex: the Army Corps of Engineers still wanted to retain 

facilities and access rights as inholdings in the proposed park, and it was unclear

whether the federal government would relinquish control to such a strategically

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
sensitive location. The GSA abandoned the idea of a simple transfer of the properties

to Oregon State Parks and by 1949, was appraising the fort property for possible 

sale at auction. 

But even after Boardman’s death, state negotiations continued. The City of 

Hammond, supportive of a park proposal and concerned about alternative uses of

the land, stepped in. It sought to acquire lands on the town’s borders that were

available for sale from the GSA. And by the mid-1950s Hammond transferred key

portions of the fort to the state for park use. In the 1950s Clatsop County also 

transferred lands to the State of Oregon to augment the proposed park. (This 

complex land transfer history produced a patchwork of ownerships that persists to

this day, with private ownership of historical fort houses, and late-20th century 

subdivisions sitting a stone’s throw from facilities like Battery Clark.) As at Cape

Disappointment, the federal government opted to retain a large portion of Fort

Stevens, though the State of Oregon was able to secure a long-term lease for 

development of the state park at the fort. In turn, various state and county lands on

the perimeter of the federal lands were transferred to expand the park’s margins.

The Army Corps of Engineers retained the areas adjacent to the south jetty, but

eventually agreed to provide enduring recreational access to the jetty and other

Corps lands as part of the larger park. Consequently the State of Oregon began its

own dune stabilization efforts on the cape, and by the late 1950s, was developing

new tourist facilities on the former fort site (Merriam 1992; Boardman 1956, n.d.).200

The Oregon State Highway Commission was more sympathetic to Boardman’s 

efforts to acquire the surplus radar station and adjacent lands on the top of 

Tillamook Head. These were especially scenic properties, contiguous with an 

existing state park at Ecola. Boardman’s efforts to acquire the surplus government

property prior to the war established a precedent, and the transaction was 

completed with relative ease following federal disposal of the properties. Less 

than a year after the end of World War II, Boardman notified the War Assets 

Administration of the state’s interest in acquiring the lands on top of Tillamook

Head: “Lot 3 would give control of the Head proper to the state and facilitate the future

recreational development of the area. I desire to file an application for the aforementioned

lot 3 if and when it becomes surplus property” (Boardman 1946). 

In March 1948 the Seattle Regional Office of the War Assets Administration declared

Tillamook Head AWS to be surplus property (Fanflik 1948). However, the action was

withdrawn the following month by the Office of the District Engineer of the War 

Department, “in view of the continued need for the Tillamook Head Radar Site J-23, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 292 —
Oregon by the Department of the Air Force.” All lands and facilities of Tillamook Head

AWS were restored to active status under the jurisdiction of the Air Force (Hoffman

1948). But in 1951 the state made another attempt to acquire Tillamook Head AWS

when the Oregon State Highway Commission filed an application for surplus 

property with a justification for priority transfer based on the lot’s intended use 

as a “public park, public recreational area and/or historical monument” (Oregon State 

Highway Commission 1951). This time the state was successful, buying one lot in

1952, which included 50 acres of fee-owned land, 45.79 acres of easement, 17 

buildings, and utilities. The purchase price of $2,195—half the fair market value—

reflected the “50 percent public benefit allowance” allowed by the War Assets 

Administration and its successor GSA (War Assets Administration 1952). At the same

time, Boardman negotiated with Crown Zellerbach for the sale of adjacent timber

lands to the park, including portions leased to the federal government as part of the

radar station. By the end of that decade, he had achieved his minimal vision for

Ecola State Park, having acquired the outer arc of Tillamook Head from Crescent

Beach to the southern edge of Seaside for the State of Oregon. Boardman noted to

Fred Andrus of the Astorian Budget newspaper that he wanted to expand the park 

Figure 11.13 – Sitting a short distance west of Megler, and today’s bridge terminus, “Derbyville” 

was a popular place for recreational fishermen in the post-War period. Salmon fishing derbies, 

held annually at this location, were the source of the name. Photo courtesy Columbia Pacific 

Heritage Museum.

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
further, but negotiations with Crown Zellerbach had stalled: “I needed more but the

Corporation wouldn’t sell. I have my foot in the door and we can press to the east at some

later date.”201

Throughout the mid-20th century, and into its later decades, tourism rebounded in 

the beachfront towns of the coast. In places, the success of beach-based tourism

actually matched the visions of early town promoters, but was driven not by rail 

access, but automotive access—especially for those making brief trips by highway

from the metropolitan areas of Portland, Seattle, and even Vancouver, B.C. 

A number of communities experienced a revitalization of their old downtowns, with

their rail lines long ago dismantled, their highways often rerouted with the 

inadvertent effect of producing low-traffic pedestrian districts set amid vintage

buildings.In an effort to match tourist expectations and create a certain coastal 

archetype, many communities refashioned their commercial districts using New

England-themed coastal architecture and an abundance of nature imagery in 

signage (Deur 1994). In certain settings, residential architects experimented with

these themes, integrating native woods into buildings, adopting New England-style

elements or rustic lodge architecture, and nestling homes more sympathetically into

the coastal landscapes. 

A major catalyst for this effort in architectural circles was John Yeon, a celebrity

Portland architect and son of timber magnate and philanthropist, John B. Yeon

(who, among many other accomplishments, was a leading figure in the development

of the parks and scenic byways of the Columbia River Highway in the Columbia

Gorge). Through the mid-20th century, John Yeon acquired parcels of land in the 

Columbia-Pacific region with the intention of developing showcase houses that 

capitalized on native architectural movements, developing a regionally distinctive

Northwest-modernist style that sought to integrate residential structures into their

natural surroundings.202 One of the parcels he acquired for this purpose included

Chapman Point and the adjacent dunes beyond the southern end of Ecola State Park,

lands he ultimately did not develop. Following John Yeon’s death in 1994, his heirs

sold the dune lands to private buyers with the aid of a real estate brokerage, securing 

development rights contingent upon their agreeing to place Chapman Point in 

permanent conservation status. This land was designated as the John Yeon State

Natural Site; though not formally a park, it was placed in Oregon State Park 

management, effectively extending the preserved portion of Ecola State Park 

southward, to the northern edge of Cannon Beach. Meanwhile, John Yeon’s brother,

Norman Yeon, developed his own elegant beach home, just south of what is today

the Sunset Beach terminus of the Fort-to-Sea Trail. While his brother apparently

Empires of the Turning Tide

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had no direct input on the design of Norman Yeon’s house, the house nonetheless

displays many elements characteristic of John Yeon’s designs—not least being the

graceful integration of the house’s footprint into the natural contour of the 

stabilized dunes, fronting a small dune lake. Norman Yeon willed this beach home

for the benefit of the public. Following his death, with the aid of the North Coast

Land Conservancy and the Trust for Public land, his house was transferred to the

management of Lewis and Clark National Park, becoming one of the LEWI parks in

2009 (Longenecker 1995; Vaughan and Ferriday 1974).203

The rebound of tourist towns was, in truth, not uniform. Bayfront towns, often 

with an abundance of old industrial infrastructure and no ocean beach access, came 

relatively late to the tourist trade, capitalizing on niche markets, historic buildings,

and a gritty authenticity that is elusive on the beachfront. A few capitalized on 

access to fishing and hunting areas, which were also absent from most beachfront

towns. Places like South Bend, Raymond, Ilwaco, Hammond, and Astoria witnessed a

post-War boom in fishing charters, retail and lodging options for hunters and 

fishermen, and similar offerings. This natural resource-based tourism has persisted,

though it is faded in relative importance over time, reflecting nationwide trends in

the popularity of hunting and fishing. 

In some cases, even beach towns have been hamstrung by natural causes. Beaches

and dunes have continued their slow westward march, in the same vexing process

that made Clatsops relocate their villages periodically over the last 3,000 years, now

accelerated by jetty construction and Soil Conservation Service plantings. Many of

the beachfront towns found themselves landlocked, with the large beachfront

homes of Gearhart and Long Beach increasingly sitting a long march through the

dunes to the sea. Today, the truly beachfront towns, where one can spy the sea from

main street, are few. One could walk from the mouth of the Columbia along the

beach southward and not see structures resembling a town until reaching the

Necanicum estuary, in spite of the large and bustling communities along that

stretch, concealed a short distance away from the beach, behind dunes. To the north,

the formerly beachfront main strip of Long Beach lies surprisingly hidden behind

European beach grass and shore pine on low sloping banks of sand. While providing

pleasant solitude for beachgoers, the situation isn not what the town’s founders had

in mind. This trend has favored development in the few towns still possessing direct

views and easy access to the beach, such as Cannon Beach and Seaside, with its

beach-front promenade. In turn, it has hindered tourist development in places 

further north, such as Warrenton, where tourists typically do not linger for long.

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Figure 11.14 – Oregon Governor, Oswald West – a prominent figure in the Progressive-era coastal

conservation, riding his horse on Chapman Point, on the southern end of Ecola State Park, in what is

now the John Yeon State Natural Site. Photo courtesy Oregon Parks and Recreation Department.

With so much sand, issues of beach access became increasingly critical, not only to

tourists, but to the integrity of the ascendant tourist economy. In this respect,

events in the Columbia-Pacific region significantly shaped broader national and

state histories of public beach access. Efforts to privatize the beaches began almost

as soon as early tourist promoters completed their plat maps, showing private 

lots extending to what were, in truth, beaches and dune fields. In both Oregon 

and Washington, efforts were made to fence off private beach lands, resulting in

pushback not only from recreational users, but those who relied on beaches for

transportation. Especially on the Oregon side, where headlands and rugged 

mountains impeded travel, access to the beaches was required to transport people

and goods between communities prior to the completion of state highways. The

issue was of particular concern to Oregon’s progressive governor Oswald West, 

who frequented Oregon’s north coast and witnessed the effects of early beach 

privatization on tourist mobility. (The matter was also of personal importance to

Governor West. He would build his beach home directly in front of Haystack Rock in

Cannon Beach, where it was only accessible by beach route from the wagon road 

terminus at Ecola Creek.)204 Arriving in office, Governor Oswald West announced his

intention that the beaches of Oregon were to be treated as public highways, 

necessary for unobstructed public transportation; the state legislature agreed, 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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Figure 11.15 – Oregon Governor Tom McCall enjoyed broad public support for his initiative to protect

public access to the state’s beaches. In 1968, McCall would pay a visit to the contested Cannon 

Beach shoreline between the Hay hotel and Haystack Rock, as would a number of demonstrators 

supporting legal action to defend public access rights. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society. 

passing legislation to this effect in 1913. This effort earned him national attention,

as well as the admiration of President Theodore Roosevelt, who praised West as “a

man more intelligently alive to the beauty of nature...and more keenly appreciative of how

much this natural beauty should mean to civilized mankind, than almost any other man I

have ever met holding high political position” (Roosevelt 1911). 

Over a half century later, the stretch of beach just below Oswald’s former beach

house became the center of legal challenges that would extend the scope and 

precedent of Oswald’s legacy—making Oregon’s beaches a national model for public

access. Cannon Beach motel owner William Hay sought to exercise exclusive claims

to the beach in front of his family’s hotel in mid-town Cannon Beach. As an 

outcome of ambitious 19th century lot division and promotion, the Hay property line

technically extended from the sandy beach in front of the Hay hotel to Haystack

Rock. In early 1967, noting that beach transportation had been eclipsed by highways

and the dry sand above mean high tide was impassible by vehicle, Hay constructed a

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
fence around the section of beach lying above mean high tide level, and sought to

expel beach visitors who were n0t paying guests of his hotel. The state demanded

that Hay remove the fence, but he refused to relent, resulting in public protests and

a widely-publicized helicopter airlift of Governor Tom McCall to the beachfront. In

response, the Oregon legislature passed the “Oregon Beach Bill,” which McCall

signed into law in July of 1967. The law, which survived seven separate lawsuits by

developers and landowners in the following five years, ensured public access to the

high tide line in perpetuity based on the century and a half of prior public use of

these areas. The law was based on the legal doctrine of “adverse possession to the

broader common-law definition of use by custom, cementing into place public ownership of

all of Oregon’s beaches” (Thoele 1998: 350-352). (The beach controversy had other,

initially unintended consequences, including the 1968 addition of Haystack Rock to

the Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge.) As with Oswald West’s campaign for

public beach access over a half century before, this move drew national attention,

establishing the legal foundations for the use of the beach along the entire coast of

Oregon, but also influencing legal opinion and precedent regarding beach access in

other states (Love 2003; Thoele 1998; Merriam 1992; Cox 1988; Oregon State 

Parks 1977).

Today, pressures for tourist development and conservation have definitive, and

sometimes competing, influences on the landscapes of the Columbia-Pacific region.

As the old town plats are filled in, real estate interests look to new lands beyond the

towns’ margins for development opportunities. The golden era of state park 

creation largely a thing of the past, nonprofit organizations now play an increasingly

central role in land conservation initiatives. Often working alongside local 

governments and land management agencies, non-profits have worked to set aside

scenic and biologically significant places, often expanding preexisting parks and

refuges on their margins. 

Especially since the 1970s, The Nature Conservancy has played a role in this process,

helping to add the Ellsworth Creek Preserve on Willapa Bay to the Willapa National

Wildlife Refuge, and to set aside Columbia estuary lands outside the National

Wildlife Refuge system. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, Ecola Park was effectively

expanded eastward through land purchases involving The Nature Conservancy, 

Oregon State Parks, Cavenham Industries, and major private donors including the

Feldenheimer family—partially realizing Boardman’s wish to “press to the east” from

the Ecola cliffs with the addition of the Elmer Feldenheimer Reserve.205 Local and 

regional nonprofits have played significant roles as well. Growing rapidly since the

Empires of the Turning Tide

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1990s, the North Coast Land Conservancy is now the single largest landowner in the

Seaside area, excluding timberlands beyond the city limits, and has aided in public

fundraising to set aside protected lands in many parts of Clatsop County, including

the Norman Yeon property and other sites adjacent to LEWI parks. 

Founded in 1990, the Columbia Land Trust has purchased lands along the Columbia

estuary, often for habitat restoration purposes, including lands within view of the

riverfront units of Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks. This 

organization has helped pioneer new approaches to conservation that protect 

working landscapes, such as the conservation of farm lands that not only function as

working farms but as restoration sites for salmon and waterfowl habitat. In recent

years, the region witnessed efforts to expand conservation initiatives to the seas, 

including proposals for the development of National Marine sanctuaries—one of the

first successful proposals in the Pacific Northwest leading to the development of a

sanctuary offshore from Oswald West State Park at the south end of Clatsop County.

Although state park development has been comparatively modest in recent times—

a victim of shrinking budgets, rising property values, and complex political 

realities—these agencies do sometimes take the lead on important and popular 

proposals. The Oregon Park and Recreation Department’s 2004 acquisition of the

Sunset Beach State Recreation Site in support of public beach access from the LEWI

parks is perhaps the most recent and prominent example. 

The history of recreation and conservation runs deep in the Columbia-Pacific 

region—deeper than is commonly appreciated. With the urban population of the 

Pacific Northwest growing by leaps and bounds, tourism has become a premier 

industry in the Columbia-Pacific region, nearly eclipsing most of the older resource 

industries in its reach and economic influence. More people live within day trip’s

range of this coast today than lived in the entire Pacific Northwest region when Ben

Holladay and Henry Tinker were promoting fledgling resorts in Seaside and Long

Beach. With the ease of transportation and communication, the coast is integrated

into the social fabric of the urban Northwest in ways formerly unimaginable to 

those men. Development pressures from tourism are mixed blessings for coastal

communities, as each town tries to embrace the economic advantages of tourism

while retaining the integrity of resident communities and landscapes. Efforts to

protect natural landscapes from further development and to rehabilitate or even

replicate historical buildings and neighborhoods are significantly influenced by

these changes.206

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Creating Spaces of Recreation and Conservation In the Columbia-Pacific Region
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 300 —
— 301 —

 !12,&424)1/+(%*01/4

The Historical Landscapes of Lewis and Clark National 

and State Historical Parks

rom the slow-moving tidewaters of Willapa Bay and the Columbia River 

estuary to the rugged, wave-pounded headlands at Cape Disappointment and

Tillamook Head, the Columbia-Pacific region has changed dramatically since

Lewis and Clark. The members of the Corps of Discovery might still recognize the

region’s topography, the fundamental geometries of its mountains, rivers, and

coastline, but the differences would surely be staggering. The large and powerful

Native American nations of the region, the river-mouth masters of sprawling trade

networks encompassing much of the Pacific Northwest, have been much reduced in

scale and position, supplanted by territorial ambitions and international economies

centered in distant parts of the world. Native peoples have persisted, and have 

exerted far greater influence over the region’s cultural and economic life than is

often appreciated, though their traditional territories, so carefully mapped by Lewis

and Clark, are no longer in their control. By and large, their former village sites—

many still known and valued by modern Native peoples—have been reoccupied by a

succession of military forts, canneries, railroads, highways, cities, and even parks.

The forests, estuaries, and dune-field prairies beheld by the Corps of Discovery 

persist, but are significantly changed, reshaped by wave upon wave of development

and commercial harvest. 

The changes described in this book were set in motion by an international 

scramble for territory in which Lewis and Clark were iconic figures—on one of the

last coastlines to be explored or effectively claimed by the peoples of Europe. The

empires of Britain, Spain, the United States and Russia all converged on the 

Columbia-Pacific coast almost simultaneously in this bid for colonial dominance,

seeking to lay claim to its lands and waters, but also to realize vast profits from the

furs of signature species, the sea otters and beaver of its waterways. In time, their

competing claims prompted the development of forts, the Astoria fort among them,

providing a permanent Euro-American foothold on the Columbia-Pacific coast. In
their early years, these forts were bustling centers of ethnic and cultural diversity,

full of resident Clatsops and Chinooks, fur company-employed Scots and Native

Hawaiians and Quebecois French and Iroquois and Metis, and an endless procession

of Native and non-Native visitors arriving by river or by sea. In early 19th century

Astoria, as with the upriver post at Fort Vancouver, interethnic marriages were the

norm, and interethnic trade and barter was the cornerstone of the economy, 

bringing people into contact with novel goods, technologies, values and ideas. One

might overhear French being spoken alongside English, but also – for example -

Clatsop and Quinault spoken alongside Cowlitz and Tillamook and any number of

other Native languages. Very commonly, one might hear Chinook proper spoken

alongside the more widely known hybrid trade language of Chinook wawa (or 

“Chinook jargon”), which facilitated communication across myriad linguistic

boundaries. Buoyed on fur trade wealth, Columbia-Pacific tribal chiefs such as 

Concomly and Coboway held kingly stature, orchestrating and profiting from this

tumultuous interethnic trade. The multicultural flavor of this period was distinctive

along the lower Columbia, and arguably remains unmatched even in the urban 

communities of the region in the early 21st century. 

Yet, in time, the territorial and economic ambitions of the international empires 

and their fur trade outposts would bring to near extinction some of the most 

fundamental human and environmental elements of the area as observed by Lewis

and Clark—from powerful Native American chieftainships to the keystone 

communities of sea otters and beyond. The sea otter “resource” of the coast had

been exhausted, the species soon to be extirpated from the region. The fur trading

networks that centered at the mouth of the Columbia in the wake of Lewis and

Clark’s visit gave way to the harvesting of interior animals, leaving the coast in an

economic backwater from which it would long struggle to overcome. Centering their

operations in what is now the Portland area, the North West Company and Hudson’s

Bay Company tapped into Native American trade networks of the inland Northwest,

monopolizing the regional trade in beaver and other furs still shipped around the

world via the lower Columbia. Epidemic diseases arrived during this period, mostly

carried here by ships seeking furs. Smallpox, influenza, malaria, and many other

diseases alien to this coast carried away over 90% of the Native population through

the first half of the 19th century. Not even the majestic Chiefs, Coboway and 

Concomly, were spared. On the heels of these epidemics, American expansion 

elbowed out British fur trading interests, bringing new people to the region, guided

by a new set of economic and political ambitions. Though it is too often forgotten,

there is no doubt: by the time the first American homesteaders arrived in the 

mid-19th century, the region was already dramatically altered, a very different place

Empires of the Turning Tide

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— 303 —

Toward A Conclusion

than that described by Lewis and Clark less than 50 years prior. Arriving settlers

often saw the landscape of the Columbia-Pacific region as “wilderness,” but this

was an illusion. The landscape had been, until recently, a densely settled place, its

longstanding human communities largely swept away only a few years before their

arrival in a succession of horrible and convulsive plagues. 

Figure 12.1 – The 1955 Fort Clatsop replica, shortly after its construction. Fort Clatsop and the Lewis

and Clark story remain central to the park’s interpretive and management mandates. In the broader

regional history outlined in this document, dating from both before and after Lewis and Clark’s visit,

visitors might see connections with the experiences and observations of the Corps of Discovery in

the winter of 1805-06. The current fort – the second replica on the site – may not be National 

Register eligible at this time, but the Fort Clatsop site still has its own rich history worthy of 

documentation and commemoration. Photo courtesy Oregon Historical Society.

As American settlers arrived in the region from places like the American 

Northeastand Midwest, this coast presented them with unfamiliar environmental

challenges, often at odds with their own longstanding economic and agricultural

traditions. Dynamic dune-fields and dense, ancient forests stymied their ambitions

to establish agricultural homesteads, prompting a rapid turnover of certain lands

and sending some prospective settlers to other, more forgiving parts of the West. In
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 304 —

an effort to adapt, some Columbia-Pacific settlers experimented with alternative

mixed economies, involving the harvesting of timber and fish, in addition to modest 

farming undertaken for local markets or simple subsistence. Fishing and timber

harvesting were both time-honored pursuits in the region, prefaced by Native

American barter economies involving both fish and wood products, traded between

tribes and later between tribes and arriving ships. Early commercial mills and 

fishing operations emerged as commercial offshoots of Hudson’s Bay Company 

operations that sought to augment, and perhaps offset, the decline of the fur trade

on the lower Columbia—selling Columbia River salmon and timber in places like

colonial Hawaii in the 19th century. The California gold rush gave American settlers

their first major markets for these goods, sparking the explosive growth of the two

parallel industries. 

From its gold rush roots, the salmon canning industry reshaped the cultural 

geographies of the lower Columbia into the final decades of the 19th century, 

bringing Chinese laborers in abundance to work, especially in the canneries, and

Scandinavian fishermen to ply the waters for fish. The output of the industry 

skyrocketed, only to falter in the early 20th century in the face of two roughly 

concurrent developments. Salmon runs on the Columbia – decimated by heavy 

fishing and growing human impacts on inland habitats - brought diminishing

catches to the canneries, just as industrial profits were pinched by the forced 

removal of Chinese labor nationwide and the skilled and often collective negotiation

of wages by those laborers - significantly Scandinavian - who remained. In 

response, cannery owners moved a sizeable portion of their operations north, in

search of better catches and bigger profits—especially to the productive waters of

British Columbia and the Alaskan fishing frontier. The modern fishing industry of

Alaska, in particular, was shaped significantly by this mass exodus of capital and 

resources from the lower Columbia region. The fishing economy that remained in

the region was compelled to diversify, turning its attention to such pursuits as tuna

canning, crabbing, and groundfish. Fishing interests also restructured in the region,

sharing resources between canneries through such organizations as the Columbia

River Packers Association, while also maintaining a strong tradition of independent,

small-scale fishermen. In spite of the northward shift of the salmon fishing 

industry, many salmon fishing families chose to remain, fishing in far northern

Alaskan waters in season, only to return to their home ports on the lower Columbia

when the fishing was done. Family-based fleets of gillnetters, doggedly persistent,

continued to fish the lower Columbia for salmon on the margins, in spite of wildly

fluctuating catches, markets, and regulations surrounding the diminished runs of

this iconic Northwestern fish.
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Toward A Conclusion

Similarly, timber harvesting skyrocketed in the wake of the California gold rush,

marking the beginnings of the modern industry. Yet the scope of lumbering was

quite limited at first, largely centered on waterfront forests, where logs were easily

towed by boat to tidewater mills. Logging in the Sitka spruce zone of the outer, ocean

coast was often hindered by a lack of access, but also a lack of markets for the spruce

and other signature trees of the oceanfront. Instead, much early logging centered on

the prized Douglas fir of the interior hills fronting the Columbia estuary, the logs

passing through tidewater mills, their wood products then passing by sea to 

California and beyond. Only the harvesting of timber for airplane manufacturing in

World War I, and later for paper products, prompted the full industrialization of the

ocean coast’s spruce forests. Large milling operations quickly came to dominate the

local economy, especially as the salmon canneries waned. Large mill owners, most

notably timber baron A.B. Hammond, arranged for the private acquisition of lands

formerly in the public domain throughout the Columbia-Pacific region, providing a

highly profitable flow of trees through their mills. Those newly privatized land 

holdings were mostly acquired from the federal government through a series of land

grants meant to foster the development of railroads, some of those lines ultimately

built and some not. Sold to a succession of new owners over time, these properties

make up much of the privately-owned forestlands, and much of the ColumbiaPacific region’s total land base today. 

While the woods largely fell silent during the Great Depression, most of the 

remaining ancient forests were felled quickly in the boom years following the 

Second World War. Fueled by national economic trends and newly available 

petroleum-intensive logging machinery – from portable chainsaws to reliable log

trucks – this post-War logging transformed a much of the Columbia-Pacific land

base, ushering in the “managed forests” of today. As with salmon fishing, so too

with logging, laborers have had to adapt to rapidly changing circumstances, as 

logging and milling becomes more automated – requiring less labor even as 

logging’s reach expanded. Gyppo loggers and small mill operators, as indefatigable

as their gillnetting cousins, have found ways to operate successfully along the 

margins of the large and rapidly fluctuating industry. Here too, a diverse labor force,

a sizeable proportion of them being of Scandinavian origin, has played a key role

throughout this history. Distant markets and decision-makers still shape the 

industry today while, at the time of this writing, a growing proportion of the timber

harvest is carried out to provide raw logs for the burgeoning economies of Asia.

While the Columbia-Pacific region is still draped in emerald green forests, their 

resemblance to the forests seen by Lewis and Clark is faint, the vast majority of the

regional landscape now representing industrial forest lands where trees in any 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 306 —

particular grove are of roughly even height, roughly even age, and seldom live more

than a few decades before harvest. Only in places such as unharvested stream and

river buffers do trees now live much longer - an outcome of late-20th century state

laws to protect fish and water quality in both Oregon and Washington, allowing

salmon and other species to thrive and sometimes rebound in local streams and

rivers. Still, truly ancient forests are few in this area: they are small patches, largely

relegated to the park lands described in this document, providing glimpses of 

ancient forests that draped much of the Columbia-Pacific region. Timber remains a

cornerstone of local manufacturing, but the industry will continue to remake itself

in response to changing international economies, changing technologies, and

changing public expectation and regulation of the forest. 

In few places around the globe had fur trading empires, salmon fishing empires, and

the logging industry converged so dramatically on the landscape - quickly rising and

then falling or transforming into something quite different. At each stage, they have

left reshaped landscapes and human geographies in their wake. During each step,

the region’s industrial entrepreneurs brought immigrant laborers to the ColumbiaPacific, and each successive wave of immigrants—Chinese, Scandinavian, and 

others —made a unique mark on the cultural geography of this region. New 

immigrant groups from Mexico and beyond are simply the latest in a series of such

communities that have contributed to Columbia-Pacific life. If historical immigrants

centered in industrial towns on the tidewater, this new immigrant population has

centered largely in tourist towns, reflecting the changing economic identity of the

region. It is now the tourist centers such as Cannon Beach that report proportionally

large Mexican-born populations in recent censuses compared to other Clatsop

County towns. In the 1980s and 1990s, business owners in the Columbia-Pacific 

region actively recruited Mexican labor in unprecedented numbers—even traveling

to nearby metropolitan areas or visiting Mexico, bringing workers to the region to

fill labor shortages. As with other ethnicities in earlier times, this fostered a “chain

migration,” as laborers recruited early in the process invited additional laborers 

to the area. In historical terms, some of the region’s immigrants, such as the 

Scandinavians, have had strong incentives to stay, while others, such as the Chinese 

immigrants, have not. But each small industrial revolution has brought new labor

demands, and new people to meet those demands, adding a layer to the region’s rich

cultural geography. No doubt, this trend will continue into the future. 

In spite of this rich and bustling human history, it is sometimes surprising how little

of this history can be detected on the verdant landscape of the Columbia-Pacific 

region. The tangible imprint of certain groups, and certain historical moments, may
— 307 —

Toward A Conclusion

have been fleeting in the Columbia-Pacific region, where dampness, salt spray and a

predilection toward wooden construction have shortened the lifespan of many 

historical landscapes. Portions of the industrial infrastructure associated with 

fishing and logging that could be salvaged for other uses were quickly dismantled,

and what remained is often rotted away—leaving few intact landmarks of these 

industries on the land or in today’s historical parks. Within the Lewis and Clark 

National and State Historical Parks, it is mostly the monumental landscapes of 

concrete and stone, associated with navigation and national defense, that have 

endured. These have provided our region with some of its most prominent historical

landmarks. At Fort Columbia, Fort Canby and Fort Stevens, a triad of military forts

once produced a potential “triangle of fire,” dominating and defending the mouth of

the Columbia from the Civil War until the dramatic events of World War II. Concrete

bunkers, gun batteries, and a vast array of supporting structures—most dating 

from the beginning of the 20th century—still persist at these places in shades of

disrepair, a testament to this pivotal period in the nation’s military history. Nearby

are the navigational structures—the Cape Disappointment and North Head 

lighthouses, but also the three major jetties of the Columbia’s mouth. These 

historical structures still function by design over a century after their creation, and

are among the few landmarks of both historical and utilitarian value that remain in

the national and state parks of the region. 

Over time, too, the natural resources of the coast have taken on new significance and

are less often seen in utilitarian terms. As the tourist industry emerged from its

early rail- and steamship-based infancy into its automobile-dominated 

manifestations of the 20th century, the demographic, economic, and social core of

the Columbia-Pacific region migrated too: once situated firmly in the region’s 

tidewater industrial towns, the region’s “core” has slowly migrated westward to

embrace the resort towns of the ocean coast. Beach towns now bustle with activity,

while old tidewater resource towns reassess their identities and reach out to tourists

in various ways. Today, zip-line courses appear on former industrial timberlands not

far from Fort Clatsop’s entrance, recreational second-homes pop up thickly amidst

fields of cedar stumps, and former commercial fishermen are often encountered 

operating tourist fishing charters, landscaping hotel grounds, or taking other jobs in

the tourist industry. When 19th century entrepreneurs founded tourist hotels on the

bays and beaches, they could have scarcely anticipated tourism’s modern reach, and

the degree to which recreation has eclipsed preexisting modes of life.

The tourist economy is paradoxical and involves many tradeoffs: there are many new

“recreational entrepreneurs” in this new setting, and some level of protection of the
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 308 —

booms and busts of the fishing and timber industries. Yet, many of the jobs in this

field pay less than a living wage and communities, seasonally flooded with tourists,

have lost much of their autonomy and serenity. Here, tourism is perhaps a “resource

industry,” but it’s a resource industry of a very different sort, where unmodified

natural landscapes carry a certain monetary value and the aesthetic preferences of

urban people shape the landscapes and economies of the coast. While the tourist 

industry has relied heavily on natural scenery for its appeal, its persistence relies on

a model of resource use that is relatively passive, not extractive. With its aesthetic

emphases, tourism sometimes complements, and sometimes competes with, 

longstanding resource industries. The Columbia-Pacific region has had to reevaluate

its identity as tourist towns become ever more integrated into the urban spheres of

metropolitan Portland and Seattle, cities with a combined population in the millions

– their populations larger than the largest cities on Earth at the time of Lewis and

Clark’s visit. Residents of these modern cities not only visit the coast in everincreasing numbers, but also own a growing portion of the land as second home

owners, even “telecommuting” from the region, residing on the coast for portions

of the year. No longer does growth depend on the harvest of local resources, but on a

quality of life that is inextricably tied to beaches, rugged mountains, parks, small

towns, and other amenities that set the region apart somewhat.

In this context, especially in Clatsop County, the Columbia-Pacific region has 

witnessed some of the more decisive moments in Pacific Northwest conservation

history through the 20th century—including the development of Oregon’s state

park system and rules mandating public access to the ocean beaches in perpetuity.

Today, non-profits and communities continue to expand and refine conservation

measures, as more people arrive in the area, placing new pressures on the 

landscapes that define the region’s identities and ecologies. When that prominent

early visitor, William Clark, looked out across the region from Tillamook Head in

January of 1806 and “beheld the grandest and most pleasing prospects which [his] eyes

ever surveyed” he clearly appreciated some of the virtues that inspired later coastal

visitors, and this latest wave of human settlement on the land. Yet he could, 

perhaps, not have imagined how this scenery would mobilize road-building, 

town-building, park-making, and various statewide policy innovations in the 

centuries to come.

Today, the national and state parks of the Columbia-Pacific region are some of the

few places where one can see and learn from the landscapes from these successive

periods of history, their preserved fragments aggregated over historical time. This

book has sought to summarize some of these major developments, and to reveal 
— 309 —

Toward A Conclusion

Figure 12.2 – The parks and park facilities developed in the first half of the 20th century - such as

those at Ecola State Park, shown here -were rapidly embraced by residents and visitors alike. By the

mid-20thcentury, these protected areas were of growing importance to the coast's economy and

were the cornerstones of a rapidly changing regional identity that centered on recreational uses and

scenic landscapes. Photo from author's personal collection.

how they have left physical traces in the parks and beyond. The research that led to

this book cast its net broadly but not always deeply in these rich historical waters.

With its topical and temporal breadth, we have only “scratched the surface” of the

available historical record, outlining certain key themes in the region’s history for

the benefit of the public, but also for the park staff who must manage the historical

landscapes of the Columbia-Pacific region for the benefit of future generations.

Such was the nature of the task: the overarching goal of this research was to provide

a basic introduction to the regional history and to set the context for understanding

the forces that shaped the landscapes now within the Lewis and Clark National and

State Historical Parks. With no fewer than ten units in that park system, owned by

multiple state and federal partners, this admittedly leaves little room for subtle 

nuances and fine-grained detail. More detailed historical studies are warranted

based on the findings of the current document, and would yield a variety of benefits

for visitors to the parks, as well as interpreters and resource managers who host

them. So too, the findings of this work imply a number of management steps for

park managers, such as special conservation measures for places of unique historical

importance or the listing of properties to the National Register of Historic Places. 
Empires of the Turning Tide

— 310 —

It appears likely that the national and state parks will pursue these options, and

hopefully this document will be of use in supporting their efforts.207

Regardless of whether the National Park Service and its partners in Oregon and

Washington’s state parks choose to pursue such efforts, it is clear that these 

agencies will continue to explore, document and celebrate the history of the 

Columbia-Pacific region for many years to come. Many of the places most critical 

to the history of the Columbia-Pacific region have come into these agencies’ 

management, through a series of historical developments - some involving mere

happenstance and some involving more methodical efforts to preserve historical

sites. These parks are among the few places in the region where one might still walk,

and behold the natural or cultural landscapes as they were seen by generations 

before. They are some of the few places where one can engage well-preserved 

cultural landscapes—military forts and lighthouses, for example—dating from

much earlier periods of our shared history, and might yet learn from them. Through

these agencies’ mandates for historic preservation and public education, they have

together inherited the responsibility—and the privilege—of telling the stories of

Columbia-Pacific history to park visitors. It is our sincere hope that this document

will aid the parks’ efforts in this important task, so that the history of the region will

not be forgotten, but will continue to be relevant to our understanding of the past

and might serve as guideposts to our shared future. It is also our sincere hope that

this document will be a useful guidebook to readers, as they explore and reach their

own conclusions about the meaning of these unique places to the past, present, and

future of the Columbia-Pacific region. 
— 311 —

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Empires of the Turning Tide

— 370 —
1 Boas (1901: 221) notes that even the Cathlamet “used to go inland to hunt elks. In the fall of the year they used to go to 

Saddle Mountain. When elks were seen on the prairie of Saddle Mountain they were all killed.” Taylor (1974b) notes the use of

elk drives off of cliffs in southern Clatsop County.

2 John Harrington’s Nehalem interviewees noted that “kids went to highest places to get power - Maybe they went on top of

Tillamook Head to get their song” (Harrington n.d.).

3 As Warre and Vavasour (1909: 71) noted, “There is one small stream of spring water on the Cape, and two on the connecting

neck of lands, but they are not of very good quality.” Native American settlement was situated near these water sources, and

an absence of predictable water explains in part the relatively diffuse pattern of settlement described on the headland

otherwise. 

4 Broughton referred to Middle Village as “Village Point” in 1792; by 1839, sources had established the name “Chenoke

Point.” The name “Chinook Point” was commonly employed for the beaches and the village complex centered on 

Middle Village (e.g., U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey 1859: 398-99) but only later was reapplied to the modern site of Fort

Columbia. The U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey (1859: 399) suggests of this place that “the Indian name is Nóse-to-ilse.” In

late November, 1813, Alexander Henry (in Coues 1897 2:754) found the three villages on Chinook Point empty, or mostly

so. Presumably these had been abandoned for the winter, a pattern noted by many travelers, including Lewis and Clark.

5 A settlement called “ucmuyáqxan” or “Utsumuekhan” is sometimes reported for the site of Fort Columbia, but this 

reference is difficult to disentangle from references to Middle Village. See Weathers (1989: 24, 31), Wilson et al. (2009). 

6 In light of the historical, ethnographic, and archaeological evidence summarized here, it is clear that every sub-unit of

LEWI has some history of Native American use and occupation. There are Native American archaeological sites eligible 

for listing (many already listed) under National Register Criterion D, minimally in Middle Village/Station Camp, Cape 

Disappointment State Park, Ecola State Park, and Fort Stevens State Park associated with each of these large villages. In

spite of extensive site disturbance, there are likely to be archaeological materials as yet unrecorded in the other sub-units

as well. This is an archaeological question, however, and is beyond the scope of the current report. While many of these

places continue to be of profound cultural and historical importance to tribes, they have also been reoccupied and 

redeveloped for more than a century and a half in some cases. For this reason, it is difficult to assess the potential eligibility

of Traditional Cultural Properties (TCP) in LEWI, and further consultation with park-associated tribes would be required to

clarify this point. Middle Village/Station Camp, for example, is of profound importance to modern Chinooks, but it is 

unclear whether the “integrity of condition” required as part of a TCP nomination would be sufficient. Cape 

Disappointment and Ecola State Park still possess certain undisturbed areas of cultural significance where one might 

“see the landscape as the ancestors saw it,” and these may warrant consideration, but it is unclear whether the “integrity of

relationship” consideration might be met in those cases. One place within the larger study area (but beyond the jurisdiction

of LEWI) clearly meets TCP criteria: Saddle Mountain. Still revered by many tribal members today and visited by some for

ceremonial purposes, this Oregon State Park may still warrant consideration as a TCP through consultation with the 

federally recognized and unrecognized tribes of the region.

7 As Meares recounted of his visit to the mouth of Willapa Bay,

We had concluded this wild and desolate coast was uninhabited; but this opinion proved to be erroneous, for a canoe now came

off to us from the point with a man and a boy. On their approach to the ship they held up two sea otter skins...We then fastened

several trifling articles to a cord, and threw them over the side of the ship, when they were instantly seized by the boy and 

— 371 —

1.3*
delivered to the man, who did hesitate a moment to tie the otter skins to the cord, and waved his hand as a sign for us to take

them on boat, which was accordingly done (Meares 1791).

8 As recounted in the Vancouver journals,

October 21st: The Discovery having put to sea without making any signal to the Chatham, Mr. Broughton very judiciously 

concluded that I was desirous that he should explore and examine this opening on the coast; and in order that no time should be

lost in carrying this service into execution, he proceeded at two in the afternoon with the first of the flood and a strong gale at

S.W. up the inlet, keeping the Village point [Chinook Point], which lies S. 70. E. five miles from cape Disappointment, well open

with a remarkable projecting point, that obtained the name of Tongue Point [near Astoria, Oregon], (on the southern shore,

appearing like an island). The depth of water here was not less than four fathoms, and as they approached the deserted village

[Chinook Point] the depth increased to six, seven, and eight fathoms. The wind by this time obliged them to bring to, for the 

purpose of double reefing the topsails, and whilst thus engaged, the rapidity the flood tide impelled them into three fathoms

water, before sufficient sail could be made on the vessel to render her governable. By this means she was driven on a bank of

sand, where the strength of the stream, preventing an anchor being carried into deep water, she remained aground until high tide;

when they hove into ten fathoms with the greatest of ease, and there rested for the night. Mr. Broughton had, for his guidance

thus far up the inlet, a chart by Mr. Gray, who had commanded the American ship Columbia; but it did not much resemble what it

purported to represent. This shoal, which is an extensive one lying in mid-channel, having completely escaped his attention

(Vancouver 1801: 53).

On October 22, Broughton took the cutter, a small boat stored on the Chatham for shallow-water travel, to explore the

mouth of the Columbia. The crew of the Chatham traveled first to Middle Village, and then to Point Adams, now within 

Fort Stevens State Park:

Mr. Broughton proceeded with the cutter and launch to examine the shores of its southern side. He first landed at the deserted 

village, on the northern shore, and on the eastern side of Village point [Chinook Point]; which he found a good leading mark for

clearing the shoals that lie between it and cape Disappointment, carrying regular soundings of four fathoms. From this point he

passed over to point Adams [now in Fort Stevens State Park], the starboard of S.E. point of entrance into this inlet. . . . Point

Adams is a low, narrow, sandy, spit of land, projecting northerly into the ocean, and lies from cape Disappointment, S. 44 E.

about four miles distant (Vancouver 1801: 53).

Traveling along the southern shore, the crew noted extensive villages and groups of burial canoes while naming various

landmarks, including Youngs River, named for British Admiral Sir George Young, an uncle to Broughton. On October 23, the

party explored the mouth of the Lewis and Clark River, in the vicinity of Fort Clatsop, a place that apparently struck the

crew as rich in resources and aesthetically pleasing in a manner that would be echoed 13 years later by Lewis and Clark.

Again, quoting Vancouver,

From the banks of the river [Lewis and Clark River] a low meadow, interspersed with scattered trees and shrubs, extended to the

more elevated land. This was of easy ascent, and was agreeably variegated with clumps and copses of pine, maple, alder, birch,

poplar, and several other trees, besides a considerable number of shrubs, greatly diversifying the landscape by the several tints 

of their autumnal foliage. The marshy edges of the river afforded shelter to wild geese, which flew about in very large flocks; 

ducks were in abundance, as were the large brown cranes before noticed in the more northern parts of New Georgia 

(Vancouver 1801: 55).

9 The Russians recruited one of Cook’s crew, Joseph Billings, to sail for Russia in 1785, but logistical challenges limited the

trip to a brief and belated search of Alaska. Alexander Baranov continued to oversee Russian-American Company operations from the 1790s until 1818, by which time the British and, to a lesser extent, Americans were already firmly in control

of the mouth of the Columbia. Shelikov’s son-in-law, Nicholas Resinov, briefly forged a Russian-Spanish alliance with the

intention of repelling the British, French, and Americans, but died unexpectedly in 1807.

10 Though none of the early European maritime explorers and traders left enduring landmarks on the Columbia-Pacific 

region, it’s clear they had connections with local landmarks that warrant commemoration. Only one of these places, Fort

Columbia, has a National Register nomination that reflects this history: Chinook Point on which it sits was granted 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 372 —
National Historic Landmark status in 1961 by virtue of the fact that Robert Gray anchored there during his journey. Yet Gray,

Vancouver, and almost every maritime fur trader who came after them in the two decades that followed seems to have

traded with people from the Chinook community at Middle Village and, to a slightly lesser degree, the Clatsop community

at what is today Fort Stevens, usually with residents paddling to shipside in canoe. Cape Disappointment, Chinook Point,

Point Adams, and Scarborough Hill/Fort Columbia are navigational landmarks seen and mentioned by most chroniclers

passing through the area, though all but the major village sites were seldom visited. Ships commonly anchored just 

offshore from Middle Village/Station Camp and Fort Columbia, and somewhat less frequently on the eastern side of Cape

Disappointment or in the vicinity of the NPS Dismal Nitch sub-unit. Tillamook Head, too, appears in these early narratives,

such as Meares’ account, as a navigational landmark of importance. While it is unclear whether these places warrant 

National Register status by virtue of these connections, it is clear that the story of European exploration and the early 

fur trade is part of the story of those landmarks and might be interpreted there to good effect. 

Parenthetically, though the small village of Yuquot still persists at Nootka as home to the Mowachaht, and the chiefly 

name Maquinna is still inherited by modern Nuu-chah-nulth leaders, the shores of Nootka Sound are today remarkably

quiet, belying little of the area’s prominence in the early history of the entire Northwest coast. Nootka Sound would be 

bypassed as the fur trade shifted inland and international competition cooled along the coast. Today, the village and 

associated landmarks from the early imperial period are commemorated as part of the Yuquot National Historic 

Site of Canada.

11 As Ronda (1984) suggests, “For reasons that are now unclear, Lewis and Clark never visited this village nor had any recorded

contact with its leaders.”

12 The name is still used for that creek today after many years’ hiatus, as well as being formerly applied to the town of 

Cannon Beach. The creek was also long known as “Elk Creek” locally, and that name was applied to the town post office.

The creek’s name was formally changed to Ecola Creek as an outcome of the 1955-56 Lewis and Clark Sesquicentennial.

Since the founding of the state park in 1932, the name Ecola has been applied to the Oregon State Park immediately 

north of town, incorporating those lands traversed by the Corps en route to the whale (McArthur 1992). 

13 Contemporary tribal representatives note that the concept of “theft” by their Native hosts reflected a misrepresentation

of concepts of ownership among the Corps of Discovery. Within the tribes’ perspective, all of the resources harvested 

and utilized by the Corps during their stay were the property of the host tribes, who had been allowing access to those 

resources out of sympathy for the Corps’ apparent impoverishment. The taking of a few elk would be compensatory for

this sharing in the tribes’ view; the taking of a canoe by a guest without prior agreement and repayment, by contrast, 

would have been understood as genuine theft (Ray Gardiner pers. comm. 2011, Richard Basch, pers. comm. 2012).

14 All of the places mentioned here are central to the Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks’ mission, being

fundamental to the national park’s mandates and the formal justifications that have been provided for the park’s modern

boundary. The entirety of the Fort Clatsop sub-unit was used or occupied by the Corps of Discovery, and there are clearly

recorded references to the Corps visiting every one of the other sub-units of LEWI. Exceptions might include Point Adams,

which was nonetheless a landmark of importance to their journey, perhaps visited directly, and important to the history of

their Clatsop hosts. Similarly, the Sunset Beach and Fort-to-Sea Trail areas approximate historical travel routes, even if the

exact location of those routes isn’t readily recoverable today.

 

There are certainly issues requiring further attention, however. While it is clear that the National Park Service and Oregon

and Washington state parks now possess most of the key sites from the Lewis and Clark journeys, it is also clear that places

have been excluded or misidentified as part of the National Park Service effort to manage and interpret Lewis and Clark

sites in the Columbia-Pacific region. The identity of the Dismal Nitch location, visited by the Corps of Discovery in 

November 1805, is currently under review by the Washington State Historical Society. Following the interpretation of the

expedition journals by Moulton (1990) and others, prior National Park Service studies suggested that this Dismal Nitch sat

immediately adjacent to the present-day site of the Megler Safety Rest Area—the place now called “Dismal Nitch” and

mapped as such in the introduction of this report (NPS 2013; Ziak 2006). On the basis of that information, the Megler Rest

Area was included in boundary expansion planning and ultimately acquired by the National Park Service. While this parking

area has proven to be useful for interpretive purposes, it is also clear that the actual Dismal Nitch may well be located a

— 373 —

Notes
short distance to the east, in an area sometimes called Hungry Harbor. A historical report on the location of the Dismal 

Nitch is being produced concurrently with the current study, by Washington State Historical Society staff member Jim

Sayce (in press); there may be some advantage in interpretation and commemoration at this alternative location, pending

the results of Sayce’s report. 

Other matters may also require correction. There may be a need to revisit interpretation along some portions of the 

coastline, not the least of which is the content of Ecola State Park’s Indian Beach interpretive trail pertaining to the forest

conditions at the time of Clark’s journey. The notion that the trees of Tillamook Head were only 100 years old at the time

of Lewis and Clark’s visit—a cornerstone theme for Oregon State Park’s single interpretive trail in that location today—seems

questionable at best based on the journal accounts and a variety of other evidence. Also, concurrent with the development

of this report, the potential for interpretation at places such as the Ecola Creek village site (Necost) in Cannon Beach, where

Clark and his party bartered for whale meat and blubber, are also being discussed between the National Park Service, local

governments, and tribal representatives.

15 Though the events of 1811 would be transformative, it is important to note that there was a prior attempt to construct a

fort on the lower Columbia, only one year before. In that year, an expedition led by the American Winship brothers, Abiel,

Jonathan and Nathan, arrived aboard the Albatross. They attempted to build a fort and gardens to support the growing

ship-borne fur trade, while also seeking to bolster American claims in the face of what they perceived as a threat of Russian

expansion. They started building their compound upstream from our study area, near Clatskanie. Being flooded by the 

Columbia and repelled by Native communities of the area, they returned home unsuccessful (see Jerzyk 1940). 

16 See Carey (1922: 211-12), who described the debacle in the greatest detail in comparison to other accounts, and included

the burial. Hussey (1957: 11) made the thinly substantiated claim through his source Lucile McDonald, “State Seeks to 

Acquire Fort Canby...” that the ship’s captain Jonathon Thorn wanted the Cape Disappointment vicinity as the site for 

Astoria. No other source mentions this, and in any event, this decision was that of the company partners, who surveyed

the south side of the river and selected the present site for Astoria.

17 His duties in Astoria complete, the captain of the Tonquin, Lieutenant Jonathan Thorn, ventured north to Nootka 

Sound to trade furs with the resident Nuu-chah-nulth. In the course of trade— probably on Clayoquot Sound, south of

Nootka—Thorn tried his hand at trading. Unhappy with the prices requested for pelts, he insulted a Nuu-chah-nulth chief,

ordering him off the ship and then tossing pelts in the chief’s face to express his dissatisfaction. The tribe withdrew, 

returning later and attacking the ship, killing most on board. One survivor, James Lewis, coaxed a number of 

Nuu-chah-nulth onto the ship and then ignited the powder room, killing himself and many tribal members. In the end,

only one member of the Tonquin’s crew remained—this was Lamazee (or George Ramsey) reported to be the half Clatsop or

Chinook man, who ultimately made his way back to Astoria to report the incident. Shortly after his return, a large flotilla of

Kwakwaka’wakw canoes arrived at the mouth of the Columbia, throwing the residents of Astoria into a panic. Soon, though,

it became clear that these northern tribes were guests of the Chinook, staying in the Baker Bay villages to trade and share

in the season’s salmon fishing (Seton 1993; Franchère 1851).

18 Both the HBC and North West Company had sought to exploit divisions between tribal populations in order to maintain

the upper hand. At Fort George, George Simpson noted,

“The great people of the Village are constantly at variance with each other, arising chiefly from jealousy of the attentions shewn

them at the Fort; these misunderstandings are never attended with serious consequences we therefore keep them alive as by that

means we know all that passes and have them in a certain degree under our control” (Simpson 1931: 104).

19 Though Concomly was a Chinook leader and clearly of Chinook ancestry on his mother’s side, various sources suggest

that he was born and raised through much of his youth among his father’s Quinault tribe on the central Washington coast.

See, e.g., Rubin 1999: 23, 231. 

20 Some historians have suggested that “daughters of the Chinookan nobility were the exceptions rather than the rule among

Native wives of this generation” (Lang 2008: 109).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 374 —
— 375 —

Notes

21 Hussey has suggested, similarly, that 

“By marriage to the daughter of a chief or other prominent Indian, the European trader was often able to assure himself of the

friendship and commerce of that man, his family, and his village, tribe, or group. Such a connection could sometimes also 

preserve the trader’s scalp from unfriendly Indians. A native wife helped her husband learn the language of her group and kept

him informed of local events related to his business. Equally important was the knowledge of wilderness lore among native

women” (Hussey 1991: 266-67).

Some men, appealing to tribal traditions allowing polygamy, sought to maintain wives in multiple tribes for strategic 

advantages. Charles Wilkes wrote of encounters with Michel La Framboise, a prominent French employee of the HBC, 

who had arrived on the Tonquin as part of the Astoria party: “He has travelled in all parts of the country, and says that he

has a wife of high rank in every tribe, by which means he has insured his safety” (Wilkes 1845: 349). 

22 For example, from the north, Quinault people still have oral traditions recalling visits by their ancestors to the fort in a

manner recorded by Curtis:

“In summer the Quinault made ocean voyages to the Chinook country, stopping the first night out at Tshels (Point Hanson), 

and the second at Cape Shoalwater, and on the following evening rounding into the estuary of the Columbia. The Clatsop village 

Nu’smá’spu [Chief Walluski’s village], on Youngs bay south of Astoria, was a favorite rendezvous for visitors from the north, on 

account of its nearness to the trading-post. Here the Quinault gave Makah canoes, slaves, dentalium shells, sea-otter skins,

beaverskins, otter-skins, baskets, and a variety of coarse grass (probably bear-grass), in exchange for the goods of the white

traders” (Curtis 1913: 11).

From the south, descendants of Tillamook chief Illga report that he “was a great trader, often taking canoe trips to the fort

at Astoria to trade beaver pelts for trade goods from around the world,” stopping at places such as the villages at Adam’s

Point (Fort Stevens) and the mouth of Ecola Creek along the way (Deur 2008: 35).

23 Most, though probably not all, slaves were distinguished from the free people of the Columbia by the absence of a 

flattened head. Many early writers noted that “The slaves... are not allowed to enjoy the benefit of this strange deformity; 

consequently their heads are left in their natural state” (Lee and Frost 1844: 102).

24 On this differentiation between race, class, and employment in the HBC, Kardas asserted that 

“Almost all Whites and half-breeds were laborers or middlemen. Iroquois served frequently as bowsmen on canoes and probably

spent the majority of their time traveling local runs. Natives served locally as interpreters, apprentices and laborers. Owhyees

during the early years were used as middlemen; later they were more often employed as woodcutters, and laborers and a few are

also designated as “pigherds.” Since men were called up for various jobs as needed, even these assignments are tentative. From

the mid-1840’s onward increased emphasis on farming and lumbering kept most of the men near the fort” (Kardas 1971: 214-15).

25Hussey (1957: 11) cited T.C. Elliott (1918: 181-87) and McDonald, “State Seeks to Acquire Fort Canby...” 2, even though 

the entire episode merited nothing more than a footnote in Carey, History of Oregon, 247, who omits mention of Cape 

Disappointment in referencing the American captain’s actions. He stated only that the captain (James Biddle) posted “some

sort of a notice upon the river bank, making claim apparently to more than mere property [Fort George] in question.” Carey does

not mention the actions by the British at Cape Disappointment. Fort George went back to the Americans as a condition of

the peace treaty of 1815. Gray, History of Oregon, 20, quotes the British order restoring Fort George to the United States; 

F. Hickey, Captain of the HMS Blossom to J. Keith of the North West Company on October 6, 1818. The McDonald account

of these events is also summarized in David P. Hansen’s nomination of the Cape Disappointment Historic District, listed 

August 15, 1975, section 8, page 2.
26 Though Nathaniel Wyeth had a clear bias against his competitors, the HBC, his accounts on this point may still be 

instructive: 

“With the consolidation of the Northwest and Hudson’s Bay Companies in 1821, the establishment of headquarters at Fort 

Vancouver, and the effective administration of Dr. John McLoughlin as Chief Factor west of the Rocky mountains British interests

developed at a wonderful rate. It was claimed on the floor of congress that “shares in the Hudson’s Bay Company, which 

originally were of the value of 20 pounds each, were now selling in the market at the enormous price of 200 pounds sterling.”

And again “that shares of that company have risen from sixty to two-hundred and forty pounds sterling.” With the growth of

English interests on the Columbia English claims to sovereignty grew apace. American operations were confined to irregular 

incursions by fur-trading parties and to traffic carried on with natives from the decks of vessels brought into the inlets of the

coast. The British were establishing posts and extending a well-organized, lucrative and strongly supported trade” 

(Wyeth 1899: xv).

27 Visiting Fort George on April 12th 1824, John Scouler found that the site was almost completely abandoned: 

“To-day we landed (well craved) at Ft. George, & were received in a very polite manner by Mr. McKenzie, the only gentleman at

present at the fort. He informed us that the other gentlemen were employed in building a new fort, about 80 miles further up the

river, at Point Vancouver, & Ft. George had been ceded to the Americans by the treaty of Ghent, & they were expected to take 

possession of it very soon” (Scouler 1905: 165).

28 These American claims were dubious, in the sense that aboriginal title to Cape Disappointment had not been cleared,

nor did the United States possess a recognized right to the Cape until many years later when the 1846 Oregon treaty 

between the U.S. and Great Britain was ratified by the U.S. Senate. The date of Ogden’s “purchase” is in Hussey (1957: 13) as

derived from T.C. Elliott, “Peter Skene Ogden, Fur Trader,” Oregon Historical Quarterly 11 (September 1910), 261-262. 

29 In 1812, Ross Cox (1832: 116) – one of several travels to report visiting the fort - noted, “I visited Fort Clatsop, and found the

logs of the house were still standing and marked with the names of several of the party.”

30 The exact number of dead in this attach is a subject of disagreement in the literature. Some sources suggest that the

death toll was negligible, while others suggest that this was a major defining event in Clatsop history, effectively killing 

their traditional leadership. In the latter category, missionary John Frost noted in 1840, 

“...the Clatsops and indeed all the Indians in this region, have properly no chiefs; they having all passed away. The last chiefs of

the Clatsops having been killed by the Hudson bay company for the real or supposed murder of some of their men, which were

thrown on this shore from one of their vessels, which was wrecked on the coast” (Frost 1934:140-41).

Oregon Historical Society interviews from 1899 with Clatsop woman Jennie Michel seem to corroborate NehalemTillamook accounts of the attack recorded by Franz Boas’ student, May Mandelbaum Edel in 1931 (Deur and Thompson

n.d.). These suggest large numbers of casualties, and significant impacts upon the tribal population. Oral traditions 

regarding this attack persisted in some Clatsop, Tillamook, and Chinook families, and the story of this attack anecdotally

appears to be of great importance to some Clatsop descendants today.

31 Written accounts suggest a growing fatalism among some tribal members as their numbers continued to decline. For 

example, deSmet attributed a lack of new construction of houses among the lower Columbia Chinookans to this kind of

despondency: 

“The smallpox is the principal disease that alarms the natives; they are in continual dread of it, and imagining that they have a

short time to live, they no longer build the large and convenient cabins to which they were formerly accustomed” (deSmet 1847:

123).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 376 —
32 In 1859, the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey reported, “Chinook Point was the special location of the once powerful tribe of

Chinook Indians and here the celebrated one eyed chief Concomly held sway. The tribe has dwindled to less a hundred persons -

men women and children” (U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey 1859: 398). 

33 Sanler supposedly supported himself by operating a small vessel carrying freight on the lower river and resided midway

between the future site of Ilwaco and the cape, at “Saul’s Point,” likely within the present state park. Hussey (1957: 14 n15)

quoted McDonald on these details. The ovens are mentioned in the Report of the Superintendent of the U.S. Coast Survey,

Showing the Progress of the Survey during the year 1862; 37th Congress, 2nd Session, House Executive Document 22, Serial

1165 [contains report for 1858], 358.

34 As succinctly summarized by Dietland Muller-Schwarze (2011: 162), “Afraid of the United States’s control of the Pacific

Northwest, the company launched a scorched-earth policy in the early 1820s to exhaustively trap all valuable fur animals,

mainly beavers. They believed that the value of the land to immigrants would be greatly deprecated without beavers. Thorough

extirpation of beavers was to create a ‘fur desert’ or cordon sanitaire.”

35 As during the era of maritime exploration and seagoing fur trade, almost every part of Lewis and Clark National and State

Historical Parks had a connection to the story of the land-based fur trade in the first half of the 19th century. The Chinook

village at Middle Village/Station Camp was central to much of the history of interethnic trade, as was the Clatsop village

formerly sitting at the modern site of Fort Clatsop. In addition to being home to the principal Native traders, these places

were visited frequently by non-Native traders based in Astoria or visiting by ship. The fur trade history would certainly be

included in any complete National Register nomination for these two places. Cape Disappointment and Ecola State Park

were traversed by fur traders and Native hunters alike, and their shorelines were no doubt hunted for sea otter. Cape 

Disappointment and Fort Columbia/Station Camp were arguably the principal navigational landmarks used by almost

every ship attempting to cross the Columbia bar during this period. Several park sub-units are associated with specific 

historical events of this period including: the loss of Tonquin crew upon their arrival in 1811 (Waikiki Beach at Cape 

Disappointment), the ceremonial proclamation of British and American territorial rights at the end of the War of 1812 (Cape

Disappointment), the William and Ann sinking and HBC attack on a Clatsop village (Fort Stevens), the wreck of the Peacock

(Cape Disappointment), and the proposed war between Britain and the United States in the 1840s (Cape Disappointment

and Point Adams especially). Though not within park management, the former fort site at Astoria—including both private

and public lands—has been designated as a National Historic Landmark on the National Register of Historic Places. This is

the highest possible recognition for a historical site other than designation of a place as a unit of the National Park Service.

Recent archaeological investigations at the former fort site have been facilitated in part by the research for the current

study, and a separate report has been produced as part of the current study to detail the location, configuration and 

appearance of the fort over time (Watters, Deur et al. 2009).

36 A few of these early families located to places that were part of the Lewis and Clark story and are still within the bailiwick

of NPS interpretive mandates. For example, the Gervais family was the only family living in Cannon Beach at the Ecola 

village site during this period. The father, Ed Gervais, was the son of a French fur trapper tied to the fort at Astoria, and his

mother was a daughter of Clatsop chief Coboway, while his wife Nancy Gervais was Nehalem. As reported by Gillette in

1863, “We reached Elk Creek at 10 a.m. I took a lunch with E.A. Jarvis, a half breed, who lives in an Indian hut, and has a

squaw for a wife” (Gillette n.d. – July 9, 1863). They later moved to Seaside, joining other Native people at the community

sometimes called “the Indian Place” near the modern Seaside High School (Deur 2008; McChesney 1969).

37 Cannon (1995), Weathers (1989), Miller (1958), Lyman (1903), and Bancroft (1890a, 1890b), for example, provide good

overviews of the lives of individuals who settled on park lands; the bibliography of the current report abounds with other

sources containing biographical information on this well-documented period in regional history. Local historical societies

and museums also maintain files regarding most of the individuals mentioned in this section.

38 P.W. Gillette reports that he and an adjacent claimant, Thomas Scott, built a single cabin in the tiny forest clearing at the

boundary of their lands. They both resided there during the laborious process of “proving up.” They drew a line through the

middle of the cabin and mostly resided on their respective sides of the line:

— 377 —

Notes
“The line running through the middle of the house enabled us to fulfill the requirement of the Donation law, that each claimant

should reside upon his own land” (Gillette n.d. – January 14, 1861).

39 There are many other aspects of White’s biography that would warrant mention in a complete account. Born in New York

in 1806, the year the Corps of Discovery returned home from the Columbia-Pacific region, White was a trained physician,

who joined the Lee mission to Hawaii in 1836-37. Arriving in Oregon in 1837, White ultimately had disagreements with Lee

(who later founded the Clatsop Plains Mission), departing with that mission and embarking on a number of different 

enterprises. He led the first sizeable wagon train over the Oregon Trail, consisting of 112 people, in 1842, then embarked 

on his work as an Indian Sub-Agent later that year. He participated in various meetings leading to the creation of the 

provisional Oregon Territorial government in Champoeg, and was given the task of carrying a petition from that 

government to U.S. Congress seeking to formalize American territorial status. By 1861, after the conclusion of his 

ventures at Cape Disappointment, he was assigned another Indian Agent position and departed for California

(Hussey 1967b; Gray 1870).

40 Meanwhile, a short distance upstream, the NPS Dismal Nitch area, so steep and lacking flat lands, was not the center of

early settlement, only being reoccupied after the homesteading era for the construction of a fishing station.

41 W.W. Raymond was part of an early and locally famous contingent of settlers – including Elbridge Trask - who arrived on

Clatsop Plains in 1843. He served for a time as an Indian agent, administering the Clatsops residing in the area from his

home on Tansy Point, and was somewhat infamous for his mismanagement of that temporary subagency (see Deur

2005). Indiana-born B.C. Kindred came to Oregon in 1844 and settled on Point Adams by 1845. His family was reported to

still be occupying what remained of their original claim in 1889 (North Pacific history Company 1889).

42 Indeed, Fort Clatsop’s original location was determined by memory of its remains in an 1899 Oregon Historical Society

expedition involving Carlos Shane, Silas B. Smith, Preston Gillette and others (See Shane 1900, Smith 1900).

43 See English and English (1993). A number of homesteaders in rural areas would sometimes buy “town lots” near Astoria

and other communities – to be used as a foothold in the town and sometimes as an investment. So too, urban dwellers

sometimes acquired homestead claims to be used as hobby farms or recreational outposts. Olney and Adair are two

prominent examples of this phenomenon.

44 Though Taylor was not as widely known as Olney within the state, he was nonetheless the subject of various 

biographical writings, by virtue of his pioneer status and reputation as a solid character. As told to Fred Lockley by his 

son, Edward Taylor,

“My father, James Taylor, was born in Pennsylvania in 1809. When father was fourteen years old he went with his parents to

Ohio. When he was twenty-one he taught school. Later, with his brother William, he ran a trading post in the Indian country. My

father was married in Ohio in 1841. My mother’s maiden name was Esther D’Armon. Father was appointed register of the land 

office at Lima, Ohio, in 1843. In the spring of 1845 father bought four wagons and some oxen and started with his wife and baby

and a band of loose cattle for the Willamette valley. At The Dalles he met Samuel K. Barlow, who was building the Barlow road

around the base of Mount Hood. He left his wagons at The Dalles, packing part of his goods on packing horses and driving his

loose cattle around the south side of Mount Hood. They reached Oregon City on October 10, 1845. He and A. L. Lovejoy went into

partnership and built a mill, which was washed away by the high water. Father had struck out for the shores of the Pacific, so he

decided to go as far west as he could. He came to the mouth of the Columbia and found a settler who had taken a six hundred

and forty acre claim, which he was willing to sell, so father bought it.

“When father came down to Clatsop plains he found that W. H. Gray, Ton Owens, R. W. Morrison and a few others had already

settled here. The Astoria Golf and Country Club now owns part of father’s original donation land claim. During the Cayuse Indian

war father was stationed at Fort Waters. At the conclusion of the war he came back to Oregon City and reentered the sawmill

business with A. L. Lovejoy and Medorum Crawford. The high water in the winter of 1849-50 carried the mill and their lumber

away. The provisional legislature of 1848 appointed father director of the proposed mint. When Governor Lane arrived at Oregon

City in 1849 to become the first governor of Oregon territory, he would not allow the territory to run a mint, so the mint was 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 378 —
operated privately, my father being one of the owners. They coined something over fifty thousand dollars in gold dust into five

dollar and ten dollar ‘Beaver’ gold pieces.

“In 1851, when I was about three years old, we moved back to Clatsop plains. Father shipped stock to Victoria and to the Fraser

river country. In 1856 father bought Sam C. Smith’s claim in Astoria on Young’s bay and Smith’s point, which is now known as 

Taylor’s Astoria. I was about seven years old when I started to school in the old pioneer Presbyterian church on Clatsop plains.

Later I went to the parish school in Astoria, taught by Rev. Mr. Hyland and his wife...[after moving to Idaho at age 18] I came back

to Astoria and went to fishing for the cannery. In those days the owners of the canneries agreed to take all the fish you could

catch, at twenty-five cents each. I built two boats. I hired a helper to go with me in one and I rented the other. About a dozen of 

us young chaps in Astoria hired a house and a cook and kept a bachelor’s hall. We made good money catching salmon at 

twenty-five cents each. Many’s the salmon I have turned in for twenty-five cents that weighed from fifty to sixty pounds” 

(in Lockley 1928: 792-94).

45 Gillette further notes that “Mr. Lattie is a half breed Indian, who keeps a public house, and many resort thither, some for the

ride, some to behold the scenery, and others to feast upon the fish...that is always found upon his table. His house is [located] 

1⁄4 of a mile of the ocean on the southern end of Clatsop Plains” (Gillette n.d. – June 1, 1861).

46 Gillette noted that members of his circle often hunted the meadows and estuaries: “They are very plentiful on the moors,

and are easily taken at high water in spring tides” (Gillette n.d. – February 8, 1861).

47 Later, when he had successfully if incrementally cleared a larger area, he would marvel at the results:

‘When I look around me, and see the acres of this mighty timber that I have destroyed with my own puny arms, I am quite 

surprised. The man who clears an ace of this land, builds himself a monument that will exist as long as the country is in the hands

of a civilized race. Many of us build such monuments, but alas: how few of us will leave our names inscribed upon them. And how

few will be remembered” (Gillette n.d. – February 15, 1861).

48 Gillette was no exception: “Each year I enlarged the boundaries of my small farm a little. As fruit growing was the most 

profitable business in the country, I kept planting trees as fast as I could get land cleared” (Gillette n.d. – January 14, 1861).

49 Soil fertility has limited grass output on many of these operations so that, as highways took shape, a number of farmers

have shipped hay and other feed to the coast to support grazing livestock.

50 Preston W. Gillette was born in Ohio in 1825. He arrived in Oregon in September of 1852, and my March of 1853 settled

his Donation Land Claim on the Lewis and Clark River. He sold his land in 1867, moving to Portland, where he married and

made a small fortune in real estate investments. He died in 1905.

51 Domestic varieties of the cranberry have been cultivated for commercial purposes for nearly 200 years in the United

States, beginning in coastal New England. Commercial harvesting began in Cape Cod, Massachusetts, around 1816, spread

to the Pine Barrens in southern New Jersey about 1835, and to the central portion of Wisconsin in 1853.

52 One Long Beach Peninsula resident, however, attempted to cultivate native wild cranberries for mass consumption. John

P. Paul, a carpenter by trade, planted wild vines on part of his property in 1869 but abandoned his efforts in 1878, after

nearly a decade without success (Weathers 1983: 52).

53 Charles McFarlin was the first to cultivate cranberries commercially in Oregon, setting out vines in Coos County in 1885

that were brought from his native Massachusetts. McFarlin, a Cape Cod grower, and his brother had developed the McFarlin

variety of cranberry from wild vines. The McFarlin variety had larger berries than the native Oregon bog cranberry but did

not ripen until October. McFarlin preferred earlier ripening varieties like the Black Veil and the Black Diamond so that 

he could get his berries to market ahead of east coast competitors. W.C. King of Sandlake, Oregon, started growing 

cranberries in 1893 and, by the turn of the century, was considered the “cranberry king” of Tillamook County (Allen 2006).

— 379 —

Notes
54 Cranberry production had stalled in the Northwest for a variety of reasons. Absentee landowners, particularly in the Long

Beach region, accounted for a large number of marshland owners. Preparation of marshland for commercial 

harvesting required a tremendous first-year investment of money and labor, and the investment could not be recouped

for four to six years. Eastern vines imported for planting often developed mildew and pest infestations during shipping or,

once planted, could not withstand Northwest climate and soil conditions. The demand for cranberries was limited to the

Thanksgiving-Christmas holiday season, and the market was already adequately supplied by established bogs in the 

Northeast and Midwest (Weathers 1983: 46).

55 Sinclair guided the state legislature in awarding funds to Washington State College (now Washington State University) to

establish the Cranberry Investigations Laboratory at Long Beach in 1923. Horticulturalist D.J. Crowley was named director

of the laboratory, later renamed the Cranberry and Blueberry Extension Unit. Crowley’s major contribution to horticulture

was in the area of frost injury prevention. After a few years of experimentation, Crowley developed a method to prevent

frost damage using a sprinkler system. Crowley’s idea was initially met with resistance because using water to prevent frost

damage seemed counter intuitive to most growers. Today, however, sprinkler systems have become standard equipment

for commercial cranberry growers and other fruit growers around the world. Crowley’s contribution has been recognized by

a cranberry variety named in his honor (Allen 1999: 13-14). When Washington State University moved to close the station

in 1993, west coast cranberry growers formed the Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation to purchase the facility.

Washington State University continues to support the staff at the Long Beach Research and Extension Unit, and growers

farm the bogs and maintain the buildings (Weilepp 2004: 2).

56 Cranberry Canners, Inc., a growers’ cooperative, formed the Cranberry Army Pool in 1943 to encourage its growers to

pledge the sale of a portion of their annual crop to the government as part of the war effort (Cranberry Canners, Inc. 1943:

1). The cooperative issued certificates that read, “This is to certify that [grower’s name] is a member of the Cranberry Army

Pool and has pledged [XX] per cent of his 1943 crop to cooperate with the nation-wide effort that is being made by 

Cranberry Canners, Inc. to supply our Armed Forces with Cranberry Products” (Pacific Coast Cranberry Research 

Foundation 2004: 3).

The resulting increase in demand for cranberries during the early 1940s significantly expanded production on Long Beach

Peninsula and other locations. Cranberry harvesting season is in September and October, and the earliest method was dry

harvesting, that is, picking the berries from dry vines, by hand. Prior to World War II, the market for fresh cranberries was

limited to Thanksgiving and Christmas, since berries harvested in the fall would spoil if stored any longer. Even though

growers kept them in drying trays, moisture still damaged some before they could be sold during the holiday season 

(Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation 2004: 3). Cranberry Canners, Inc. in Grayland, Washington, developed a 

dehydrator to dry freshly picked berries so they could be shipped to armed forces around the world, and reconstituted for

use. This process allowed more fresh berries to be sold during and after the harvest period, and reduced fruit loss in storage

(Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation 2004: 3). Dry harvesting by hand was very slow and labor intensive, and the

wartime shortage of manual labor prevented growers from keeping up with the increased demand (Pacific Coast Cranberry

Research Foundation 2004: 3). Under the headline, “Pickers wanted to help harvest cranberry crop; twenty growers pledge

to sell to government; yield expected to be very good,” one Pacific County newspaper reported in 1943 that,

Harvesting of the peninsula’s main crop of cranberries will get underway Monday, growers announced this week, appealing to

everyone to spend all possible time in the bogs. Picking of Early Blacks and Centennials already has started, but the bulk of the

peninsula’s 400 acres will not be ready until next week...D.J. Crowley of the state college experiment station reports...the 1943

crop has possibilities of yielding 50 per cent more than last year. Growers are urging anyone wanting to pick to contact them and

make arrangements for transportation if desired. A special appeal is made to experienced scoopers and pickers as they will be

most valuable in getting the crop harvested. Pickers will be paid 45 cents a measure, which is an attractive price with the heavy

set of berries ...All peninsula members of Cranberry Canners, Inc. have signed the Cranberry Army Pool, pledging their crop to the

government. Other growers who wish to join the pool must first join the co-operative for the duration (Pacific Coast Cranberry 

Research Foundation 2004: 3).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 380 —
While bringing an increase in demand for cranberries, the war also reduced the pool of potential labor to harvest the crop.

This prompted growers to experiment with new methods to make harvesting more efficient, leading to the development

of a variety of innovative equipment for picking and sorting (Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation 2004: 3). Two

types of harvesting machines evolved around Long Beach during and following World War II. One was designed to pick

berries directly from dry vines. The other type dislodged berries from vines after the bog was flooded and the berries

floated to the surface where they were “corralled.” Today the latter method, called wet harvesting, is used almost 

exclusively on the Long Beach Peninsula, whereas growers in the Grayland area prefer dry harvesting methods 

(Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation 2004: 6).

57 Cranberry Canners, Inc., a cooperative of cranberry growers, was established in 1930 by the merger of three cranberry

companies on the east coast. Cranberry Canners, Inc. became the National Cranberry Association in 1946, and then Ocean

Spray Cranberries, Inc. in 1959. Cranberry production remained limited in Oregon until 1946, when the National Cranberry

Association extended membership to Oregon growers (Allen 2006), and opened its first Oregon facility in Bandon the 

following year (Oregon Department of Agriculture 2001). Ocean Spray has processing plants in the three growing regions:

several on the east coast and in the Midwest, and one in unincorporated Markham, Washington, near Aberdeen (Weathers

1983: 60). Markham is the location of Ocean Spray’s plant used for processing sweetened dried cranberries and cranberry

sauce, with an annual output of 20 million pounds of sweetened dried cranberries and 1.2 million cases of cranberry sauce

(Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc. 2013a). All west coast growers in the Ocean Spray cooperative send their berries to the

Markham processing plant. Smaller receiving stations are located on the Long Beach Peninsula; in Bandon, Oregon, and in

British Columbia (Weathers 1983: 59). According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s National Agricultural Statistics

Service, Oregon and Washington are respectively the fourth and fifth largest producers of cranberries in the United States,

after Wisconsin, Massachusetts, and New Jersey. Oregon grows 5 percent and Washington grows 2 percent of the nation’s

supply (Boston Globe 2013). Among the 173 growers in Oregon, there are currently 2,500 acres under cultivation, and 

harvest yield is about 40 million pounds of fruit per year (Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc. 2013b). Most of Oregon’s 

cranberries are produced in the Bandon area where the McFarlin variety is still popular (Allen 2006). Oregon’s largest 

export market is Japan, which began to show an interest in cranberry products once the nutritional benefits of the berries

became more widely recognized (Oregon Department of Agriculture 2001).

58 In a 1993 study researchers sought to identify remnant habitat approximating conditions prior to Euroamerican 

settlement along the floodplain of the lower Columbia River. About 143 river miles were examined in both Oregon and

Washington, between Bonneville Dam and the mouth of the river, as well as lower portions of several rivers (Christy and

Putera 1993: 10). The study found that,

“Elymus mollis (American dunegrass community). This species was once the dominant native grass on coastal 

foredunes. Although it was planted sparingly in dune stabilization programs beginning in 1916, it has been largely

displaced throughout its range by the more aggressive European beachgrass (Ammophila arenaria), the species most

commonly used for stabilization.

Festuca rubra (Red fescue dune community). Red fescue was a common sod-forming grass of open, stabilized sand

dunes on the outer coast. It was the dominant grass on the Clatsop Plains at the time of settlement, but overgrazing

and trailing by livestock destroyed the sod and caused new dunes to form. Like American dunegrass, it was planted

occasionally for dune stabilization, but has been displaced largely by the more aggressive European beachgrass”

(Christy and Putera 1993: 10).

Nearly a century after the first efforts at dune stabilization in the Pacific Northwest, Sand Island, Oregon, contains 

perhaps the last remaining, unstabilized sand dunes on the lower Columbia River. West Sand Island hosts the only 

example of coastal sand dunes stabilized with native vegetation on the Columbia River. Such vegetation is very rare 

elsewhere because introduced species have displaced native grasses (Christy and Putera 1993).

59 The implications of the history of settlement and agriculture for the National Park Service are diverse. The interpretive

value of the settlement and agricultural history of park lands is certainly vast. The non-native plants found throughout the

park are in part a product of this history, and there are remnant agricultural landscapes worthy of interpretation. Remnants

of the estuarine diked tidelands can be found on the eastern edge of the Fort Clatsop sub-unit of the park, and there are

— 381 —

Notes
defunct cranberry bogs on its southern edge as well. The National Register implications of this history are uncertain. None

of the places in the park are likely to warrant National Register listing solely on the basis of their settlement and agricultural

history, in part due to their general absence and in part due to the lack of integrity at those historical agricultural properties

that do exist. 

In each case, the major structures and agricultural landscapes associated with the early occupation are all but gone, overrun

by later development or by some conspiracy of weathering and revegetation. Perhaps more significantly, in several of the

sub-units of LEWI, we have various former agricultural (and non-agricultural) homesteads. For example, there is the Shane

homestead at Fort Clatsop. With almost the entire claim overgrown by young spruce forest, clear remnants of orchards

and vegetable cultivation from the Shanes’ era are non-existent. Similarly, there are few traces of the homesteads or land

clearing and cultivation efforts of these early settlers. Here, too, the history of these sites and their connection to regionally

important figures in 19th-century Northwest history might not warrant National Register status, but is certainly worthy of

interpretive treatment. Take for example the Elijah White homestead on Cape Disappointment. The homestead is more of

interest for its historical linkages to White’s peculiar personal history and the story of military preemption rather than to

general themes of settlement and agriculture. 

So, too, the Fort Columbia and Station Camp sites provide ample opportunity to discuss interethnic marriages of the 

fur trade era (such as the Scarborough, Ducheny, and Lattie families who occupied these lands) and the transformative 

influences of religious missionization on Native lives and economies (especially the Lionnet mission). The Lattie claim at

the Salt Cairn provides an opportunity to discuss that family’s history and the complexities of Native American life in the

period of agricultural reoccupation and early resort development. While none of these stories may be deemed “nationally

significant,” they are pivotal to certain moments in local history. They also provide a revealing glimpse into the processes by

which the lives, landscapes, and economies of Native people and the fur trade era were overwhelmed by a flood of new

people and interests in the region through the second half of the 19th century.

60 As Weathers notes,

“McGowan operated a business in Portland for many years before moving to his claim permanently around 1861. From the start

McGowan engaged in salmon salting and established the earliest salmon packing company in the state” (Weathers 1989: 40). 

61 In the 1920s, the water quality of the bay declining from mill effluent, the oyster farmers of Willapa Bay began to use the

Japanese “Pacific oyster” (Crassostrea gigas). The highly invasive Saltmarsh cordgrass, Spartina alterniflora from the Atlantic

coast of America, used as a medium for shipping imported oyster stock would later overrun vast areas of the Willapa

shoreline, continuing to be a highly invasive species today. The early development of oystering was hugely important on

Willapa Bay, but had broader implications: these early oyster operations and common law arrangements for tideland

claims contributed to Washington state tidelands law after the state was founded in 1889. By the early 20th century, 

oysters bound for the Portland market were sometimes shipped from Long Beach Peninsula communities by rail to the

Megler dock before being loaded onto boats – one of the few direct connections between the industry and park lands. 

The oyster industry has continued to be robust on Willapa Bay, and it remains one of the major production areas 

nationally (Espy 1977; Swan 1857). 

62 Some sources suggest that the Humes’ expectations of Columbia River salmon runs were exaggerated by what were

record high salmon numbers in the 1860s, caused in part due to the decimation of local Native American groups, which

had reduced fishing pressure along the river in the preceding decades (Friday 1994). 

63 Rudyard Kipling famously described the Chinese factory workers of the lower Columbia in grim, almost hypnotic prose,

riddled with the racist values of his time: Only Chinamen were employed on the work, and they looked like blood-besmeared

yellow devils as they crossed the rifts of sunlight that lay upon the floor. When our consignment arrived, the rough wooden boxes

broke of themselves as they were dumped down under a jet of water, and the salmon burst out in a stream of quicksilver. A 

Chinaman jerked up a twenty-pounder, beheaded and detailed it with two swift strokes of a knife, flicked out its internal 

arrangements with a third, and case it into a blood-dyed tank. The headless fish leaped from under his hands as though 

they were facing a rapid. Other Chinamen pulled them from the vat and thrust them under a thing like a chaff-cutter, which, 

descending, hewed them into unseemly red gobbets fit for the can.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 382 —
— 383 —

Notes

“More Chinamen, with yellow, crooked fingers, jammed the stuff into the cans, which slid down some marvelous machine 

forthwith, soldering their own tops as they passed. Each can was hastily tested for flaws, and then sunk with a hundred 

companions into a vat of boiling water, there to be half cooked for a few minutes. The cans bulged slightly after the operation,

and were therefore slidden along by the trolleyful to men with needles and soldering-irons who vented them and soldered the

aperture. Except for the label, the “Finest Columbia Salmon” was ready for the market. I was impressed not so much with the

speed of the manufacture as the character of the factory. Inside, on a floor ninety by forty, the most civilized and murderous of

machinery.Outside, three footsteps, the thick-growing pines and the immense solitude of the hills. Our steamer only stayed twenty

minutes at that place, but I counted two hundred and forty finished cans made from the catch of the previous night ere I left the

slippery, blood-stained, scale-spangled, oily floors and the offal-smeared Chinamen” (Kipling 1891).

64 Salmon stop eating and begin to live on stored adipose tissue as they move into freshwater, so that they are often 

dilapidated and the meat quality much diminished by the time they reach their destination; while many fish may still be in

marketable condition well into their journey, those fish at the river’s mouth are almost invariably in good condition, creating

strong incentives to early cannery owners to concentrate operations on the estuary. 

65 Nearly all the early Finnish migrants to the town were young men, most of them single. Of the 173 Finns living in Astoria

in 1880, only 18 were female (Hummasti 2002: 139). The practice of employing women in the Astoria salmon canneries

apparently began as early as 1878, and women would have expanding roles in the years ahead.

66 While the most productive areas were concentrated around the mouth of the river, gillnetters from the butterfly fleet

could be found as far upriver as The Dalles-Celilo area. Gillnet fishing was a highly successful means of salmon fishing,

however. For example, according to records from the 1892 fishing season, the commercial fishery harvested 2.5 million

salmon, including 916,833 Chinook salmon, 464,926 steelhead and 63,505 coho salmon. Of the salmon harvested that

year, roughly half came from gillnet fishermen (Allen 2006; Johnson 1997; Tucker 2003). As noted, these fishermen often

competed with the fish packers in the region, because the packers frequently controlled the seines, traps and wheels also

used to fish salmon. While these other technologies were rather large operations, gillnetting required only an owner/

operator and possibly a crewmember or two (Martin 1994:17). Gillnetters worked in rough conditions, battling the elements

especially around the dangerous mouth of the Columbia. It was not uncommon for fishermen of the butterfly fleet to 

sustain injuries or drown (Tucker 2003; Andrews and Larsen 1959).

67 The US Fish Commission commented on the variety and styles of cans and labels used in the 1895 pack,

In the early days of canning, the labels were severely plain and were put on the cans by white women. By 1895 very few women

were so engaged and Chinese labor monopolized every part of the work connected with the canning of salmon. Much attention is

given to variety and styles in cans and labels, which yearly show improvement in style and design. Sixteen varieties of cans were

used in the pack of 1895 (Wilcox 1896: 587).

68 The fishing industry of the Pacific states as a whole engaged more than 17,300 persons in 1895; percentages by state

were as follows: California 27.5%, Oregon 36.5%, Washington 36% (Wilcox 1896: 575). Of that number, just over 3,300

persons were employed in the 47 canneries of the US Pacific coast. The percentage of fisheries workers employed in 

canneries, and the total number of canneries were, by state: California 6% in four canneries, Oregon 59% in 26 canneries,

and Washington 35% in 17 canneries (Wilcox 1896: 580). Over 12,300 persons of the Pacific states were engaged in fishing

in 1895, more than half of whom fished the Columbia River. The capital invested throughout the region was $4,647,324, of

which 70% ($3,264,630) represented the business of the Columbia River. The aggregate catch was 86,774,000 pounds,

with a value to the fishermen of $2,438,000. Of these amounts 46,405,000 pounds, worth $1,810,000, were taken 

on the Columbia River. The yield of Chinook salmon was upward of 38,000,000 pounds and that of silver salmon

22,000,000 pounds (Wilcox 1896: 577-78).

Nearly a decade later, the fishing industry journal Pacific Coast Fisheries, described the primacy of fishing in Washington’s

economy in 1902,

“Measured by the value of its annual output, the fishing industry is the greatest industry in Washington. The total value of the

product of the fishing industry for the year ending November 30, 1902...is greater than the total coal output of the state...greater
than the total value of the lumber output, and slightly exceeds the value of the great wheat crop of Eastern Washington. These

four industries are the most important ones followed in this state, and their order of importance is: fisheries, wheat raising, lumber

manufacturing, coal mining...and that too despite the fact that the persons employed in the [fishing] industry were employed on

the average of not above 60 days during the year” (Pacific Coast Fisheries 1903b: 7).

69 On the general outline of McGowan’s early history as a cannery town, Weathers notes,

“McGowan changed over to canning salmon around 1884 when he admitted his four sons as partners and changed the name of

the business to McGowan and Sons. The settlement that grew up around company holdings was known as McGowan in honor of

the owner. A post office was established on March 7, 1901, and continued in operation until April 15, 1939. In 1904 McGowan

built and paid for a church near his cannery. The church was dedicated as St. Mary’s Catholic Church on May 20, 1906, and is

still a north shore Columbia River landmark” (Weathers 1989: 39).

70 Appelo (1966) notes that Megler was born in Germany in 1839, moving to New York as a child to live with an uncle after

the death of his parents, where he learned to be a tinsmith. He fought in the Civil War, then moved to Astoria to assist his

brother who ran a hotel there. He soon entered the cannery business, and later became a longstanding Washington state

legislator, representing Pacific and Wahkiakum counties.

71 Kinney was Iowa born, raised in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, but reputed to have entered the salmon business after 

witnessing first-hand the high prices being paid for salmon in London England markets. 

72Chinese quarters are sometimes mentioned in reference to the Megler operation, but little specifics were recovered in

the course of this research (Jeff Smith pers. comm. 2013).

73 Appelo’s (1966: 14) interviewees suggested that 

“the place known as Megler was a fishing station built by Marshall Kenney (of Astoria) in 1880 and was taken over by Megler in

1883. This he always called Hungry Harbor, so named from it being a thoroughly landlocked piece of deep water and the 

fishermen used to run in there out of the wind to cook their coffee and eat their lunch.”

74 According to an article in The Oregonian appearing a year after the formation of the CRPA, with an investment of two

million dollars the CRPA acquired the Astoria canneries of J.W. and V. Cook, B.A. Seaborg, J.O. Hanthorn & Co., Fishermen’s

Packing Company, Elmore & Co., M.J. Kinney, and George and Barker (Oregonian 1900:8). Elmore’s Astoria plant served as

the main canning location, whereas the other canneries were used for purposes such as office space and cold storage

(USNPS n.d.). Hammond and his agent, Edwin Stone, served on the first board of directors of the company, along with 

Elmore, George H. George, J.O. Hanthorn, B.A. Seaborg, J.W. Cook, M.J. Kinney, Hammond, T.B. McGovern, C.W. Fulton, 

G.C. Fulton, and William Gosselin. William Barker served as superintendent of the canneries until his brother, Fred Barker, 

replaced William when he died in 1913. George replaced Elmore as manager upon his death in 1910 (Martin 2013).

75 In 1878, Elmore had first entered the Columbia River canning industry, partnering with Joseph Hume in the development

of a new cannery in Astoria. Elmore bought out Joseph Hume’s interest in their shared venture and proceeded to build a

second cannery on the lower River by 1881.

76 Smaller rudders replaced large sailing boat rudders, the centerboards of the butterfly fleet boats were removed, shaft

logs were “plastered” on, and a protective “basket” was rigged around the propeller (Andrews and Larsen 1959). Eventually,

sails were entirely removed as the gasoline-powered boats rendered them unnecessary. The new boats were more 

cost-effective, because they could make more “drifts” than the sail-rigged butterfly fleet boats. By 1931, bowpickers were

equipped with a power roller in the bow, which rendered a crew unnecessary and allowed gillnetters to run a one-man 

operation (Martin 1994:16). 

77 While the Humes and their cannery owning peers generally moved north, into the rich fishing waters of the north, a 

few cannery owners also moved south to untapped waters between the Columbia and San Francisco Bay. R.D. Hume, for 

example, famously developed a sprawling cannery complex at the mouth of the Rogue River, at Gold Beach, on the south

coast of Oregon (Dodds 1959). 

Empires of the Turning Tide

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— 385 —

Notes

78 In the early years of the CRPA, also known as “The Combine,” a fair amount of tension arose within local communities

regarding the organization. As The Oregonian reported in the winter of 1900, long-time cannery operators in Astoria were

dissatisfied with the way that the CRPA was performing and affecting their business. The CRPA’s inability to control cannery

output and prices, they suggested, forced cannery owners, such as Seaborg, Kinney, Hanthron, George and Barker, off the

Columbia and into the Puget Sound, causing over one million dollars in investments to move from Astoria to that area

(Oregonian 1900:8). Editorials of the day also railed against the involvement of Hammond, a businessman with ties to the

East, in effectively shifting the administration of the Columbia River salmon canning industry to New York investors and

managers instead of Portland (Martin 2009; Oregonian 1900). 

79 The lead author has conducted research with Alaska Native elders who can still clearly recall the use of these boats in

such places as the lower Kvichak and Naknek Rivers, as well as the larger Bristol Bay estuary of which they are a part. In

some cases, Native fishermen operated these boats much later than most, as more affluent, usually non-Native fishermen

began to gain access to modern, motorized boats. In some cases, the use of such boats was extended by regulations

prohibiting motorized boats in certain protected waters. Native peoples were central to the early cannery efforts in these

places, where Native populations were still high but local non-Native populations were often sparse (see Deur 2013).

80 Transamerica Corporation acquired a controlling interest in 1946, and in 1959 the CRPA division of Transamerica 

partnered with Wards Cove Packing Company, becoming the largest salmon packer in the world. In 1960, this company

changed its name to Bumble Bee Seafoods, Inc. after Hawaii-based seafood giant, Castle & Cooke, acquired the company

through a merger (Bumble Bee Foods, LLC. 2012; Martin 2013, 2009). The company continued to undergo structural

changes in the 1970s, moving its headquarters from Astoria to San Francisco in 1975; two years later, the company 

acquired a tuna cannery in Puerto Rico, a fishing base operation in Ecuador, as well as Harbor Industry cannery in San

Diego. Today, the company operates out of San Diego as Bumble Bee Foods, LLC. and is owned by Lion Capital, LLP 

(Bumble Bee Foods, LLC. 2012). Though the company has moved away from its original home and shut down Astoria 

canning operations in 1980, the history of the CRPA is still visible there. In 2003, Bumble Bee employees established the

Hanthorn Cannery Foundation at the former Hanthorn Cannery, which houses Astoria’s Bumble Bee Cannery Museum; 

this is the the oldest cannery building still standing on the Columbia River, and indeed the oldest waterfront structure still

standing in Oregon (“Astoria Oregon” n.d.; Martin 2013). In order to continue to preserve the rich salmon canning history of

the Columbia River, the Foundation is also currently attempting to create an interpretive center and a Cannery Woman’s

Memorial Park in Astoria (“Astoria Oregon” n.d.).

81 The exact antiquity of the remaining piers remains ambiguous, though they do largely match the general configuration

described in the 1943 CRPA insurance reports for the site and may largely date from early CRPA ownership of the site.

82 Two NPS locations that are especially appropriate for the interpretation of Columbia-Pacific fishing history are 

Station Camp and the NPS “Dismal Nitch.” Both were integral to the story of salmon harvesting on the lower Columbia.

Regrettably, little remains of the original structures associated with salmon canning at these sites—remnant pilings being

the main landmark visible today. These pilings, while of great interpretive value, do not have the integrity required for 

National Register listing. At Dismal Nitch, no structures remain and the site is apparently not of sufficient historic 

significance to warrant National Register listing (AINW 2005). The ancillary structures at Station Camp—the McGowan

church, office and home—all date from after the golden era of salmon canning, and are only tangentially related to the 

industrial story told here. They do, however, have local significance worthy of documentation and commemoration 

(Wilson et al. 2009). Likewise, the story of the rise and fall of the salmon industry on the lower Columbia is a significant 

element of the region’s history and will continue to be a mainstay of local historical commemoration and public 

interpretation for the foreseeable future. 

83 Elsewhere, P.W. Gillette noted,

“In 1852, R.M. Moore built at Fort Clatsop the largest steam saw mill then in Oregon. The mill stood on the bank of the river about

500 feet east of the Lewis and Clark fort. In cutting down timber for the mill, a bullet was found in one of the trees with 48 rings

of annual growth outside of it, marking the exact number of years since they were there. Large quantities of lumber were shipped

from this mill. I have seen five vessels loading lumber there at one time. It might not be amiss to mention the name of William
Irwin, the nephew of R.M. Moore, and afterwards governor of California, who worked this mill. He was “Bill” Irwin then and drove

an ox team, cut saw logs, and did all sorts of work around the mill” (Gillette 1896). 

84 Some early logging operations used “jack screw” logging, cutting down trees to serve as rollers for trees that would be

felled subsequently, rolling with gravity down to tidewater – a practice later refined into the “skid road.”

85 To be sure, the landscapes of early industrial logging, harvested and most replanted, abound throughout the study area

and make up the better part of Clatsop, Pacific and Wahkiakum Counties. Other landscapes of industrial forestry can be

seen, associated with these developments. In places where donkeys once pulled trees on low leads across the forest floor,

this sometimes pulled away the topsoil; as a result, red alder – a tree with nitrogen-fixing root nodules, uniquely capable of

occupying disturbed soils – often extend in radial patterns, spider web-like, centered on the site of the originally donkey,

for example. Here too, these landmarks have stories to tell. 

86 Initially, many of the region’s small-scale lumbermen were not interested in following Benson’s innovative model. 

According to daughter Alice:

“Donkey engines had been profitably used in California for a number of years, but in the Northwest the engines had so far not

been successful. Old-timers shook their heads and said, ‘It is heresy to log with steam instead of oxen.’ Despite the warnings and

evidence to the contrary from other camps, Father was convinced that steam was practical” (Allen 1971:29).

After several successful years, other timber companies began following Benson’s trend, building logging railroads into the

small valleys of the Pacific Northwest previously untouched by the industry. In fact, the lower Columbia River estuary was

one of the most heavily logged regions in Oregon by 1900, and by 1905, Washington produced the highest levels of 

lumber production in the country, while Oregon was a close second (Abbott 2004; Tucker 2002). 

87 These initial cigar rafts were assembled in the Wallace Slough near Clatskanie and brought to sea in the summer to begin

the journey south to California. The rafts moved at a pace of no more than sixty miles a day, but they also carried freight

such as shingles, telephone poles and finished lumber on their decks (Binus 2004; Crawford 2008). While Benson took a

great risk in experimenting with this new technology, ultimately his invention of ocean-ready log rafts saved his company

about $150,000 dollars a year, with two to six rafts arriving in San Diego each year (Crawford 2008; Flores and Griffith

2002a). Benson was an inspiration to other loggers along the lower Columbia River, however as a 1906 issue of the 

Oregon Daily Journal reports:

“The immensity of the stake that Benson is playing for is expected to tempt others into the hitherto untried field of ocean rafting

of sawlogs. Others have in a measure succeeded in rafting piling by ocean from the Columbia River to the south coast, but never

before has the sawlog project been attempted. Mr. Benson has had the courage to invest a large sum of money at San Diego in a

sawmill plant that will be practically worthless should the ocean rafting industry prove unsuccessful. The large element of chance

in the undertaking will, it is believed, deter others for a few years, at least” (Oregon Daily Journal 1906: 5).

88 Upon retiring from the timber industry in 1911, Benson sold off a significant portion of his assets, choosing to turn his 

attention to civic matters in Portland and the Columbia Gorge. He was instrumental in the development of a number of

hotels as well as contributing to the Multnomah Falls Recreation Area and the Columbia River Highway – a National 

Historic Landmark of tremendous regional importance. 

Between 1909 and 1911, Benson decided to retire from the lumber business. He began selling off all of his landholdings 

in Clatskanie and San Diego at the price of $4.5 million (Abbott 2013; Binus 2004; Oregon Historical Society 2009). 

According to a 1916 article in the Sunday Oregonian, upon his retirement, “Mr. Benson had title to one of the largest and finest

bodies of timber in the state, his total holdings aggregating more than 45.000 acres, lying in almost a compact body in 

Columbia County” (Sunday Oregonian 1916: 5). In his retirement, Benson oversaw construction of the Benson Hotel and the

Columbia River Gorge Hotel near Hood River, Oregon. Benson was also instrumental in the creation of the National 

Historic Landmark, the Columbia River Highway, a 100-mile route that allowed for automobiles to travel from the mouth

of the Columbia River, through the Cascade Range and into eastern Oregon. Benson also purchased 400 acres of land in

the Gorge near Multnomah Falls and Wahkeena Falls in order to establish public parks in the area. Additionally, Benson 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 386 —
donated twenty bronze drinking fountains to Portland after Prohibition came to the city in 1916. In 1916, Benson donated

$100,000 to the Portland School District to build Benson Polytechnic School, and Portland State University is home to

another of Benson’s landmarks, the Simon Benson House. Constructed just after 1900 on the corner of SW 11th and Clay in

downtown Portland, the house was moved in January of 2000 to its current home at 1803 SW Park on the Portland State

University campus, where it houses the PSU Alumni Association and the university visitor center (Portland State University

2013; Oregon Historical Society 2009; Flores and Griffith 2002b, 2002a; Horn 1965; Oregon State Parks n.d.).

89 Today, Clatsop County has the most consolidated private land ownership among all 36 counties in Oregon – in 1991, just

four companies controlled half of its 533,000 acres – while across the river, Pacific and Wahkiakum counties display a

similarly concentrated pattern of land ownership. 

90 In addition, Congress allowed for an “indemnity” limit another 10 miles wide on each side of the primary grant, so that

land “lost” due to preexisting claims or government reservations within that limit could be taken by the railroad inside the

added strip. Through a legislated amendment signed into law on May 31, 1870, the Northern Pacific was granted a “second

indemnity” strip of 10 miles in certain places where land could not be taken by the railroad in either the primary or “first 

indemnity” strips. This second line also affected western Washington and northwestern Oregon, but not until 1910 or 

so—almost 50 years after passage of legislation authorizing the initial grant. 

91 To be fair, the fixed price discouraged settlement on these lands, or the sale of such lands to settlers, since it 

amounted to no less than double the cost of government land available through the Homestead Act of 1864 and other

public land laws.

92 A government report by the Bureau of Corporations assembled charts and maps compiled from field work during 

the period of 1907 to 1910 and subsequently printed a three-part document that described the degree of concentrated 

timber land ownership in the Pacific Northwest and compared it with other forested regions of the United States. Its 

characterization of Washington and Oregon was that most private ownership of timber was held by Weyerhaeuser and a

few other large concerns. At one point in the report, its authors used testimony from residents to provide a picture of 

the local situation at that time:

“Weyerhaeuser absolutely controls all the timberland in [Pacific County]. They are a hard company to deal with. You cannot

cross their land without paying them about what the land is worth. In the southern part of the county they will not sell any of 

the timber” [U.S. Department of Commerce 1914a: 14).

93 Oregon led the nation in use of the Timber and Stone Act, where it contained fully 30 percent of the total acreage 

disposed of in this way, or 3.8 million acres. To apply for land under the Timber and Stone Act, a claimant only needed to

sign an affidavit at the time of application stating they intended to “appropriate it to his own exclusive use and benefit.”

Fully one-tenth of all private ownership in Oregon was patented in this way, mainly because a timber claim involved no

residence or even pretense that one and the transaction involved only cash. Despite the provision for “exclusive use and

benefit,” the courts ruled that a person could sell their claim between initial filing and issuance of the patent. This allowed

some people to double their investment in 90 days, especially in areas where lumber companies or timber brokers were

actively buying. More than four-fifths of the acreage (3.08 million) purchased under this legislation in Oregon came 

during the boom decade of 1900-09 (O’Callaghan 1979).

94 In truth two of these “scripper acts” directly affected the study area, beginning with a rider on an appropriations bill

passed in 1897. It contained a provision that any tract located within a federal forest reserve (later known as “national 

forest”) covered by a “bonafide unperfected claim” could be relinquished by an owner who might then select “in lieu” any

tract open to settlement. Lieu selections often came in blocks outside of forest reserve boundaries, usually unsurveyed

lands that private timber cruisers had identified as far more productive than what the government wanted to retain as 

forest reserves. The “forest lieu” provision was changed to allow acquisition of only surveyed lands on March 3, 1905. A

second measure passed as part of the appropriations act in 1898 allowed the Northern Pacific to take any odd-numbered

section not valuable for mineral or stone, in any state or territory in which its railroad grant existed when the NPRR 

relinquished its rights in any unsurveyed sections within its original grant, upon which there was a valid claim. Even more

generous was the act establishing Mount Rainier National Park in 1899, where the NPRR gave up its sections located inside

— 387 —

Notes
the park and in the adjacent Pacific Forest Reserve in order to receive “in lieu” any nonmineral lands situated in any state

through which the railroad passed. All three acts allowed the Northern Pacific and other entities to sell their rights to lieu

lands through “scrip” that, in turn, became a popular way to buy timber. Syndicates organized for the purpose of buying

timber land in virtually unlimited quantity, were waiting as the scrip became available, having already had the vast tracts of

forest cruised to find the choicest parcels.

A fourth means to obtain timber land still in the public domain proved to be a favorite way for the syndicates or “rings” 

to “block up” holdings and thus increase land values, by including them in larger chunks so that the chances of logging 

became greater and protection costs dropped. More evident in Oregon than in Washington, it involved selling school lands

(sections 16 and 36 in every township) for $1.25 per acre. When this was done within areas that became national forest,

“school indemnity” represented an easy way to acquire “base” from which to make lieu land selections on public domain

still open to “settlement.” This method also stimulated a type of land fraud where schemers acted on inside information

about boundary locations of the forest reserves so that they could quickly purchase prime school sections.

95 The Oregon Central was purchased by Ben Holladay in 1870 and then merged with the Oregon & California Railroad.

96 Hammond’s line was later swallowed by the Northern Pacific in 1907, which combined with the Great Northern to 

complete the Spokane, Portland and Seattle (SP&S) line that ran along the north bank of the Columbia to Pasco and then

to Spokane. As for the Astoria & Columbia River Railroad, Hammond negotiated a 99 year lease for use of the NPRR track

from Goble to Portland. Without a land grant as incentive, Astorians provided Hammond with 3,000 acres near Astoria

and 1,500 acres at Flavel to cover construction costs. The railroad discontinued passenger service in 1952; 

Corning (1956: 14).

97 Most of Smith’s holdings were assembled by use of the Timber and Stone Act, but some of it fraudulently, according 

to Puter and Stevens (1908: 33).

98 Two separate groups of investors were delineated in the Bureau of Corporations’ volume, The Lumber Industry, Part 1,

(1913: 94). One group of timber land owners in Clatsop County were intermediate-sized companies, at least in 1914, with

each landowner (there were 17 of this category statewide) having from 5 to 13 million board feet nationally. The other

group was dispersed over a wider area of the county than the first three: these were smaller-scale landowner companies

(there were 38 statewide) which could claim in the neighborhood of between 3.5 and 5 billion board feet nationwide.

Putting these figures into context, the U.S. Geological Survey paper titled The Forests of Oregon in 1902 provided the only

reliable estimates of volume for that time, but designated Clatsop and adjacent Tillamook counties as having the two 

highest average stands of merchantable timber per acre of any in the state. Clatsop placed second (at 37,400 board feet

per acre, as opposed to 39,500 in Tillamook), but fourth overall (at 16.7 billion board feet) despite being a relatively small

county by Oregon standards. The investigators described it as covered by forests, where little cutting had been done, and

the burned areas (although numerous) were small [in contrast to Tillamook County] and collectively amounted to less 

than five percent of county area (U.S. Dept of Commerce 1914a, 1914b; Gannett 1902: 18).

99 Prior to the strike, Congress established the Aircraft Production Board in May of 1917 to oversee all issues pertaining 

to combat aircraft production. According to an August 1917 article in The Timberman, the Board then formed with War 

Emergency Spruce Council, which then formed the Pacific Aircraft Spruce Production Board. In May of 1917, the Board sent

Major Charles R. Sligh, a furniture manufacturer turned military serviceman from Grand Rapids Michigan, to Portland in

hopes of garnering an understanding of the spruce situation in Washington and Oregon. Though Sligh did not report back

on the labor disagreements in the industry, he did suggest that government intervention would be necessary in order to

meet the lumber needs of the Allies (Tonsfeldt 2013; Crosman 2011).

100 While the entire Pacific Northwest region was crucial to the success of the SPD, the lower Columbia River region played

a vital role in the Division. The SPD headquarters, which housed Disque and his staff, were located at the Yeon Building in

downtown Portland. (This building was constructed in 1911 according to a design by John Baptiste Yeon, father of the

celebrity architect John Yeon and his brother Norman, the original owner and builder of the Yeon House now managed as

part of LEWI.) Spruce soldiers stationed at the headquarters were lodged in downtown Portland, as well. The Vancouver

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 388 —
Barracks, located in Washington across the Columbia River from Portland, was the location of the military command for

the SPD. Just over a month after the formation of the SPD, the Vancouver Barracks transformed into the location of 

the Cut-Up Plant, a main Division spruce sawmill (Evans and Williams 1984:6). Construction of the plant began in 

mid -December of 1917, and by February 7, 1918 the facility opened with a ceremony, which Disque attended along with

his wife. The plant acted as a re-manufacturing mill that cut cants and flitches of spruce, fir and Port Orford for airplane

manufacture. While remanufacturing mills were common at the time, the Vancouver Cut-up Plant was unique in that it

represented a rare instance of the military taking part in industrial production (Tonsfeldt 2013).

Vancouver Barracks was important not only for the Cut-up Plant, but also the role it played in soldiers’ lives during the War.

SPD officers and soldiers were stationed at Vancouver Barracks at all times, and tents and temporary structures were set

up as accommodations for them. Additionally, spruce squadrons used the Barracks for induction services, medical 

purposes, uniforms, pay and a variety of other needs (Tonsfeldt 2013:54). In addition to the Vancouver Barracks, SPD 

soldiers were scattered throughout the lower Columbia River region in a variety of different camps. For example, the 

Clatsop District of the SPD had 3,342 solider assigned to it as of November 1918 (Evans and Williams 1984:A-2). 

101 Disque sought to counter the influence of the IWW in various ways, including the creation of a separate union that 

promoted patriotism and cooperation between mill workers and mill owners, as well as loggers and lumbermen. This new

union, formed in 1917, was dubbed the Loyal Legion of Loggers and Lumberman, or the “4Ls” (Military Order of the World

Wars 2011:9; Williams 1999:7). Captain Maurice E. Crumpacker, an attorney from Portland, was put in charge of the new

union. Though both laborers and management rejected the 4Ls at the onset, Disque’s power of persuasion plus strong 

nationalist sentiments led to broad public support of the union within six months of its formation, and by October of 

1918, the 4Ls had 125,000 members. In the end, the union outlasted the SPD by twenty years (Military Order of the 

World Wars 2011:9).

102 Four of the thirteen railroads were constructed with the intention of them becoming permanent railroads line, including

SPD Railroads 11 and 12 of Lincoln County, Oregon and SPD Railroads 5 and 1 in Washington (Evans and Williams 1984:13). 

103 Meanwhile the Colorado Midland, having delivered a significant portion of the company’s equipment to the USRA and

retooled their organization almost entirely to support the war effort, collapsed and its assets sold in auction shortly after

the war (Kaminsky 1989).

104 Lands immediately west of the Netul Landing log dump, meanwhile, are reported to have been acquired by an Ole 

Nygaard at around the same time (Metsker 1930).

105 The Crown Zellerbach Corporation was a titan in the papermaking industry of the twentieth century, and its presence 

in the Pacific Northwest shaped both the economic and physical landscape of the region. Both halves of the CrownZellerbach Corporation were rooted in California-based resource businesses of the 1870s. Zellerbach Corporation formed

as a timber company in 1924 in San Francisco, then in 1927 merged with its own paper board industries (Adams 1951b:85;

Crown Zellerbach Corporation 1998). Crown-Willamette itself was a conglomerate of California and Oregon timber 

interests formed during roughly the same period. Zellerbach merged in 1928 with Crown Willamette Paper Company, 

becoming one of the largest timber and paper companies and the second largest paper manufacturer in the United States.

The new corporation now had assets amounting to almost $100 million, including over 350,000 acres of timberlands and

the capacity to manufacture 1,450 tons of finished paper each day in paper mills located throughout the Northwest. The

company manufactured building materials as well as wrapping paper, paper bags, newsprint, and other paper items 

(Harvard College 2012). Crown Zellerbach became a publicly traded company on the New York Stock Exchange in 1928,

only 10 months before the beginning of the Great Depression (Harvard College 2012). The company languished during the

Depression years, like many other firms, due to dramatic declines in demand for construction materials and other timber

products. The paper industry, in total, saw a 44 percent decline in sales, and Crown Zellerbach reduced employee wages 

by 10 percent (Center for Columbia River History 2013). 

106 The exact succession of company ownership is difficult to disentangle based on records reviewed in the course of 

this study – a separate owner, the Lewis and Clark Narrow Gauge Railroad is also sometimes listed as an independent 

— 389 —

Notes
entity in some accounts, perhaps as a holding company for railroad assets subsidiary to the larger interests of these 

timber companies.

107 A fourth fire, occurring in the summer of 1951, is sometimes considered to be the final “Tillamook Burn.” In 1978, thirty

years to the day after the passage of the reforestation bond bill, Governor Tom McCall designated the burned lands in state

ownership to be a part of the Tillamook and Clatsop State Forests, which now consist in no small part of former Tillamook

Burn lands (Wells 1999; Kemp 1967).

108 Crown Zellerbach purchased large tracts of foreclosed lands in the Columbia-Pacific region, as well as in other parts 

of the Northwest and the American South. Crown Zellerbach also participated in early experiments with industrial-scale 

reforestation on their Clatsop Tree Farm (Adams 1951b:95). By the 1950s, the Clatsop Tree Farm, located in Clatsop County,

extended from Tillamook County to the south to the Columbia River on the north, and the Pacific Ocean in the west to

near the summit of the Coast mountain range in the east. While Douglas fir production in the interior portion of the County

supplied building materials, some portion of their Clatsop County operations supplied the growing pulp and paper industry

– especially the coastal spruce and hemlock forests (Wahkiakum County Eagle 1965:7; Crown Zellerbach Corporation 1958).

By 1958, the company had a total of twelve certified “tree farms” in the region. Northern Oregon was home to four of

them, including Clatsop, E.P. Stamm Tree Farm in Columbia County, Tillamook Tree Farm in Tillamook County and Lincoln

Tree Farm in Lincoln County. Southwest Washington was home to two: Pacific Tree Farm in Pacific County and Cathlamet

Tree Farm in Wahkiakum County. In total, the company had 425,000 acres in seven Oregon farms and 230,000 acres in

five Washington farms – roughly the apex of its ownership, in 1958 (Zellerbach Corporation 1958:13). Crown Zellerbach

opened up the industrial timberlands of the area, many for the first time, building vast networks of logging roads, mills, 

and other logging infrastructure throughout the region – effectively dominating local timber production from the 1950s

through the mid-1980s.

109 To underscore the dynamism of recent ownership, it is worthwhile to review the recent history of the former 

Crown Zellerbach lands, which have represented between 140,000 and 175,000 acres of Clatsop County - the largest

single ownership in the County. In 1985, the Oregon assets of Crown Zellerbach were lost to a hostile takeover by wealthy

British industrialist, Sir James Goldsmith; Crown Zellerbach was dissolved in 1986, with assets divided between James River

Company and Goldsmith’s privately-held Cavenham Industries, with most Clatsop County lands going to the latter. The

new owner, Cavenham Industries, was soon consolidated into a resource extraction conglomerate with Hanson Industries,

becoming Cavenham-Hanson in 1990. For the duration of these operations, the company continued to operate both 

cardboard and lumber production facilities, but harvested very little timber on their Clatsop lands. Cavenham-Hanson’s

lands were then sold to Hancock Lumber in the mid-1990s. Willamette Industries soon acquired the majority of 

Hancock’s Clatsop County lands in 1996, but by the end of that decade those lands were later acquired in a takeover 

by Weyerhaeuser. Weyerhaeuser sold most of these lands to the Campbell Group in 2009, except certain parcels that

were retained or traded with other timber companies such as Stimson Lumber Company. Campbell Group, an investment 

company with only a small forestry staff, has since been restructured and the ownership of this majority stake in 

Clatsop County’s timberlands is once again in flux at the time of this writing.

110 Of the various elements comprising Columbia-Pacific history, the theme of the industrial timber economy is one of 

the most critical. It has come to define the human relationship with a significant majority of the region, reshaping the

landscapes of almost every part of the region’s mountainous interior. Still, despite the importance of the theme, no 

resources remain in the park that are “significant” or that meet the integrity standards of the National Register of Historic

Places. The one place of clear nationwide significance, the Spruce Production Division’s Lewis and Clark Railroad log dump

at Netul Landing, lacks the physical integrity that would be a measure of eligibility. The Spruce Production Division site

was, after all, a short-lived railway terminus subsequently used for roughly seven decades as a working waterfront, through

multiple stages of industrial forestry. Pilings on the site appear to date, in whole or part, from the final phases of this 

industrial lifespan, and the original railroad infrastructure was removed to accommodate log truck access well before 

those modifications. 

Nonetheless, Netul Landing presents fine opportunities for interpretation. Almost all of the forested lands within the 

modern Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks were logged at some time, in part or in whole, though little 

remains from this history other than stumps and second-growth forest. In Ecola State Park, those portions of the land that

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 390 —
had to be purchased (rather than donated from public agencies or private landowners) were often logged beforehand so as

to reduce their cost, though Oregon State Park Superintendent Samuel Boardman railed against this as antithetical to the

purposes of park development (Boardman n.d.). Former logged areas can still be seen here and there within that park,

shrouded in dense second-growth Sitka spruce. Other portions of Ecola, as well as Cape Disappointment, Fort Columbia,

and Fort Stevens were logged in small areas—not as commercial ventures, but to accommodate military access, viewsheds

and firing lines—especially during World War II. It is perhaps in the Fort Clatsop sub-unit of Lewis and Clark National and

State Historical Parks, with its history of the Moore sawmill in the 1850s, the Spruce Production Division railroad in 1917-18,

and its landscapes and long history of industrial forestry from that period into the early 21st century, that the story of 

logging can best be told. 

111 The story of each of these shipwrecks is rich and deserves more attention than can be provided here. Each has 

connections with people, places and events mentioned elsewhere in this document. A lifeboat from the Hammond 

lifesaving station was dispatched to rescue the crew of the Peter Iredale, for example, and these men later recuperated at

Fort Stevens. The Shark’s mission to the Oregon Territory, its ownership then contested between the United States and

Britain, involved surveys and other actions meant to support the American side of that debate. Following the wreck, the

crew of the Shark was taken back to the fort at Astoria; while recuperating there they carved their names on a local 

landmark known as “Shark Rock,” which sits a short distance west of the fort site to this day amidst modern downtown

commercial development. The cannons from that ship drifted as far south as the cape at Hug Point, on the north end of

modern Arch Cape, were buried by sand, and some portion of them recovered in 1898 near the outlet of what is today

known as “Shark Creek”; the post office of Arch Cape was named for these cannons, and that name was later applied to

the town of Cannon Beach, a few miles to the north. In 2008, two additional cannons were discovered in the same 

general location, being recovered and since studied by the Oregon State Historic Preservation Office and others

(Shine2008; O’Donnell 1996; Gibbs 1973). 

112 The National Park Service “Summary Context for NHL Nominations” (n.d.: 1) explains the Fresnel lens and its 

significance: “The Fresnel lens, developed by August Fresnel, a French physicist, consists of a collection of glass prisms held 

together in a beehive shape by a brass frame. The light rays are bent by the prisms into one horizontal sheet of light which in a

fixed lens shows a steady light and in a revolving lens, produces a flash or characteristic. These lenses were produced in seven

standard orders or sizes, numbered one through six. Orders one through three were used in larger coastal lights, while four

through six were used in harbor or bay lights.”

113 A first order Fresnel lens arrived at the site in 1855, but did not operate until October 1856 because the lantern 

section of the lighthouse had to be modified to install the lens since the original plans called for a smaller lighting system.

Invented by a French company in 1822, this type of lens with its multiple prisms slowly replaced an earlier system of

lanterns throughout the United States over the following four decades, one where thin copper frames held the lanterns 

together and enclosed small panes of glass used to project the light. As installed, the Fresnel lens used at Cape 

Disappointment initially saw service starting in 1841 at Navesink Lighthouse in New Jersey. The U.S. Lighthouse Board 

ordered it shipped around Cape Horn to the Columbia River entrance, where the newly built lantern housed the lens for 

42 years. Dimensions of the lens were 140 inches high and 77 inches in diameter, illuminated by a five-wick oil system

(Lucero and Hobbs 2009). 

114 This is a large topic, only addressed briefly here. The Territorial Act of 1848 that established the Oregon Territorial 

Government and, thus, created the Oregon Territory, also authorized $15,000 for the lighthouse at Cape Disappointment

in the present state of Washington. During the same period, President Millard Fillmore, in February of 1852, declared by 

executive order that all the public land lying within 1 1⁄2 miles of the southern point of Cape Disappointment be withdrawn

from sale or grant, and reserved for military purposes (Rodgers 1886). The Executive Order set apart 540 acres of public

lands north of the southernmost point of the cape for military purposes. Another executive order on December 27, 1859,

took 48 acres of the military reservation and made it a lighthouse reserve. These nearly simultaneous efforts at the 

mouth of the Columbia, both to protect navigation and defend the river, set in play competing land uses between the US 

Department of Treasury and US Department of War. Rather than subtracting from the initial reservation, the General Land

Office added some acreage to the military reserve, so their combined total reached 588 acres in March 1863. When 

legislation authorized construction of a lighthouse at North Head a little less than three decades later (on February 15,

1893), the War Department and Treasury Department (which housed the U.S. Lighthouse Board) attempted to sort out

— 391 —

Notes
their respective jurisdictions on the cape. With three Civil War-era batteries located near the Cape Disappointment 

Lighthouse, officials in the two departments agreed that the military should have jurisdiction over both reservations, 

apart from four small tracts reserved exclusively for lighthouse use (Washington State Office of Archaeology and

Historic Preservation 1975; Hussey 1957).

Development of the lighthouse reservation and the establishment of a military installation leap-frogged each other

through the end of the nineteenth century. Early military efforts to fortify the mouth of the Columbia included the 

installation of smoothbore cannons at Cape Disappointment in 1862. The post and fortifications were constructed the 

following year, and the fort was activated in April 1864 (Weathers 1989 Washington State Office of Archaeology and 

Historic Preservation 1975). The commander of the US Volunteers of the District of Oregon, headquartered at Fort 

Vancouver, immediately began lobbying to have the lighthouse and fog bell relocated, “I enclose a letter for Major R.S.

Williamson of Engineer Corps, on the subject of the removal of the Light House at Cape Disappointment to a better and safer 

position, considering the danger of injury (in its present position) from the discharge of heavy cannon” (Alvord 1864). Friction

continued and in 1886, the Fort Canby Post Commander made a case to the Assistant Adjutant General at Vancouver 

Barracks for the relocation of the “light-house life saving and signal establishment” which warrants quoting nearly in full:

“I desire to invite the attention of the Department Commander, especially to the occupation of sites for the buildings

used by their employes within the limits of the military garrison and post, without first obtaining authorization of the

War Department to said sites.

“These establishments of stations are all located at this place by superior authority in their respective services and

are entitled to suitable sites for their proper purposes and for the use of their employes, but the selection should be

regulated. The tendency is to concentrate all buildings in the small cove at the foot of the hill near the wharf—to

crowd together in this small place, interfering unnecessarily with each other and endangering all in case of fire in any

one. It is apparent to all here that there should be some effective, recognized control on the ground to prevent this,

and, this post having been selected as a permanent one for the concentration of all Artillery troops in the vicinity for

instruction purposes, it is evident that the few available building sites along the only military road to the wharf

should be retained for store-house and garrison purposes...

“The tract of land over which control is thus assumed by another department is that part of the Military reservation

which is most valuable and necessary for Military purposes. The fortifications, magazines, powder house, 

Commissary and Qr.Mr’s. store-houses, stables, woodsheds, shops guard-house, wharf, barracks, N.C.O. quarters

and military roads are all located out it. The War Department has for years been building on this tract of ground

and improving it with roads and bulkhead. The new hospital, and Ordnance store-house and bulkhead to cost

$18,000 are projected on it.

“It appears a conflict of authority is slumbering here, to be raised at any moment. I report the facts and respectfully

request that the question be authoritatively settled” (Rodgers 1886).

Despite such requests to remove nonmilitary operations from the reservation, the lighthouse and life-saving station 

remained. A new bell house had to be built in 1871 after a gun blast from a nearby battery shattered the old one. The 

station’s fog bell proved ineffective because it could not be heard adequately by mariners from a suitable distance. The

bell’s service at Cape Disappointment was discontinued in 1881 and was transferred to West Point Lighthouse on Puget

Sound. A massive 15-inch Rodman cannon at the fort was seldom fired because the concussion of the blast threatened 

the glass in the nearby lighthouse. The cannon was relocated in 1893 to the fort’s Center Battery. The life-saving station,

originally built on piles in the bay, was moved to its present site at Fort Canby in 1920. This uneasy relationship between

the competing interests at Cape Disappointment continued until Fort Canby was deactivated in 1947 (Lighthouse Friends

2013; U.S. Coast Guard 2001; Washington State Office of Archaeology and Historic Preservation 1975).

115 This includes most of 6N10W, SW 1⁄4 of Section 31 – totaling 160 acres, minus some offshore areas (GLO n.d.).

116 Nehalem elder Clara Pearson reported to John P. Harrington: “The sea lions did not like it at all when they put the lighthouse

on Til. Rock, they wd. Swim around the rock and look, and finally they started a sleeping place at dehontatch [Ecola Point]...that 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 392 —
— 393 —

Notes

rock had been their bed for countless generations...sometimes the sea lions went and tried to climb up there and sometimes the

whites would shoot them and kill a lot of them thus” (in Harrington n.d.: 454). 

117 The disposal planning report noted, “It has been administratively determined that no appraisal will be required at this time 

because of the difficulty in contracting with an appraiser experienced in the type of property and the inaccessibility of the 

property” (Merrifield 1958). Another report declared, “Fair market value, considering location, is zero” (in Miller 1958). In

preparing to dispose of the light station, the Public Buildings Service reported, 

“The difficult access to the subject property will limit prospective purchasers. Range of possible uses could include an A.E.C.

[Atomic Energy Commission] Test Station, Radio or T.V. Transmission Antenna Site, or a Radar Site” (Merrifield 1958). The 

recommendations for disposal were (in order of priority): US Navy, Oregon State Parks Division, and public offering by a sale of

sealed bid (Merrifield 1958). The Navy, Oregon State Parks, and the National Park Service all declined to acquire the property. It

was purchased for $5,600 through public auction by the Academic Economic Coordinators for “marine and scientific research”

(Gunn 1958). 

The AEC, as the organization called itself, comprised over 50 members, and its five-member advisory board consisted of

five Las Vegas businessmen from the construction and engineering industries (Gunn 1959). AEC’s stated purpose of marine

and scientific research failed to materialize and the facility passed into more than 20 years of disuse under a succession of

private owners with ambitions for enterprises such as a novel gambling casino (Eternity at Sea Columbarium 1981: 4). In

1980 the lighthouse on the basalt outcrop was bought by Mimi Morissette and a group of investors for $50,000. The 

interior was adapted as a repository for crematory remains but the business lost its license in 1999, halting further 

placement of remains (Yardley 2007).

118 The lightships patrolling the river bar included the Columbia River Lightship No. 88 that was superseded by Columbia 

River No. 604, which retired in 1979.

119 In 1941, as the country became involved in World War II, the Navy ordered the Coast Guard to set up lookout posts 

at ten lighthouse stations along the Washington and Oregon coasts. These posts employed twelve-inch signaling lights 

operated by crews of four signalmen on a twenty-four hour basis. The signal crews’ mission was to identify enemy 

submarines, and report enemy aircraft and the landing of enemy ships, in addition to other missions. To avoid infiltration

by enemy ships, the Coast Guard ordered beacons and lighted buoys extinguished. This measure contributed to 

shipwrecks, such as that of the SS Mauna Ala, which, unaware of the light shutdown, raced directly into Clatsop Beach 

on December 10, 1941 (Kann and Kann 1990). 

120 Lighthouses, lightships, buoys, and beacons have aided ships in finding the entrance to the Columbia, but familiarity

with the bar was, and continues to be, critical to a safe crossing. Local Native Americans and, later, members of the 

Hudson’s Bay Company, served as the earliest pilots to meet ships and provide assistance across the Columbia bar. As the

town of Astoria became established, experienced mariners would sail (and later steam) out beyond the breakers in their

pilot boats and wait to guide arrivals across the bar for a fee. In 1846 the State of Oregon established the Oregon Board of

Pilot Commissioners, which provided for formal licensing of the pilots. All vessels engaged in foreign trade are required to

employ a state-licensed Columbia River bar pilot when making the crossing (Columbia River Bar Pilots 2010).

121 The first U.S. Coast Guard unit established in the Pacific Northwest was the U.S. Revenue Cutter Service’s Jefferson 

Davis, sent to the Puget Sound in 1854 to prevent smuggling. At this time, revenue cutters were at the disposal of customs

collectors in the Pacific Northwest and elsewhere. The custom collectors also performed duties such as documenting 

vessels, supervising lighthouses, steamboat inspections and administering marine hospitals. In addition to custom’s related 

responsibilities, the Jefferson Davis also aided in the transportation of government officials and rescue missions at sea 

(Nelson 1994; Noble 1989).

122 He was also, among many other things, the person for whom Lane County, Oregon, was named, and a key opponent to

the ratification of the Tansy Point treaties with the tribes of the Columbia-Pacific.
123 In an effort to streamline government operations, the Revenue Cutter Service and the Life-Saving Service amalgamated

in 1915 to create the US Coast Guard. In 1939 the Lighthouse Service merged into the Coast Guard, and in 1946 the Coast

Guard absorbed the Bureau of Inspection and Navigation. The Coast Guard continued under the Department of Treasury

until 1967, when it was transferred to the Department of Transportation, and in 2003 transferred again to the Department

of Homeland Security (US Coast Guard 2012b; Weathers 2001; Noble 1989).

Assuming the motto of the Revenue Cutter Service, Semper Paratus (Always Prepared), the Coast Guard was established as

“a military service and a branch of the armed forces of the United States at all times” (38 Stat. L., 800). Upon the declaration

of war or when the President directs, the Coast Guard operates under the authority of the Department of the Navy. All

Coast Guard stations, including those at the Columbia’s mouth, were placed under the direction of the Navy by executive

order from January 1917 to the close of World War I in November 1918. During both World War I and II, the Coast Artillery

implemented additional fortification by placing mines at the mouth of the river. Today all mines have been removed or 

deactivated due to seepage (Willingham 1983: 125).

Prior to World War II the Coast Guard conducted neutrality patrols under the US neutrality act of 1939, and was assigned

the mission of port security the following year. With US involvement in the war, the Coast Guard was again ordered to 

operate as part of the Navy. Coast Guard vessels, such as USCGC 402, joined the Harbor Defenses of the Columbia under

the direction of the Navy. By April 1942, 26 coastal lookout posts and 13 lifeboat stations serviced the entire coastline, and

guardsmen were armed with a range of weaponry. Principally between 1943 and 1944 Coast Guard beach patrols were

conducted via horseback (Kann and Kann 1990: 30). Throughout the war the Coast Guard played an important role in 

defense of the mouth of the Columbia, as well as continued its safety missions in the region.

124 As further technological advances reshaped helicopter technology during the Vietnam War era, these were reflected in

Coast Guard fleets. In 1973, the two original helicopters were replaced with three HH-3F Pelican helicopters. The air station

continued to grow and advance and, in May of 1983, it gained two HU-25 Guardian fanjets, and in 1987, three HH-65A

Dolphin helicopters replaced the Pelican helicopters. In May of 1995, three HH-60J Jayhawk helicopters replaced the 

HH-65A Dolphins and HU-25 Guardians. 

125 Initially the National Motor Lifeboat School classes were meetings of surfmen stationed primarily along the 

Washington and Oregon coasts, but eventually the classes were developed into a systematic curriculum taught by 

permanent instructors assigned to the center. In 1980 the motor lifeboat school became a national training center, and is

the only school for rough-weather surf rescue in the country. Over the years students from the US Coast Guard as well 

as the Canadian Coast Guard and Norway’s Royal National Lifeboat Institute have taken courses at the center (US 

Coast Guard 2012a) 

As of 2006, the station at Cape Disappointment had 50 assigned crew members, responding to between 300 and 

400 calls for assistance every year.

126 Andrew A. Humphries was a prominent Union General in the Civil War; as part of the Army of the Potomac, he was 

involved in the major battles at Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Gettysburg, later assuming the relatively calm but 

strategically important Chief of Engineers position, overseeing the development of harbors, forts and other facilities

throughout the rapidly expanding nation through the 1870s. Also somewhat famous for his scientific writings on the 

hydrology and sediment dynamics of the Mississippi River, he was relatively well suited to oversee engineering 

matters relating to the Columbia River mouth at this time.

127 In September 1877 C.W. Holt reported to Col. Wilson in the Engineers’ Portland office that conditions at installations 

on the north side of the river were also in need of attention: 

“I have to say I have just arrived from Cape Hancock L H [Cape Disappointment Lighthouse] and in looking at the

breakwater I find that it has changed very much since you were here last week. The water has broken over the wall

and the banks washed in from the wall and back a distance of about 55 feet from the face of the wall...At ordinary

low tide the water is within a very few feet of the wall which is being undermined and sinking while the top layers of

stone are being carried in by the effect of the surf and drift” (C.W. Holt 1877).

Empires of the Turning Tide

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— 395 —

Notes

128 As Robert N. Holt wrote from Fort Stevens on Christmas Day, “I have to report that the very high tides of Thursday washed

over the beach filling the lake or pond to overflowing and on Thursday evening or night the water cut through the sand on the

beach about 500 feet south west of the flume” (R.N. Holt 1881c).

129 Capt. J.W. MacMurray at Fort Stevens, for example, made appeals to the Assistant Adjutant General of the Department

of the Columbia,

“For defense at the mouth of the Columbia, a well armed battery at Fort Stevens has superior advantages. Ships

must cross the bar of the Columbia with closed ports and at great risk in the tortuous channel and heavy breakers

under fire from guns of Fort Stevens, which from a central point would command the channel for a distance of

nearly nine miles, at a range varying from 1000 to 8000 yards, and through an arc of almost 180 degrees” 

(MacMurray 1882).

130 When fully retrofitted, it was described as “Chinook, sea dredge (steel), 5658 tons, 445 ft (length) x 49 ft 2 in (breadth) x 30

ft (depth), built 1892 in Belfast, Ireland, estimated cost $300,000” (Bureau of Navigation 1904: 416).

131 A.B. Leckenby’s son, Harry N. Leckenby of Seattle, described the earliest stabilization work in a letter to KJR 

Radio Station,

“I was listening to the Western Farm and Home Hour today, and was very much interested in that portion of their

program relating to picket fences and dune grasses used in the control of shifting sands on the Oregon coast. I 

understood the speaker to say that the first work that was ever done on this was done by Mr. Harry Schoth... [M]y 

father, Mr. A.B. Leckenby, at the request of Mr. Judkins, who was then special emmigration and land agent for the

O.R. & N. railroad, did a considerable work in the control of sand dunes at Gearhart and Seaside, Oregon, in the

years 1897-8-9, and also... a particular friend of my father’s, Mr. Edwin Johnson, who owned the Portland Seed 

Company, bought the tide lands at the north end of the Seaside, Oregon, and by the systematic installation of picket

fences, added to the actual livable area of Seaside many acres located in the northern end of the city” 

(Leckenby 1937).

132 Maintenance of the Columbia River jetties is an ongoing struggle. Extensive repairs were needed in 1931, for example,

because waves had lowered the elevation of the outer end of the south jetty. Additional major reconstructions have been

required on several occasions since then. In recent years, frequent and large storms have accelerated wave damage to the

jetties, thereby jeopardizing navigational safety. Outer sections of the jetties have eroded away, other sections are at risk of

breaching, and receding beaches have exposed greater portions of the jetties to wave damage. Congress funded interim

repairs to the north jetty that were completed in 2005. Interim repairs to the south jetty were conducted in 2006-07. At

the time of this writing, the Corps of Engineers is evaluating the reliability of the jetties to identify the optimum methods

for long-term rehabilitation. Construction for a complete jetty rehabilitation project has been estimated to require $400-

470 million in federal appropriations over 20 years, creating political hazards in addition to those of a navigational nature

(Columbia River Channel Coalition 2012a).

133 In truth, the configuration of the dredged channel is complex. The outer channel is 2,640 feet wide and some 55 feet

deep. The bar channel is dredged to a depth of 55 feet in the northern three-quarters, and to 48 feet in the southern 

quarter. The channel then narrows to 600 feet wide and 43 feet deep (Columbia River Channel Coalition 2012b; 

Columbia River Bar Pilots 2010).

134 National Register eligible properties related to navigational aids and lying within Cape Disappointment State Park,

include the North Head Lighthouse as well as residences and outbuildings associated with the lighthouse. The Cape 

Disappointment Lighthouse is also part of the existing historic district and has the distinctions of being the oldest 

lighthouse in Washington State, as well as the oldest functioning lighthouse on the west coast of the United States. It 

can be inferred from the Cape Disappointment Historic District nomination in 1975 that both lighthouses are contributing

resources in that district. Both are of statewide significance, not least for the age of the lighthouse on Cape Disappointment

but also the superb integrity of the lighthouse complex on North Head. As part of aiding navigation along this part of the

Pacific coast, there are “contributing resources” within the properties in the two existing National Register properties on 
either side of the river: the Cape Disappointment Historic District and Fort Stevens Military Reservation. The jetties in 

particular, as well as supporting infrastructure including the trestles built for jetty construction, may warrant focused 

attention in any revised nominations for these two areas. (One navigational aid of the past, Lightship WAL-604 “Columbia,”

was retired in 1979 but attained national historic landmark status in 1989. The ship remains docked at the Columbia River

Maritime Museum.) The shipwrecks of the region, too, may warrant further consideration as part of a revised nomination

process for Cape Disappointment or Fort Stevens, including, but not necessarily limited to the Peter Iredale wreckage on

Fort Stevens’ ocean shore. 

135 While often cited as an “Executive Order,” Fillmore’s was responding directly to Conrad’s February 24th letter and his

February 26th reply is not ordinarily listed among Presidential Executive Orders. In truth, Fillmore replied with a statement

that was brief, and to the point: “Approved February 26, 1852” (in U.S. Senate 1878: 2).

136 P.W. Gillette’s June 18, 1861 diary entry mentions the Shubrick near Fort Clatsop: “I there found the steamship Shubrick,

a government vessel, & the first steamship that has ever been in the Lewis and Clark” (Gillette n.d.). Originally used in the 

Lighthouse Board vessel, to aid in the operations at the Columbia River bar, the ship had been placed in the Revenue 

Cutter Service by late summer of 1861 to support the war effort.

137 On these matters, Hussey (1957: 22) cited letters between R.E. DeRussy and G.W. Elliot, July 4, 1863, as well as one sent

by J.G. Totten to R.E. DeRussy, July 10, 1863, both in the Corps of Engineers, Portland District Defenses, Mouth of the 

Columbia River Letterbook, microfilm copy, Oregon Historical Society, Portland.

138 W.W. Raymond was part of an early and locally famous contingent of settlers – including Elbridge Trask - who arrived 

on Clatsop Plains in 1843. He served for a time as an Indian agent, administering the Clatsops residing in the area from his

home on Tansy Point, and was somewhat infamous for his mismanagement of that temporary subagency (see Deur

2005). Indiana-born B.C. Kindred came to Oregon in 1844 and settled on Point Adams by 1845. His family was reported 

to still be occupying what remained of their original claim in 1889 (North Pacific history Company 1889).

139 From Portland Oregonian, February 20, 1875, and Evan Miles, Military History of Fort Canby, a manuscript compiled 

between December 21, 1874, and July 13, 1909, cited in Hussey (1957: 25). 

140This material is synthesized from a variety of sources cited in the chapter of this document addressing navigational 

improvements to the river mouth. Important among these are Hansen 1997; Reckendorf, et al. 1985; Hanft 1980; Office of

the Chief of Engineers 1899; Casey 1876; and Miller 1875.

141 The “Endicott Report” is formally entitled Report of the Board of Fortifications or Other Defenses Appointed by the President

of the United States under the Provisions of the Act of Congress Approved March 3, 1885, House Executive Document 49, 49th

Cong., 1st Sess. (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1886).

142 Built in 1899, the Warrenton-Flavel line of the Astoria &Columbia River Railroad line effectively linked Fort Stevens to

the national system of Northern Pacific (Laubaugh n.d.; Wolford 2011). Fort Stevens had a large government wharf, which

connected to the rail link. In 1907, the Hammond spur of the Astoria & Columbia Railroad accessed the Fort Stevens 

Station, which helped to link the fort with other areas in the region. The Fort Stevens Post Office was in use between 

1899 and 1949 (Hansen 1997; Hanft 1980). 

143 Hussey quoted from 42nd Cong., 2nd Sess., House Executive Document 1, Part II, 71.

144 This evidently spelled the end for the Lifesaving Station and boiler house on Baker Bay, as indicated by Hussey, A Short

History of Fort Canby, 28-29. He cited the Portland Oregonian of June 14, 1931, and the Ilwaco Tribune of June 24, 1949,

among his sources.

145 Changes to the mine casemate at Fort Columbia came later, but were less stout and generally limited to the existing 

envelope. Completed in 1921, this amounted to concrete walls now two to three feet thick, as well as a reinforced concrete

and steel roof five feet through, and overlain with earth. 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 396 —
146 This reached a total for all three forts of 127 officers and 2,574 enlisted men by June 1918; “Fort Stevens,” p. 2 in

http://fortwiki.com/Fort_Stevens, accessed October 29, 2013.

147 This move largely stemmed from publication of the Report of the Board of Review of the War Department to the Secretary

of War (November 26, 1915) on the Coast Defenses of the United States, the Panama Canal, and the Insular Possessions, House

Document 49, 64th Cong., 1st Sess. (Washington, DC: Government Printing Office, 1916).

148 This mobilization of the dunes contributed to the burial of a former Clatsop village site beneath the dune field. As 

described by Meriwether Lewis’ journals, this village consisted of “houses and about 12 families of the Clatsop Nation, we

crossed to those houses, which were built on the S. exporsur of the hill, Sunk into the ground about 4 feet the walls roof and gable

ends are of Split pine boards, the dores Small with a ladder to decend to the iner part of the house...those people treated me with

extrodeanary friendship” (Lewis, December 9, 1805)

149 Most mine operations had been consolidated from Fort Stevens and went to the casemate at Fort Columbia in 1937.

The Army had long recognized that the control cable at Fort Stevens could be seen during low tides and the mine plotting

room there lacked protection and concealment. To correct these deficiencies, the Army deployed a new mine system and

expanded the casemate at Fort Columbia beginning in 1941. The addition included gas proofing equipment, a power house

for the searchlights on Chinook Point, and two entry tunnels. They added reinforcement to the casemate, most notably in

the form of a cap composed of stone rubble intended to detonate any bomb or shell before it could penetrate the earth

covering. Meanwhile, the Army converted the Columbia River minefields from buoyant devices to larger ground mines,

each holding 3,000 pounds of high explosive (Lingo 2008; Hansen 1997).

150 The war brought unprecedented resources into the war effort. As part of the Columbia River Harbor Defenses on the

Oregon side, there was the “Columbia River Harbor Defenses” which included the Fort Stevens Military Reservation (2,826

acres), the one acre Hammond Fire Control Station, as well as the 39 acre Columbia Beach Military Reservation and the

15,000 acre Camp Clatsop, both in Warrenton (USOCE 1945). The Fort Stevens Military Reservation also was responsible

for commanding the operations of facilities elsewhere on the coast, including the 32 acre Coos Bay Fire Control Station.

The 59 acre Tillamook Head Radar Station, administered as part of a separate chain of radar stations along the Pacific

coast, functioned largely independently of the Columbia River Harbor Defense system. 

151 A Memorandum dated November 6, 1942 from Headquarters IV Fighter Command, Office of the Commanding 

General, “New Code Designation of Radar Stations.” Station “J-23” a CHL-588 (Chain Home Low, a Canadian built British

radar) radar station was located at Tillamook Head. Certain military websites suggest that the site was instead a “ground

control intercept radar” installation (a SCR-516 or SCR-588 facility), though this is not the terminology used in military 

documents of the day.

152 As Oregon State Park Superintendent, Samuel Boardman noted, “the Army built a road from Cannon Beach to the Head.

When they came to the Indian village location the midden mound was leveled to the ground, though the road location missed it

entirely” (Boardman 1956).

153 These accounts are derived from common and mostly verifiable accounts of World War II-era coastal residents 

gathered by the lead author; notes on specific interviews are in the author’s possession. 

154 The military history recounted here is a significant story in the region’s larger history. However, the military properties

have undergone significant change over time. Civil War era fortifications at Cape Disappointment and Fort Stevens were

almost completely subsumed by modernization during the first half of the twentieth century, being demolished to make

way for the Endicott-era reconstruction of the batteries at around the turn of the century. Endicott-era gun batteries and

associated infrastructure dominate all three fort sites, and are certainly contributing resources in any future National 

Register nominations to be completed. Yet these turn-of-the-century fortifications are in various stages of decay and 

have not always been preserved in a manner protecting their “integrity,” as the term is employed in the National Register 

of Historic Places. World War II era construction also obliterated significant portions of the previous military infrastructure,

a process compounded by the Army’s decommissioning of the sites and scrapping of all mobile items at the conclusion of

World War II. Still, much remains: there are gun emplacements corresponding to the locations of individual batteries,

— 397 —

Notes
searchlight shelters, power plants, and a variety of other standing structures, in addition to foundations, historical sites 

associated with military actions, portions of military road systems and many other landscape elements. Existing National

Register nominations could be revised to include the full range and depth of military landscape, much of which is visible 

on site. Clearly remnants of these military forts will serve as cornerstones of public interpretation in area parks for 

generations to come. 

155 Since the early 1860s, a small number of steamers had entered and sometimes landed on the tidewater of the 

Lewis and Clark River from the Astoria waterfront. P.W. Gillette suggests that the first steamer – the famous Shubrick, the 

lighthouse tended that was enlisted for Revenue Cutter Service during the Civil War and targeted by Confederate 

privateers for hijacking – arrived on the river in June of 1881. Gillette and his contemporaries often mention a “landing” 

on the west side of the Lewis and Clark river estuary near Fort Clatsop when people traveled across that river, but 

provided few specifics about its functions and exact placement. 

156 Holladay’s interests, including but not limited to the OR&N, owned various vessels that traveled the Columbia, and 

it is likely that these were Holladay steamers making landfall at the Fort Clatsop wharf. While exact evidence is thin in 

the sources consulted, there is circumstantial evidence suggesting that the small steamers used by the OR&N for the

Ilwaco operations - T.J. Potter and Ocean Wave – may have been among the boats landing at this site (Jeff Smith, 

pers. comm. 2013).

157 The hotel was placed on the National Register in 1978, and reopened as a rustic inn in the early 1990s.

158 North Beach is the historical name for the Long Beach Peninsula. Long Beach became the common name after World

War II when the Long Beach Merchants Association started to heavily promote the various communities of area under a

unified moniker. Resident historians use the name “Historic North Beach” when talking about the early history of the 

IR&N but use the term Long Beach for anything more modern.

159 This line linked Astoria and Portland, remaining separate from other ISNC operations until the 1880s, when rising 

demand motivated Loomis and his partners to add the T.J. Potter and Ocean Wave to directly link Portland to Ilwaco, 

instead of Astoria.

160 Specifically during this time, Loomis won the contract for carrying mail between Astoria and Olympia, Washington, 

and took over Stout’s stage route on the Long Beach Peninsula. With these new attainments, Loomis used the General

Canby to shuttle mail from Astoria, across the mouth of the Columbia River, to Ilwaco. Mail was then transported along 

the coastline by the horse-drawn stage for thirteen miles before crossing the mile-wide peninsula to arrive at Oysterville.

From Oysterville, the mail traveled by another of Loomis’s steamers to North Bend, across Shoalwater Bay. The mail route 

finally reached Olympia after travelling on two more stages and a steamer. Though the route was complex, Loomis 

effectively fulfilled the mail contract and, building the mail service atop preexisting transportation services, achieved 

a level of financial success as a result of this contract (Jessett 1957: 145-46). 

161 Nahcotta was chosen as the final destination, because shipping proved easier there, as the water was deeper than at

Oysterville (Becker 2012). The ISNC began track construction before the flatcars and locomotive arrived in town. The 

company laid the first tracks from the Ilwaco wharf to the depot, and the engine shed, water tank and turntable – parallel 

in construction to those at the Megler wharf – were built in close proximity. The ISNC purchased all of their rolling stock 

second-hand from the Utah Northern Railroad. A Baldwin Mogul locomotive, originally constructed in 1879, acted as the

first locomotive for the rail (Jessett 1957: 146). Construction of the rail moved forward, and by July 12 of 1888, 4.1 miles of

narrow gauge line were completed by the ISNC between Ilwaco and Tinkerville, Washington, now called Long Beach

(Strack 2013). With the opening of the line on July 19, both the towns of Ilwaco and Tinkerville held banquets, and 

attendees were ushered down the new rail on flatcars equipped with benches and canopies to celebrate (Strack 2013;

Becker 2012; Jessett 1988, 1957; Feagans 1972).

162 As Sydney Stevens has noted, “Another advantage to ending the line at Nahcotta was the proximity to shore of a 

deep-water channel. A much shorter dock, only 1,700 feet was needed in comparison to the mile-long wharf that would have

been required at Oysterville” (Stevens and the CPHM 2009: 22).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 398 —
163 As Weathers notes, “The Ilwaco railroad bought the deep water site for their terminus around 1906 and initially called it

“Cook’s Station”. When the first train arrived at the train terminus and ferry dock in 1908 the name had been changed to Megler

Station. Automobile traffic finally forced the Ilwaco railroad to discontinue train service on September 9, 1930. Ferries operated

by Fritz Elfving and later the Oregon Department of Highways continued to serve the Megler to Astoria run until July 29, 1966,

when the last regular ferry operation ceased with the opening of the Astoria Bridge” (Weathers 1989: 40). 

164 The change in ownership officially occurred on June 12, 1907. At this point, the rail consisted of 15.26 miles of track

(Strack 2013; Feagans 1972).

165 The Union Pacific had financial interests on both sides of the river, sometimes emerging from the purchase of 

competing enterprises. By 1898, the Union Pacific Railroad purchased a majority share of the Oregon Railway and 

Navigation Company, giving the Union Pacific unparalleled influence on the lower Columbia; at this time the ORNC was 

renamed as the Oregon-Washington Railroad and Navigation Company and became a subsidiary of the Union Pacific until

1936, when the subsidiary was fully absorbed into the UP.

166 The ferry dock sat at the eastern end of today’s parking lot; the rail depot sat adjacent, somewhat to the west of the

dock, while the rail access and turntable was centered on the western end of today’s parking lot. There were two parallel

rails in this wharf area, allowing trains to come and go with the aid of the turntable. Many of the pilings offshore from the

Dismal Nitch parking lot are related to this operation, including those on the eastern end of the lot, which were piers and

“dolphins” that helped to direct and stabilize the steamers and, later, ferries that used the site. 

167 Somewhat less affectionately, it was known by nicknames such as “Irregular Rambling” and “Never-get-there Railroad”

(CPHM 2013).

168 Some have suggested that, in the years after Holladay’s passing, Gearhart sought to market itself as a summer resort 

for affluent Portlanders, while the A&SCR and Holladay’s successors in the Seaside hotel business attempted to promote a

more populist view of Seaside, in an effort to foster a broader spectrum of visitors – a distinction that might still detectable

in the communities’ identities today. By 1902, Seaside’s two halves, Seaside and West Seaside, sitting on opposite sides of

the Necanicum River, boasted a summertime population of between five and ten thousand residents, and by 1907 the rail

line had been extended to the south “Holladay” end of town. The new rail system’s arrival into the region also promoted 

industrial developments in the two “Seasides.” While tourism may have been the impetus for the rail line, its presence also

fueled the development of small industry, including box factories and other small mills. By 1913, the two Seasides officially

merged, growing together into a single community (Paulson 2007; Mille 1958).

169 Plat maps, and indeed the entire pattern of modern lot divisions in certain coastal communities south of this railroad’s

ultimate terminus, such as Arch Cape, are still oriented toward this imagined railway today.

170 Following completion of the Seaside segment, rail promotes immediately prioritized railroad construction linking 

Seaside to Hillsboro. The initial plan was to connect the two towns via a 71-mile route that followed the Lewis & Clark River

and the Nehalem River over the coastal mountain range, including ambitious plans for a 1,500 foot-long tunnel near 

Saddle Mountain. Work on this extension proceeded haltingly in 1891 and 1892, but consistently suffered from changes in

rail ownership and financial troubles (Laubaugh n.d.). In March of 1892, the company was reorganized into the Astoria and

Portland Railway, and construction began with the boring of an 1100-foot summit tunnel. Quickly, however, financial 

troubles dogged the effort, and its ownership changed again, becoming the Seashore Railway, or Seashore Road Company

in May of 1893. The new company continued the rail services between Youngs Bay and Seaside, but developed no 

further until the intervention of A. B. Hammond (Wolford 2011).

171 Some portion of the Sunset Beach lands, undeveloped, were apparently later lost for taxes to Clatsop County, which

sold them in turn to the Oregon Parks and Recreation Department. The exact circumstances of county ownership are 

unclear from the written record consulted, however.

172 Linking older roads and trails, this new highway was tied together by the Roosevelt Highway’s classic bridges, designed

by Conde McCullough. A gifted engineer, McCullough developed most of Oregon coast’s bridges, with growing art nouveau

— 399 —

Notes
sensibilities, between 1921 and 1936 in his role as Oregon Department of Transportation Bridge Division Director. Two of

his earliest projects were in Clatsop County, very near Fort Clatsop, including the old Young’s Bay Bridge (completed in 1921)

and the Lewis and Clark River Bridge (completed in 1924) (Blakeley 2006; Hadlow 2001).

173 Construction on Highway 26 began as early as January 1933, at the height of the Great Depression. Originally called 

the “Wolf Creek Highway,” members of the WPA and CCC both collaborated on its construction, developing bridges and

grading along significant portions of the route. Construction efforts were intensified as the prospect of military action in

the Pacific became clear to federal authorities and portions of the highway were opened for public access by September

19, 1941, on the eve of American entry into World War II. The route was used to transport military equipment and supplies

between the Portland area and the coast through the war, but was not fully functional as a public highway along its entire

route. In January of 1946, the highway was renamed for the 41st Infantry Division of the United States which was also

known as the “Sunset Division.” Originally mobilized from Fort Lewis, Washington to protect the outer coasts of Oregon

and Washington in World War II, the Sunset Division was later sent to the Pacific theater where its troops saw considerable

action against Japanese forces in New Guinea (Battle of Buna-Gona), the Philippines, and elsewhere; the Sunset Division

later participated in the occupation of Japan, being stationed on the northern island of Honshu. By 1949, the highway was

completed for public use, providing an unimpeded and efficient roadway between Clatsop County and Portland. Linked

into the State highway system, the Sunset Highway connected Highway 101 (the Roosevelt Highway) to the Portland area,

Oregon’s vast interior, and the intermountain West; today the highway extends as far east as Ogalalla, Nebraska, where it

intersects with Interstate 80 (Clatsop County Historical Society n.d.).

174 Construction on the bridge began in November of 1962; taking almost four years of construction, the bridge was 

completed in late August of 1966; highway departments and private transportation interests retooled their infrastructure 

in anticipation of the change through the 1960s.

175 The SP&S merged with Burlington Northern in 1970, in an era of contracting freight and passenger service. Much of the

original A&CR segments have been abandoned or sold (Gordon 2013). In 1997 the 91.77-mile segment between Portland

and Tongue Point was sold to Portland & Western Railroad. Shortly after, the final portion of 5.04 miles of track between

Tongue Point and Astoria were purchased by the City of Astoria, the downtown segment being redeveloped for tourist 

purposes. The remaining 25 miles between Portland and Wauna is used to store surplus freight cars. In 2003, as part of 

the Lewis & Clark Bicentennial Commemoration, the train service between Astoria and Portland reopened for the first 

time since 1952. The train operated for three seasons, concluding in 2005 (Astoria n.d.). Several events were influential 

in closing this line, however, including a landslide near Brownsmead and a washout at Knappa (ARPA n.d.). 

176 The Oregon Historical Society acquired the fort and assisted in developing the replica fort there, managing the area 

for historical interpretation with the support of various local organizations until its transfer to the National Park Service. 

This history is addressed in detail in other NPS reports (specifically Cannon 1995, 1994) and is not repeated here.

177 The Salt Works was incorporated into the National Monument in 1978. See Lewis and Clark Trail Heritage 

Foundation 1974. 

178 As home to some 325 taxa, Saddle Mountain is the highest point (at 3283 feet) in the study area. With its double peak

and a “saddle” between, the official name was bestowed by Lt. Charles Wilkes, commander of the United States Exploring

Expedition, in 1841; Lewis and Clark referred to the potential elk hunting there, describing it as “ruged and uneavin” in 

December 1805, but did not provide a name. Of tremendous importance to the Native American tribes of the lower 

Columbia and vicinity, the mountain has been widely seen as a creation site of great and enduring power (OPRD 2010;

Sayce 2010; Merriam 1992). 

179 C.W. Fulton (United States Senate) to J.R. Garfield, Secretary of the Interior, November 2, 1908 in Boardman (n.d).

180 Introduced by Charles W. Fulton of Oregon, S. 7372 was passed by the Senate on February 1, 1909, but failed to emerge

from the House Committee on Public Lands. Similarly, S. 5629 introduced by Senator George Chamberlain of Oregon

also passed the Senate on March 15, 1910, but again did not leave the House Committee on Public Lands for a floor vote.

The temporary withdrawal took place on November 11, 1908 (Merriam 1992: Boardman n.d.).

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 400 —
181 Senate passage of the bill (S. 2186) occurred on March 21, 1912. Its failure in the House took place despite a favorable 

report from the War Department, whose representatives thought the view from the summit of Saddle Mountain had merit

from a military standpoint; Astoria Budget, April 15, August 5, and August 21, 1912 (Astorian 1912).

182 Chamberlain introduced S. 531 on April 9, 1913.

183 A second withdrawal occurred by executive order on April 18, 1913. Chamberlain changed his bill authorizing 

establishment of a national park to a grant to Oregon for a state park on March 12, 1914.

184 Details are provided in correspondence between “A.M. Smith and G.W. Shirley, Grand Rapids – Oregon Timber 

Company to Commissioner, General Land Office, March 20, 1914” (in Boardman n.d.)

185 The likely reason behind the donation was that the 600 acre parcel stemming from the Northern Pacific Railroad grant

was tied up by the attempt of Smith and Shirley to secure title by means of so-called location “rights” through scrip. In any

event, the total of 1,400.96 acres went to the State Land Board until a state park could be established by the Oregon State

Highway Commission at Saddle Mountain.

186 Both Armstrong (1965) and Merriam (1992) recounted subsequent land acquisitions, so that 2,911 acres of park land 

existed as of 1992.

187 The CCC reports are in RG 79, Stack 150 (35:22:4), Box 120, NARA II, College Park, Maryland. Logging during the 1920s

greatly reduced the older forests that once surrounded Saddle Mountain, as did fires in 1936 and 1939. Reforestation of

the native Douglas fir, Sitka spruce, western hemlock, and alder was nevertheless generally successful. The park is officially

dedicated as a state natural area, the highest level of protection given under the Oregon Natural Heritage Act (Armstrong

1964: 183). Until the Sunset Highway opened from Portland just after World War II, most visitors had to go through either

Seaside or Tillamook to reach the park. Attendance then increased enough to build a small overnight camp consisting of

six tent sites in the early 1950s, a number eventually increased to ten. Most visits to what is now Saddle Mountain State

Natural Area are day use, however, something that has roughly doubled (to almost 56,000 in 2011) over the past half 

century (White et al. 2012: 19; Armstrong 1965: 183). 

188 The larger context of those comments are as follows:

“The preservation of forest beauties is a matter of deep concern to the lumber industry. And it is not my intention or wish to 

deprive private owners of valuable lands of those things which they have acquired by rightful and legal process. This move is not

backed by socialistic intent, now any propaganda to disturb the progress of an industry. Rather, I find the timber owners generally

eager and willing to cooperate. But it would be wrong to ask them to surrender vast tracts of valuable timberlands without just

compensation, nor do I believe it could be done. In fact, vast tracts are not needed to carry this plan to fruition. Isolated tracts

tucked away in pretty nooks; virgin stretches of forest along highways, to be retained of sufficient width to leave the beauties of

the landscapes unimpaired; new plantings of trees, shrubberies and foliage along the highways, all of these things can be 

accommodated without too great expense and without arbitrary confiscation of property.

“Some state agency should be the directing head in these endeavors, and I believe that the state highway commission, working 

in cooperation with the forestry department, the proper body to be clothed with necessary powers.

“This matter should not be cast lightly aside. While the hand of man has done much and is doing much to make Oregon a 

great state, the hand of God fashioned here in the primeval wilderness an ideal earthly paradise which we must preserve as

nearly intact as possible without impeding the ordinary progress of civilization...One large company, the Crown Willamette Paper

Company, immediately ceased cutting of timber along the Seaside-Cannon Beach Highway in Clatsop county and I understand is

marking time pending action of your honorable body. That road probably accommodates more tourists than any other single

road in the state during the summer season and on that road is demonstrated very forcibly the difference between natural timber

beauties and the naked stretches left after logging operations with modern machinery have denuded the hillsides. So marked is

the difference I venture to say no person passes over the road but comments upon it. That is a single instance. Hundreds of others

— 401 —

Notes
present themselves. The highway department has cooperated in keeping the executive office advised as to these things and that

department I am certain would throw itself into assisting in the work with whole-hearted energy” (Olcott 1921).

189 An unusually wide and densely forested Highway 101 state right-of-way runs through the area seen by Olcott today, 

apparently connected to these events.

190 Arriving from Colorado, Samuel Boardman had founded a homestead east of the Cascades near the community that

now bears his name. Having mixed success farming in this very arid part of the state, he began to take extra work planting

shade trees at scenic waysides for the state’s Highway Department in the early decades of the 20th century. He was hired

as Oregon began to develop its state park system as a branch of that department, focusing on the protection of roadside

scenery and wayside development (Boardman 1956; Boardman n.d.). 

191 Though the point is often overlooked in conventional historical accounts, this was an extended family. Glisan and Minott

were brother and sister; their mother was a member of the Couch family. Caroline and Louise Flanders were sisters, and

apparently second cousins to the Minotts and Glisans; they were also daughters of John Couch Flanders, for whom 

Flanders Street is named in Portland. (John Couch Flanders was named for his uncle, former sea captain, John C. Couch,

Glisan and Minott’s grandfather). The Couch, Flanders, Glisan and Minott families were all involved in the Portland Chamber

of Commerce and the Glisan and Flanders men were prominent attorneys in the city. They were of New England ancestry

and the families had been early homesteaders in the Portland area. Meanwhile L.A. Lewis was also on the Portland 

Chamber of Commerce; working in retail, mining and banking, he became prominent in Portland real estate in the first

decades of the 20th century, serving as director of the Pioneer Real Estate Company and the Lewis Investment Company,

as well as resource firms including the Columbia Mines Company. The records of his real estate interests are held in the

University of Oregon Libraries’ Special Collections. He was also the national “Grand Exalted Leader” in the “Benevolent

and Protective Order of Elks” in 1947. The Lewis, Glisan, Minott and Flanders families were reported to be fellow 

adventurers on the coast, exploring its many beaches and headlands on extended hiking trips by the first decade 

of the 20th century (Glisan 1909; Yale University 1905). 

192 In truth, the land ownership patterns at Ecola were complex in the early 20th century, reflecting the circuitous process of

federal lighthouse planning relating to Tillamook Head, as well as the interests of both timber companies and secondhome owners in these properties. In 1910, a U.S. Lighthouse Reserve still sat on the westernmost tip of Tillamook Head.

The interior lands of Tillamook Head were largely owned by H.E. Noble, an investor in timberlands. The southern shoreline

– from Indian Beach to Chapman Point – was owned by the Glisan, Flanders, and Lewis families, who would ultimately

contribute portions of their lands to the State of Oregon for the creation of a park; the Minotts, who are listed as partial

owners at the time of park creation, were part of the Glisan family. There was little development in the park other than the

homes of these families. Rodney Glisan (1909) mentioned a “Sea Lion hunter’s trail” descending to the rocky shore near

Ecola Point. In the 1930s, much of Ecola State Park was largely situated within tracts of timberlands owned by Willamette

Paper Company – which owned much of the southwestern county timberlands – with smaller tracts owned by small 

private investment firms. The “Ecola Point and Indian Beach Company” owned the immediate shoreline from just north of

Indian Beach to the north face of Chapman Point at that time (Metzger 1930, 1910, Glisan 1909; Gainor Minott pers.

comm. 2009). 

193 Descendants continue to own homes on the park’s southern boundary to this day. As an outcome of negotiations for

the land purchase, State Park staff maintained a trail leading from their homes to Crescent Beach, through the southern

end of the park. Still maintained by park crews today, this trail is known locally as “Gainor’s Trail” in reference to Minott 

descendant Gainor Minott who continued to occupy the family’s home at the trailhead until her death – which occurred

during the writing of this document; Minott could still recall many details of Boardman’s negotiations with her family 

surrounding the donation Ecola State Park from her childhood, which have contributed to the current account (Gainor

Minott, pers. comm. 2009). 

194 Specifically, in 1934, the Oregon State Planning Board reported of Tillamook Head,

“This high forested promontory is conspicuous from the Clatsop beaches and is a scenic feature upon which much of the property

values and resort patronage of these communities have been indirectly predicated. The preservation of the Head in its natural

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 402 —
condition is important for this reason as well as for the conservation of the recreational resources existing within the area... The

transfer of this unused lighthouse reserve to the state and acquisition of Tillamook Head would complete this park unit and 

insure the conservation of a valuable recreational area” (Oregon Planning Board 1934).

195 Civilian Conservation Corps activities, beginning in 1935, included the development of the 7-mile long entrance road still

in use today. Over the next four years, enrollees built an entrance road from the nearest highway, a 2.5 mile trail from the

parking area that climbs 1,600 feet to the top of Saddle Mountain, as well as several other major improvements (Merriam

1992: 219-20; Armstrong 1965: 128; Portland Oregonian 1928). As Oregon State Parks Superintendent, Samuel Boardman

would note,

“During the CCC movement in Oregon, a camp of two hundred boys was set up for the development of Saddle Mountain Park

[building roads, bridges, and trails, planting trees and conducting surveys]. The park wouldn’t have become a reality if it hadn’t

been for the regulations of the CC agenda to construct roads” (Boardman 1952). 

196 Cumulatively, in part due to its exposed and unstable geology, the cultural resources of Ecola are modest, considering

the extent to which they were developed by the mid-20th century. In 1961, several days of heavy rains had saturated the

soils of Oregon’s north coast, contributing to a landslide that slumped roughly 125 acres of the park westward into the 

Pacific. Damaged were the core portions of the park, including portions of the Ecola Point village complex archaeological

site and a significant proportion of the CCC facilities. An entire lake on Ecola Point, sometimes used by boating visitors,

disappeared almost overnight. No single event has ever had such a disastrous effect upon the cultural resources of the park

since its genesis in 1932. The scarp at the head of the slide can still be clearly seen to the east of the Ecola Point parking

lot, and the slide area continues to exhibit younger trees and muddy, unsettled slopes compared to the adjacent terrain

(North and Byrne 1965).The archaeological sites at Bald Point have eroded dramatically in recent decades, while 

petroglyphs reported at Indian Beach early in the park’s history are no longer visible due to erosion, vandalism, or both. 

197 U.S. Congress established the parallel National Wildlife Service managed Washington Islands Wilderness in 1970 under

Public Law 91-504, but this only included the rocky northern Pacific coast of Washington.

198 Willapa National Wildlife Refuge added Leadbetter Point in 1968, the turbulent sandspit tip of the Long Beach 

Peninsula; lands to the south of this preserve were acquired by Washington State Parks, to produce Leadbetter Point State

Park. The point is named for Lt. Danville Leadbetter of the 1850s Coast Survey. Later additions to the Willapa National

Wildlife Refuge Complex included the 1972 addition of the Lewis and Clark National Wildlife Refuge, extended from just

upstream of Tongue Point near Astoria to the vicinity of Skamokawa. Set aside to protect some 33,000 acres of complex

intertidal, water and shoreline – including islands, sand bars, mud flats and tidal marshes on the Columbia estuary – added

initially to protect shorebird habitat for ducks, tundra swans, and Canadian geese. Also added in that year was the Julia 

Butler Hansen National Wildlife Refuge for the Columbian White-tail Deer, established in 1972 in Cathlamet; largely to 

protect the Columbia white-tailed deer, which was endemic to the Columbia riparian and had come close to extinction

(though the reserve clearly had other values for fish, waterfowl, amphibians, and a diverse range of other species). The 

reserve was named in honor of Hansen (1907-88), a woman raised locally, who went on to be a member of the 

Washington State House of Representatives, followed by over six terms in the U.S. Congress, as well as other high 

public offices. 

199 These reviews of deed transfers for Fort Columbia and Fort Canby are based on a detailed review of files available in 

the Washington State Park files in Olympia by Alex McMurry, Cultural Resources specialist for that agency.

200 This account of Fort Stevens’ turbulent transfer to State of Oregon management is synthesized from a compilation of

Boardman’s correspondence from 1946-1949 regarding the status of the proposed park lands at Fort Stevens from the files

of Oregon Parks and Recreation Department in Salem. Key correspondents include William Whipple, J.W. Miles, Robert

Hickson, O.E. Walsh, Dick Darnielle (U.S. Army Corps of Engineers), James Hogg (Astoria Kiwanis Club), Frederick Hetzel

(Astoria Chamber of Commerce), and A.Walter Norblad (Oregon 1st District U.S. Congressman) (Boardman n.d.). State parks

brought their own Scots broom planting programs, often making arrangements with local growers to produce nursery

stock that was planted on shifting dunes (Boardman n.d.)

— 403 —

Notes
201 Samuel Boardman, Oregon State Parks to Fred L. Andrus, the Astorian Budget, November 28, 1947. In Boardman (n.d.).

202 Yeon was also influential in prompting Oregon State Parks to improve public beach access in various ways; see Talbot

(1992:97).

203 The acquisition of the Yeon property by the National Park Service occurred concurrently with the current research; the

property is still being assessed, while much of the written record regarding the transfer of both the Norman Yeon property

on Clatsop Plains and the John Yeon property in Cannon Beach has not become part of the public record. Much of the 

discussion here, by necessity, is based on a series of informal interviews by the lead author rather than a thorough written

record. Points of reference in this narrative include the accounts of personal friends of the Yeon family still living in the area

(e.g., William Itman and Andrew Kerr, pers. comm. 2012), City of Cannon Beach planning staff (Rainmar Bartl, pers. comm.

2011), agency and non-profit staff who participated in the transfer of the Norman Yeon property from his estate, via the 

Trust for Public land to the National Park Service (e.g., Neal G. Maine, pers. comm. 2011; David Szymanski, pers. comm.

2012), and professional architectural specialists who have been recruited to assess the site since its acquisition (e.g., John

Goodenberger, pers. comm. 2011). A full study of the site’s history and architecture is pending at the time of this writing.

204 This log house – faintly visible in the middle distance from Ecola Point – was determined to be National Register eligible.

However, an arsonist burned it to the ground in the 1990s; the current house on the site is an exact replica. Oswald West

State Park, one of the Oregon coast’s larger state parks, sits on the southern end of Clatsop County and is also visible 

from Ecola Point. This park, originally named Short Sand Beach State Park, is named for him; Samuel Boardman tried 

unsuccessfully to develop this into a much larger park of national consequence, by adding to it most of the large 

mountains visible from Ecola State Park to the south of Cannon Beach – an initiative that has recently been resumed 

by non-profit conservation organizations. 

205 Some portion of the lands originally given to the state of Oregon for the creation of a Saddle Mountain park were 

transferred to Crown Zellerbach in the course of these negotiations, ostensibly to offset the loss of stumpage revenue to

Clatsop County. The Elmer Feldenheimer State Natural Area was named after Elmer Feldenheimer, an Oregon-based 

outdoorsman at the request of his family, who provided substantial financial support for the transaction. There are no 

public facilities on these lands, and no plans to provide access in the future; an extended moratorium on public facilities 

on these lands was a condition to their acquisition (Merriam 1992; Boardman n.d.). 

206 As the preceding pages attest, the LEWI parks provide ample opportunity to share these historical events with the 

public—from the early history of rail-based tourism and tourist promotion, to the history of conservation and parks 

movements. Still, surprisingly little remains of the historic landmarks associated with these events, due to the newness of

the park’s recreational uses and the loss of key landmarks to time, nature, and progress. The CCC infrastructure at Ecola

State Park was largely lost to landslides and the elements, while the landmarks of the “Clamshell Railroad” were largely

obliterated to make way for transportation developments at what became the Dismal Nitch and Station Camp units of the

park. The fort structure at Fort Clatsop is a recent replica, built to replace the 1955 replica that burned to the ground during

the 2005-06 bicentennial. The Salt Works presents visitors with another historical replica. At Cape Disappointment and

Fort Stevens, there was little opportunity for tourist development until the second half of the 20th century. The parks,

themselves, are testament to these stories. Situated at the parks, visitors have the opportunity to encounter this 

history—and it’s a history that continues to be written.

207 The National Register implications of this research are many. The existing nominations for all of the park units might

benefit from revision and elaboration, aided in part by this document. Cape Disappointment’s nomination, from 1975, is

thorough for its time, centered on the cape’s role in the history of European exploration and military fortification on the

lower Columbia River. Supplementary materials of this study (an unattached appendix) add themes and a level of detail

that could be used to revise the cape’s nomination to good effect. The existing Fort Columbia nomination, an early National

Historic Landmark nomination, focuses almost exclusively on the importance of the landmark (which may, in truth, be

misidentified) in the 1792 “discovery” of the Columbia by Robert Gray. Another supplementary appendix includes several

themes likely to be included in preparations of a National Register nomination for that site, including Chinook use of the

site and Euro-American attempts at early settlement, as well as the site’s considerable military history. Fort Stevens, too,

might benefit from a revision of its very brief 1971 nomination, which focused on military structures. Another 

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 404 —
supplementary appendix provides guideposts for this effort, which might incorporate themes of Clatsop Native American

history, early Euro-American settlement, lifesaving and navigation facilities, and even the history of park development in

the mid-20th century—all themes relevant to the location where Fort Stevens now resides that were not included in the

original nomination. 

The National Park Service will need to revisit the National Register documentation for the park in light of the mid-2000s

park expansions, as well as the information provided in this study. While there are no new properties within NPS 

management that are expected to meet the integrity standards of the National Register within the expanded park 

footprint, it’s likely that a revised Fort Clatsop nomination is in order, and that the nomination will include new themes in 

its context statement, reflecting broader historical events that occurred there over time. In the Fort Clatsop portion of the

park, the National Park Service would be justified in adding references to the use of the Netul Landing area for Spruce 

Production Division operations during World War I, as well as the later use of that site as a log dump facility by private 

rail- and later truck-based logging operations. This document, as well as documents recently developed by the park’s 

interpretive volunteers and staff, will constitute guideposts in that effort. References to 19th century homesteading and the

early development of tourist facilities can be added too, accentuating the story of the Shane farm, their brief collaboration

with rail magnate Ben Holladay to develop a steamer dock and wagon road on the property, and later efforts to develop a

Fort Clatsop memorial park on the site (including the 1955 replica and its 2005-06 replacement). Native American use

and occupation of the site as well as the 1850s Moore sawmill, while thinly documented, may also warrant inclusion in

such a nomination’s general historical narrative. No additional information would be required to update that portion of the

existing 1988 Fort Clatsop nomination relating to the Seaside Salt Works. Little has changed there since the late 1980s.

The Fort-to-Sea Trail, meanwhile, only approximates the trail used by Lewis and Clark, as well as the Clatsops and the 19th

century settlers and travelers, and relates only indirectly to the story of transportation between the Fort Clatsop area and

the Pacific coast beaches. It remains an important interpretive tool for the park, as well as a recreational resource. While

there are many sites of historical significance along the Fort-to-Sea Trail, none of these lands are in NPS ownership. They

are likely to be of interpretive value, but the public lands along the trail’s length do not independently warrant inclusion in a

revised Fort Clatsop nomination. The National Register status of the newly-acquired Yeon property rests largely on the

Yeon house’s architectural significance, which is beyond the scope of this document (though it is in the process of being

evaluated for the NPS by architectural historians familiar with Yeon’s biography and architectural influences). 

As part of its recent expansion, the NPS also acquired the “Dismal Nitch” rest area on the north side of the Columbia River.

This site could be included within a revised Fort Clatsop nomination. While the Lewis and Clark associations with the site

remain ambiguous, the Dismal Nitch rest area does have its own unique history post-dating the Corps of Discovery that is

nonetheless worthy of mention in a revised nomination. Most significantly, the site served as the terminus of the

“Clamshell Railroad,” where the narrow-gauge railway reached its steamboat wharf. The railroad served as the cornerstone

of Pacific County’s early tourist industry and contributed to the development (or persistence) of a number of Long Beach

Peninsula communities. There are no resources in NPS management warranting National Register status, as the facilities

have been largely demolished, the former rail terminus and wharf site now being occupied by the Dismal Nitch parking lot.

Dismal Nitch was also a minor landmark within the booming salmon canning industry of the latter 19th century—situated

between fish receiving stations for decades, and serving as safe harbor to small-scale gillnetters working the prime fish

netting grounds just offshore. Fish weirs, fish wheels, gillnets, and any number of other technologies were employed on, or

very near this cove. No associated structures persist, save a few pilings in the river shallows, and it’s unlikely these would

warrant independent National Register listing. Still, these features, and the fishing history they represent, provide an 

outstanding opportunity for public education and interpretation, from the convenient vantage point of the Dismal 

Nitch rest area. 

The two remaining Oregon State Parks within the LEWI umbrella—Sunset Beach State Recreation Area and Ecola State

Park—have their own histories that may warrant broader Oregon Parks and Recreation Department (OPRD) interpretation.

In the case of Ecola State Park, OPRD might consider revisiting their National Register status. Ecola’s archaeological 

sites have been listed on the National Register in the course of a broader OPRD effort to document and nominate 

archaeological sites in many Oregon coast state parks. As at the three military parks addressed in supplementary 

appendices, Ecola State Park might be well represented by a cultural landscape nomination that would account for its 

Native American occupation and use, its Lewis and Clark history, early efforts to develop lighthouse facilities, the 

development of a World War II radar installation in its boundaries, and its prominent role within the history of state park

— 405 —

Notes
development in the 1920s and 1930s, including the nascent conservation movement and the use of Civilian Conservation

Corps crews to develop early park infrastructure. Unfortunately, the combined effects of building demolition, major 

landslides, and uneven attention to the integrity of historical properties have left few enduring resources that speak to this

history—save perhaps archaeological sites, military infrastructure, and sparse historical sites linked to the Lewis and Clark

story but having no material manifestation. In truth, the information contained in the current document may ultimately be

of greater value to interpretation than to any National Register nomination effort. 

At the time of this writing, several studies are in planning stages that could help accomplish the interpretive and 

management goals of the National Park Service and its state park partners in Oregon and Washington. An investigation of

the history of the Yeon property, especially focusing on the architectural history of the site, was launched by that land’s 

acquisition and will surely add considerable depth to our knowledge of that site. The study may also clarify whether a 

National Register nomination is warranted for the property and, if so, what it might contain. A Traditional Use Study has

been proposed for the park, involving not only the review of the published and archival record of the Native American tribes

associated with the park’s sub-units, but also the direct involvement of these tribes in contributing information they may

wish to share. This might prove an invaluable source of cultural information to clarify not only the historical Native American

use of these lands, but their enduring use and significance today. As such, such an investigation can help not only to identify

additional resources, such as archaeological resources, deserving of protection, but can help determine whether there are

places within the park sub-units—most of them possessing a rich Native American history—that warrant the designation as

“Traditional Cultural Properties.” If undertaken with due sensitivity, oral history research with interested Native American 

interviewees, either as part of this study or independently, has the potential to yield benefits to Native American 

communities in addition to parks and park visitors. The process of tribal consultation associated with such an undertaking

may also yield its own rewards, helping the tribes and agencies to identify issues of mutual concern and possibilities for 

future collaboration. 

Other studies, proposed or underway with the aid of LEWI partners at the Washington State Historical Society, have the 

potential to expand our knowledge of the north shore of the Columbia in a variety of ways. A study of the location of Clark’s

Dismal Nitch, currently underway, may yet conclude that the actual Dismal Nitch location lies to the east of the current NPS

rest area, based on a variety of historical clues. Another study being initiated at the time of this writing, will involve a detailed

review of accounts of Chinook interaction with traders along the northern bank of the estuary; this effort may be expanded

over time to include discussions of the changing landscapes of the northern Columbia River estuary bank from European

contact to the present day. Such a study may clarify the exact chronologies and locations of human occupation in more 

detail than was attempted in the current document, thus clearing up such mysteries as the changing location of the 

landmarks called “Chinook Point” through the 19th and early 20th centuries. 

Yet there are a variety of other specialized studies that might be considered based on findings of this study that have yet to

be formally proposed. Park sub-unit histories—written specifically about individual sub-units of LEWI, and with greater

depth and cohesion that what can be provide here—would clearly be of value to park interpreters and to the visiting public

alike. Such histories could be compiled readily, using some of the same sources and methods employed in the current 

report, and drawing on the considerable expertise of local historians. Focused guides for interpreters, or for the public, based

on such content are likely to be well-received. Also, while the NPS has been involved in a modest amount of oral history 

research with, for example, logging operators who used the Netul Landing log dump in the 20th century, there are other

communities whose stories would provide a welcome window onto the history of park lands and resources: there are, for 

example, many people still alive who remember the circumstances of World War II on this coast, but their knowledge is, in

all honesty, a steadily diminishing resource as that generation grows older and many pass from the scene, their recollections

unrecorded. Collaborative research with the Columbia Pacific Heritage Museum’s growing oral history program on such an

effort might be one appealing option for pursuing such research. 

Other opportunities have presented themselves in the course of this research that span somewhat beyond the immediate

interests of the National Park Service, but would be of great value to its partner state parks. For example, while there are a

number of detailed histories of the development of the Oregon State Park system (e.g., Merriam 1992; Talbot 1992; 

Armstrong 1965; Boardman 1954), the history of Washington state parks has received relatively cursory treatment, making it

exceedingly difficult for interpreters, researchers, or resource managers to provide a statewide context for parks on the north

side of the river (cf. Washington State Parks and Recreation Commission 1988). The partner agencies of LEWI would be 

performing a very valuable service in advocating for such a broader study, which could be readily developed based on 

available archival sources.

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 406 —
Note: page numbers in italics refer to figures, maps and

captions; those followed by “n” indicate endnotes.

Abbott, Henry L., 235

Aberdeen Packing Company, 127

Adair, Samuel, 98, 145, 378n43

Adams Point. See Point Adams

Adventure (ship), 37

Agate, Alfred, 80

agricultural settlement

berry farming, 109

on Cape Disappointment, 92–93

challenges for farming, 102–104

cheese and dairying, 107

cranberry production, 109–112, 111, 379n51–381n57

Donation Land Claim Act (1850), 89

Donation Land Claim process, 91

dune environments and sand stabilization projects, 

113–115, 116

at Fort Clatsop, 96–97, 97, 98

at Fort Columbia, 93, 94

at Fort Stevens/Point Adams, 95, 95

fur trade and agriculture, 88

hay farming, 107

Homestead Act (1862), 89

Hudson’s Bay Company and Astoria vs. Fort Vancouver,

75, 88

interpretive and National Historic Register implications,

381–382n59

introduction of various crops, 108

livestock grazing, 104–106

military displacement of occupants, 95, 226–228

mink farming, 112–113

National Register documentation and, 405n207

Native American land title issues and, 89–91

Native American plant cultivation, 87

non-native plants and, 113

“proving up” and, 91, 92, 377n38

at Salt Works, Seaside, 99–101, 101

at Station Camp, 93–94, 94

subsistence farming, 101–102

at Sunset Beach, 97–99, 100

tidelands and diking, 115–116

transportation and, 106–107

Aguilar, Martin d’, 27, 28

Air Station Astoria, 209

Aircraft Production Board, 388n99

Alaska, 143–146

Alaska Packers Association (APA), 144

Albatross (ship), 374n15

Alexander VI, Pope, 27

Alsea people, 16

Alvord, Benjamin, 228

American dunegrass (Elymus mollis), 381n58

American Federation of Labor (AFL), 171, 172

American Fur Company, 64

American maritime exploration, 38–40, 43

Arch Cape, Oregon, 391n111

Arch Cape Park plat partition, 272

Army Corps of Engineers. See U.S. Army Corps of 

Engineers

Army Spruce Production Division, U.S., 169–176, 170, 174

Arteaga, Igancio de, 36

artillery. See gun batteries and artillery

Asian explorers, pre-18th century, 25

Astor, John Jacob, 63–64, 72

Astor Expedition, 64, 190

Astoria (fort). See Fort George

Astoria, Oregon (city), 65

Bumble Bee Cannery Museum, 385n80

Cape Disappointment as possible site for, 374n16

OR&N dock in, 262

renaming of, 73

Scandinavian fishermen at, 126–127

“town lots” near, 378n43

train service to Portland, 400n175

War of 1812 and, 72–73

Astoria and Portland Railway, 399n170

Astoria and South Coast Railway (A&SCR), 266, 270, 271

Astoria Box Company, 175

Astoria & Columbia Railroad (A&CRR), 167, 272, 272–273,

388n96, 396n142, 400n175

Astoria Golf and Country Club, 378n44

Astoria Nursery Unit, U.S. Soil Conservation Service, 

114, 115

Astoria Packing Company, 134

Astoria Soda Works, 109, 110

“La Asunción” Bay (Columbia River estuary), 31

— 407 —

/&3
Athabaskan tribes of northwest Oregon and southwest

Washington, 14

Atomic Energy Commission (AEC), 393n117

automobiles and coastal tourism, 275–276

Bain, N.B., 158

Baker Bay, 88, 396n144

Baker Bay Native American villages, 12, 374n17

Bald Ridge, 16

Baranov, Alexander, 372n9

Barker, Fred, 384n74

Barker, William, 384n74

Barlow, Samuel K., 99, 378n44

batteries. See gun batteries and artillery

beach access vs. privatization, 295–298

beach ecology, 3

beach tourism. See tourism and recreation

bear hunts, 105

Beard’s Hollow, 277

beaver

boom and bust of, ii

Chinook and Clatsop tribes and, 43

economic importance of, i

Fort Vancouver and, 74–76

Hudson’s Bay Company’s “scorched earth” policy on, 84,

377n34

logging and, 157

Pacific Fur Company and, 63

rebound of, 86

sea otter decline and, 38

Beaver (ship), 71, 99, 190

Bella Coola, British Columbia, 45

Bennett, C.N., 112

Benson, Simon (born Simon Berger Iversen), 160–162, 163,

173, 283–284, 386nn86–387n88

Benson log rafts, 161–162, 386n87

Bering, Vitus, 30

berry farming, 109

De bestiis marinis (Steller), 29

Biddle, James, 375n25

Bill Lattie’s Place, Seaside, 100

Billings, Joseph, 372n9

Bioproducts, Inc., 148

Bird Rocks (Oregon), 288

Birnie, James, 93

Bishop, Charles, 42–43

blackberry, “Himalayan,” 113

Blossom (ship), 73

Boardman, Samuel, 281, 284, 286–287, 291–294, 298,

391n110, 397n152, 402n190, 404n204

Bodega y Quadra, Juan Francisco, 30, 36, 37, 40

Bohlman, Herman, 288

Bon Bon Brand Salmon, 126

boom-and-bust cycles, ii

Boston merchants and fur trade, 38

Bradley State Wayside, 283

breakers (ocean), 187, 218

British East Indian Company, 35

British maritime exploration, 32–37, 40–41

Broughton, William Robert, 41, 42, 49, 372n8

Bulfinch, Charles, 38

Bumble Bee brand seafood, 148–149, 385n80

Bureau of Land Management, U.S. (BLM), 167, 291

burials, Native American, 23, 58, 103

Burnett, Peter, 119

“butterfly fleet” gillnetting boats, 129–130, 141–142, 145–

146, 384n76, 385n79

“Cabo Frondoso” (Point Adams), 31

“Cabo San Roque” (Cape Disappointment), 31

Cameron, James, 226

Camp Clatsop U.S. Army Spruce Production Division 

Clatsop lumber camp, 175–176

Camp Clatsop U.S. National Guard Base. See Camp Rilea

Camp Rilea National Guard Base (formerly Camp Clatsop),

21, 247, 247–248, 256, 397n150

Canby, E.R.S., 231

canneries, fisheries, and salmon industry, x

Aberdeen Packing Company, 127

Astoria Packing Company, 134

boom and bust and, ii

canneries as small towns, 127

Columbia River Packers Association (CRPA), 137, 139, 143,

144–145, 145, 148–149, 384n74, 385n80

current status and significance, 150, 304

decline in mid-20th century, 149–150

fish supply, sustainability, and hatcheries, 137–140, 138

fishing technologies and canning methods, 129–132,

130–132, 140–142, 141, 383n66, 384n76

growth and competition in, 132

Hudson’s Bay Company and, 118–119

Hume Brothers, 122–124, 123, 382n62

immigrant laborers and, 108, 124–127, 125, 126, 129, 140

labels on cans, 383n67

labor activism and strike, 136–137

landmark/historic status and, 150

Megler Cove site, 134–136, 143, 144

move to Alaska and British Columbia, 143–146

Native Americans and salmon, 117–118

oysters, 109, 119, 120–122, 121, 122, 267, 382n61

pea and bean canning, 108

P.J. McGowan and Sons Company, 120, 133, 133, 134, 149,

149

salmon canning companies list (1890), 128

shift to other species, 146–149

statistics by state, 383n68

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 408 —
Union Fishermen’s Cooperative Packing Company, 136

Wards Cove Packing Company, 385n80

Cannon Beach

beach access and, 295–298, 297

Clark and whale blubber from, 56–57

lumber camps and, 175

name of, 188–189

Seal Rock Beach plat partition, 275

tribes and village at, 13, 49

canoe travel, Native American, 14

canoes as Native American burial containers, 23, 58

Cape Adams (Oregon), 227

Cape Adams lighthouse, 199

Cape Disappointment (Washington), 2, 39

agricultural settlement at, 92–93, 382n59

Astoria siting and, 374n16

BLM and Army Corps retention of land, 291

British plans to conquer, 84–85

as “Cabo San Roque,” 31

Civilian Conservation Corps work at, 287

claims to, 76, 376n28

Coast Survey, U.S., map, 191

conversion of land from military to parkland, 289, 290–

291

Corps of Discovery at, 51–52

gillnetting crew on, 132

landmark/historic status and, 76, 371n6, 373n10,

377n35, 395–396n134, 404n207

life-saving station, 205–208, 208–209, 394n125

logging and, 391n110

as lookout point, 76

military reservation declaration by President Fillmore,

93, 194, 391–392n114

naming of, 35

as navigational landmark, 31, 190, 373n10

North Head Lighthouse, 196–197, 198, 199

Ontario and Blossom at, 73

Peacock Spit, 188

recreational beach at, 218

Sanler’s shack and “Saul’s Point,” 82, 377n33

strategic importance of, 224

“Waikiki” beach, 64

Walmlm village, 17

Warre painting of, 85

See also Fort Canby

Cape Disappointment Historic District nomination,

395n134

Cape Disappointment lighthouse, 192, 193–194, 195, 197,

204, 392n114, 395n134

Cape Falcon (Oregon), 31

Carey, Charles Henry, 375n25

Carnahan Place, 98

Castle & Cook, 385n80

Castle Rock (Oregon), 288

Cathlamet (Native American tribe), 14, 371n1

cattle, 104–106

ceremonial life, Native American, 16–17

Chabot, Anthony, 110–111

chainsaws, 182

Chamberlain, George, 280–281, 400n180

Chambers, Jacob, 135

Chapman Point (Oregon), 294, 296

Chatham (ship), 37, 41, 372n8

cheese-making, 107

Chinese exclusion laws, 127

Chinese immigrant laborers

at canneries, 108, 124–126, 125, 126

cranberry picking, 111

hay cutting, 107

Kipling on, 382n63

prohibitions on, 127

recruitment of, iii

Chinook (ship), 215, 395n130

Chinook people (Lower Chinook)

Astoria trade, 66–67

canoeists (1910), 15

Corps of Discovery and, 51

cranberry rights in 1851 treaty, 109–110

land title and, 90

malaria epidemic (1830), effects of, 79–81

missionaries and, 92

salmon and, 118

territory and villages, 11–12

trade networks and, 43–44

visits from other tribes to, 374n17, 375n22

See also specific places and topics, such as Middle Village

Chinook Point (Washington)

about, 18

Gray, Robert, at, 39, 40

landmark/historic status and, 373n10

location of, 406n207

on map from journals, 59

as navigational landmark, 190, 373n10

shifting location reported for, 40

U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey on, 377n32

as “Village Point” (Broughton), 41, 372n8

See also Fort Columbia

Chinook (king) salmon (Oncorhynchus tshawytscha), 7–8, 8

Chinuk wawa (Chinook Jargon), 16, 43

cigar log rafts, 161–162, 386n87

Civil War–era militarization, 223–231

Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC)

dune stabilization efforts, 114, 116

fort camps, 246–247

parks improvement by, 287, 403n195

Sunset Highway project, 276, 400n173

— 409 —

Index
clams, 3, 147

Clamshell Railroad (Ilwaco Railway and Navigation 

Company), 144, 162, 264–270, 267, 270, 276, 277,

399nn163–164, 405n207

Clark, William

on burial canoes, 23

at Cape Disappointment, 52

on clay gathering, 20

on Ecola, 284

explorations southward from Fort Clatsop, 56–58

Fort Clatsop sketch, 53

as keystone character, i–ii

Peale portrait of, 48

on storms at Dismal Nitch, 50–51

See also Corps of Discovery

“Clark’s Point of View” (Oregon), 57, 59

Clatskanie, Oregon, 14, 374n15

Clatsop people

Astoria trade, 67

Chief Tostom, 21

Corps of Discovery and, 54

oral traditions on Coyote and the sands, 3

reservation request, 90

salmon and, 118

territory and villages, 12–13, 17–19, 21

See also specific places and topics

Clatsop Plains homesteading. See agricultural settlement

Clatsop Plains Presbyterian Church, 99, 379n44

Clatsop Soil and Water Conservation District, 115

Clatsop State Forest, 179, 390n107

Clatsop Tree Farm (Crown Zellerbach), 390n108

Clayoquot Sound, Vancouver Island, 37, 38–39, 65

Clerin Hamilton Lumber Company, 159

Cleveland, Grover, 232

climate and seasonal environmental cycles, 3–4

Coah, James, 70

Coast Artillery, U.S., 394n123

Coast Guard, U.S., 208–209, 393n121, 394n123

Coast Lumber Company, 164–165

Coast Range (Oregon), 31

Coboway, Chief, 21, 54, 60–61, 67, 76, 96

Colorado Midland Railroad, 389n103

Columbia Beach Military Reservation, 397n150

Columbia Contract Company, 218

Columbia Land Trust, 299

Columbia Rediviva (ship), 37, 38–40, 70

Columbia River

Broughton’s exploration of, 41

Duflot de Mofras’ map of mouth of (ca. 1841), 19

naming of, by Robert Gray, 40

sediment and, 3

See also specific places and topics

Columbia River Basalts, 2

Columbia River estuary

Broughton’s sketch of entry of, 42

as “Deception Bay,” 35

dikes on, 106

fur trade and, 42

Gray’s exploration of, 39–40

Heceta expedition’s mapping of, 31

“Columbia River Harbor Defenses,” World War II, 397n150

Columbia River Packers Association (CRPA), 137, 139, 143,

144–145, 145, 148–149, 384n74, 385n80

Columbia white-tailed deer, 403n198

Columbia-Pacific region (overview)

dominant vegetation of, 4–7

estuary environments in, 1, 7

fish and sea life in, 7–8

geological history of, 1–3

Lewis and Clark tribal map, 10

linkages through history of, ii

map of, vii

seasonality and climate in, 3–4

See also specific places and topics, such as exploration,

maritime

commutation of homesteads, 165

Concomly, Chief, 52, 66–67, 76–77, 79–80, 80, 374n19,

377

Conrad, Charles M., 222

conservation

beach access vs. privatization, 295–298

National Wildlife Refuges, 287–288, 298, 403n198

nonprofit organizations and, 298–299

parks, creation of, 279–287

post-WWII park development, 289–294

roadside beautification movement and Oregon State

Park system, 282–284

transition of coastal priorities to, 259–260

Consumers’ Cooperative Dairy, 107

Cook, James, 32–34

Cornett, James, 36

Corps of Discovery

arrival at Pillar Rock (Washington), 50

canoe stolen from the Clatsop, 61, 373n13

crossing to south bank, 49

crossing to south bank of Columbia River estuary, 52–53

at Dismal Nitch (Washington), 50–51

Enlightenment and, 28

exploration southward from Fort Clatsop, 56–58

at Fort Clatsop, 53, 53–54, 55, 58–60

Fort Clatsop transferred to Chief Coboway, 59–60

historical role of, i–ii

indigenous populations encountered by, 11, 23

Jefferson’s vision and goals for, 47–48

map from journals, 59

Native–nonnative relations, impact on, 48–49

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 410 —
Point Adams (Washington), exploration of, 54–55

salt-making operation, 55–56

on Sitka spruce, 6

at Station Camp and Cape Disappointment

(Washington), 51–52

survival issues upon arrival, 48–49

trails, use of, 22

tribal map, 10

Corps of Topographical Engineers, U.S., 224

Cox, John (Naukane), 70

Cox, Ross, 376n29

Cox, Thomas, 282

Coyote, in Clatsop oral tradition, 3

crab, Dungeness, 148

cranberries, 109–112, 111, 379n51–381n57

Cranberry Army Pool, World War II, 380n56

Cranberry Canners, Inc., 380n56, 381n57

Cranberry Investigations Laboratory, 112, 380n55

Cree people, 72

Crowley, D.J., 380n55, 380n56

Crown Willamette Paper Company, 184, 282

Crown Zellerbach Corp., 176, 178, 180, 183, 184, 185, 254,

293–294, 389n105, 390nn108–109, 404n205

Crumpacker, Maurice E., 389n101

Curtis, Edward, 15

“Daddy Trains” linking cities to the coast, 273, 277

dairy farming, 107

dams and salmon, 138, 139–140

Darling, John A., 210

Dart, Anson, 90

Davidson, George, 37

Davis, Jefferson, 224

Davis, Stephen, 206

Dean, John, 82

“Deception Bay” (Columbia River estuary), 35

dentalia, 15

Depression. See Great Depression

Derbyville, 293

Desdemona (ship), 188

Desdemona Sands, 188

Desdemona Sands lighthouse, 197

deSmet, Peter, 76, 376n31

dikes, estuarine, 106, 115–116, 381n59

Dilaharee (ship), 206

Dillingham Commission, U.S. Congress, 127

disappearing gun carriages, 234–235

Discovery (ship), 37, 41, 372n8

“Discovery of the Columbia River by Robert Gray” (painting;

Cozzens), 39

disease and epidemics

Astoria and Fort Vancouver fur trade and, 78–79

deSmet on smallpox, 376n31

impact on tribes and villages, 22–23, 44, 80–81

malaria epidemic (1830), 79–81

Dismal Nitch (Washington)

Corps of Discovery at, 50–51

ferry dock, 269, 399n166

fishing history interpretation and, 385n82

fishing station during homestead era, 378n40

gillnet grounds, 135

location of, 373–374n14, 406n207

maritime explorers and, 40

McGowan, Washington, fishery, 120

Megler Cove (Washington), 134–136, 143, 144

Megler Safety Rest Area, 373n14

Megler Station wharf, 269, 276

National Register status and, 373n10, 405n207

Northern Pacific Improvement Company land above,

164

Disque, Brice P., 169, 171–173, 176, 389n101

Dobbins self-righting lifeboat, 208

dog fish, 146, 148

Dolbeer Logging Engine (steam donkey), 156, 158, 386n86

Donation Land Claim Act of 1850 (Oregon Land Law), 89,

91. See also agricultural settlement

donkeys, steam, 156, 158, 386n86

Douglas, James, 34

Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii), 6, 37, 155–156, 169

Drake, Francis, 25, 32

dredging, 215, 217, 395n133

Ducheny, Rocque, 93

Duflot de Mofras, Eugene, 19, 79

dummy entries as homestead claims, 165

dune ridges, geologic history of, 3. See also sand dunes

Eagle Cliff (Washington), 122–123

earthquake and tsunami (1700), 23

Eastern & Western Lumber Company, 176

Ecola Creek (Oregon)

Chief Illga at, 375n22

Corps of Discovery at, 58

as “Elk Creek,” 373n12

Necost village, 22, 374n14

Ecola Point (Oregon), 284–286, 288, 402n191

Ecola Point and Indian Beach Corporation, 285–286,

402n192

Ecola Point village (Dehontach), 20, 58

Ecola State Park, 309

conversion of land from military to parkland, 289

Corps of Discovery travels through, 49

development and expansion of, 286–287

Elmer Feldenheimer Reserve, 298

establishment of, 284–286

Gainor’s Trail, 402n193

headlands of, 2

— 411 —

Index
interpretive content at, 374n14

landmark/historic status and, 371n6, 377n35, 405–

406n207

landslide (1961), 287, 403n196

lighthouse reservations and, 199–200

name of, 373n12

ownership patterns and, 402n192

Tillamook Head, acquisition of, 292–294

timber lands and, 391n110

See also Tillamook Head

Edel, May Mandelbaum, 376n30

electrification of military forts, 235–236

Eliza, Francisco de, 36

Elk Creek (Oregon). See Ecola Creek

elk hunting, 16

Elliott, George, 224–228

Ellsworth Creek Preserve, 298

Elmore, Samuel, 137, 144, 149–150, 384nn74–75

Endangered Species Act, U.S., 150, 183

Endicott, William C., 232–233

Endicott Report and Program (U.S. government), 232–241,

396n141

Enlightenment, European, 28, 47

environmental conservation. See conservation

epidemics. See disease and epidemics

Ermatinger, Francis, 79–80

erosion of shoreline at Fort Stevens, 210–212, 231–232,

394n127–395n128

estuary environments, 1, 7, 106, 183

ethnic diversity in fur trade, 68–70

European beachgrass (Ammophila arenaria), 114, 215

exploration, maritime

American, 38–40, 43

British, 32–37, 40–41

early European and Asian explorers, 25

era of, 42–43

European Enlightenment and, 28

French, 36

National Historical Landmark status and, 372n10

Northwest coast as terra incognita, 25, 26

Russian, 26–27, 28–30, 31–32, 44–45, 372n9

Spanish, 26–28, 30–31, 36–37

technological advances, 28, 32

tribal trade networks and, 43–44

Wilkes Expedition, 82

exploration by land (Mackenzie), 45. See also Corps of 

Discovery

Federal Flood Prevention Act, U.S. (1936), 115–116

Feldenheimer, Elmer, 404n205

Feldenheimer Reserve, 298, 404n205

Felice Adventurer (ship), 35

“ferry war” on lower Columbia River, 276

Fidalgo, Salvador, 36

Fillmore, Millard, 88, 93, 194, 222, 391n114

Finley, William, 288

Finnish immigrants

cooperative movement and, 136

farming by, 107

female workers, 127, 129

labor activism by, 136, 159

in logging industry, 158

men vs. women, 383n65

recruitment of, iii

in salmon industry, 126–127

See also Scandinavian immigrants

fire

Tillamook Burn, 179–180

use of, by Native Americans, 7, 14–15

wildfires, 6

fire control structures at forts, 235

fish, common species of, 7–8. See also specific species

Fisher Poets Gathering, 150

Fisherman’s Protective Union, 127

fishing. See canneries, fisheries, and salmon industry

fishwheels, 130

Fisk, Walter L., 233

Flanders, Caroline, 285, 286, 402n191

Flanders, John Couch, 402n191

Flanders, Louise, 285, 286, 402n191

Flying Fish (ship), 82

fog signals, 193–194, 195

fogs, 4

food gathering, Native American, 14

food security and Fort George, 75

forest ecology, 7. See also timber industry

“forest lieu” provision in timberland claims, 387n94

The Forests of Oregon (U.S. Geological Survey), 388n98

Fort at Cape Disappointment. See Fort Canby

Fort at Point Adams. See Fort Stevens

Fort Canby (Fort at Cape Disappointment, Washington)

Civilian Conservation Corps camp, 247

clearing of occupied land for, 226–227

conversion of land from military to parkland, 290–291

Elliott, Captain George, plans of, 224–225

Endicott Program and, 233

garrison structures and housing, 227

gun batteries and fort construction, 225, 226, 233, 238–

239, 246

life-saving station, 206, 392n114

lighthouse and military functions intertwined, 194, 195

military reservation prior to, 93

name of, 231

obsolescence and environmental challenges after Civil

War, 231–232

post-WWII deactivation of, 255

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 412 —
Walmlm village at site of, 17

in WWI and following, 242–246

See also Cape Disappointment; militarization of 

Columbia-Pacific landscape

Fort Clatsop

on 19th century map, 60

1899 Oregon Historical Society expedition to, 61, 279,

378n42

agricultural settlement at, 96–97, 97, 98, 382n59

Clark’s sketch of, 53

Clatsop settlement at site of, 18–19

Corps of Discovery at, 54–60

Cox on, 376n29

cranberry bogs near, 112, 382n59

dikes near, 116, 381n59

early tourism to, 76

establishment of, 53–54

expansion of sub-unit into timberlands, 185

illness and morale at, 60

Klep drawing of, 55

landmark/historic status and, 373n14, 405n207

logging and, 391n110

Moore mill near, 153–154

public acquisition of, 279

replica of, 61, 278, 279–280, 303, 400n176

transfer of ownership to Chief Coboway, 60–61, 96

wagon road to, 262–263, 265

Fort Columbia

agricultural settlement at, 93

conversion of land from military to parkland, 289, 290

gun batteries and fort construction, 235, 239–240, 249–

250, 396n145

habor mining operations at, 249, 397n149

housing and other facilities, 240, 249

interethnic marriage and, 382n59

land use prior to, 18

landmark/historic status and, 373n10, 377n35,

404n207

logging and, 391n110

National Register nomination, 372n10

post-WWII deactivation of, 255, 256

rock promontory above, 67

tunnel beneath, 269, 276

in WWI and following, 242, 243, 245

See also Chinook Point; militarization of ColumbiaPacific landscape

“Fort Defiance” (painting; Davidson), 37

Fort George, 73

agriculture and, 75, 88, 102

Astor Expedition and founding of, 63–65

ethnic diversity and interethnic marriages at, 68–72

food security issues at, 75

fur trade, role in, 42

Hawaiians quartered outside of, 71

Hudson’s Bay Company abandonment of, 74–76, 86

naming and transfers of, 73

National Historic Landmark status and, 377n35

reactivation of (1830), 81

salmon and milling operations at, 81, 118

timber and, 152

trading system with local tribes, 65–67

travelers at, 260

tribal trade at, 69

See also Astoria

Fort Ross, California, 44

Fort Stevens

1898 reactivation of, 234

argument for retention of, 395n129

Civilian Conservation Corps camp, 247

Civilian Conservation Corps work at, 287

clearing of occupied land for, 226–228

“Columbia River Harbor Defenses” U.S. and, 397n150

conversion of land from military to parkland, 289,

291–294

earthworks, 228, 229

Elliott plans, 224–225

Endicott Program and, 233

erosion of shoreline at, 210–212, 231–232, 394n127–

395n128

Fire Control Hill, 235

gillnet grounds, 135

Gray, Robert, and, 373n10

gun batteries and fort construction, 196, 228–229, 233,

235, 236, 237, 244, 248–249, 252–254, 253

harbor mine operations and, 397n149

homesteading and, 95

Japanese mine at oceanfront, 249

Japanese submarine attacks and, 250–251, 251

landmark/historic status and, 371n6, 377n35, 396n134,

404–405n207

logging and, 391n110

name of, 229

obsolescence and environmental challenges after Civil

War, 231–232

original plans for, 237

Peter Iredale wreck near, 189, 391n111

Point Adams lighthouse, 196, 197

post-WWII deactivation of, 255

rail link to, 233, 396n142

regelbau style underground bunkers, 253

sallyport entrance, 228, 230

strategic disadvantage of, 232

Tansy Point Treaty (1851) and, 21

War Games Building, 243

William and Ann incident (1828–29), 78, 222

in WWI and following, 242–245

— 413 —

Index
See also militarization of Columbia-Pacific landscape;

Point Adams

Fort Stevens Post Office, 396n142

Fort Vancouver, Washington

agriculture and, 75, 88

Hudson’s Bay Company move to, 74–76

malaria epidemic (1830) and, 79

salmon and lumber trade, 81

sawmill at, 81

White’s policies and reinforcement of, 84

Fort-to-Sea Trail

landmark/historic status and, 373n14, 405n207

Presbyterian Church along, 99

tribal trails approximating, 22, 56

wagon route and, 263

Youngs Bay boat landing and, 97

French maritime exploration, 36

Frost, John, 95, 376n30

Frost, Joseph, 104

frosts, 4

Fuca, Juan de (Ioánnis Fokás), 25, 27, 28

Fulton, Charles W., 400n180

fur trade

Astoria trading system with local tribes and Chief Concomly, 65–67

Boston merchants and, 38

British–American conflicts and, 72–73, 84–86

ethnic diversity in, 68–72

families proceeding Donation Land Claim Act, 91

Fort George, reactivation of, 81

Fort Ross trading post, Calif., 44

horticulture and, 88

Hudson’s Bay Company move to Fort Vancouver, 74–76

Hudson’s Bay Company’s “scorched earth” policy on

beaver, 84

malaria epidemic (1830) and, 79–81

maritime explorers and, 28–35, 38, 43, 64–65, 74, 81–82

merger of Hudson’s Bay Company and North West Company, 74

Native American women, role of, 68

Pacific Fur Company and founding of Astoria (Fort

George), 63–65

sea otter, history of, 8

sea otter population, end of, 86

tribal divisions, exploitation of, 67, 374n18

tribal trade networks and, 43–44

William and Ann incident, 78, 222

Wyeth and Winship failed trading posts, 68, 374n15

See also beaver; exploration, maritime; Hudson’s Bay

Company; sea otter

Galiano, Dionisio, 36

Gass, Patrick, 56

Gearhart, Oregon, 270–271, 273, 399n168

Gearhart, Phillip, 270–271

Gearhart Hotel, 271

Gearhart Park, 270–271

General Canby (ship), 267, 398n160

General Services Administration, U.S. (GSA), 290

geological history of Columbia–Pacific region, 1–3

George, George H., 384n74

Georgia-Pacific pulp mill, 184

Gervais, Ed, 377n36

Gervais, Nancy, 377n36

Gile, H.S., 264–265

Gillette, Preston W., 61

on agricultural homesteads, 377n38, 379nn45–50

on cattle, 106

crop introduction by, 108

on Ecola, 284

on Fort Clatsop, 20, 96

on Fort Clatsop expedition, 279, 378n42

homestead of, 102, 103

on Lattie home, 100

on Moore mill, 153, 385n83

on the Shubrick, 396n136, 398n155

on wagon road to Clatsop plains, 262–263

Gilliss, Julia, 229

gillnet fishing, 129–130, 131, 132, 135, 142, 304, 383n66

Glacier Bay Oyster Cannery, 109

Glisan, Rodney, 285–286, 402n191, 402n192

gold rush, California, 120, 153

gold rush, Klondike, 234

Goldsmith, James, 390n109

Gompers, Samuel, 172

Goulter, John R., 265

Grant (ship), 215

Grant, Madison, 282

Gray, J.H.D., 264

Gray, Robert, 37, 38–40, 39, 70, 188, 373n10

Gray, W. H., 378n44

Gray’s Bay, 40

Grays River, 103

Gray’s River Divide (Washington), 16

Great Depression

fort improvements and National Guard during, 246–248

park formation and, 287

timber industry and, 179

tourist towns, impact on, 288

wildlife refuges and, 287–288

Work Projects Administration highway projects, 276

grizzly bears, 105

gun batteries and artillery

disappearing gun carriages and complements (Endicott

period), 234–235

at Fort Canby (Cape Disappointment), 225, 226, 235,

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 414 —
238–239, 242, 245

at Fort Columbia, 235, 239–240, 242, 243, 245, 249–250

at Fort Stevens, 228–229, 235, 236, 237–238, 242, 245,

248–249, 252–254, 253

National Register of Historic Places and, 397–398n154

post-WWII deactivation of, 256, 257

Hammond, A.B., 137, 167–169, 168, 178–179, 183, 272,

384n74, 388n96

Hammond, Oregon, 292

Hammond Fire Control Station, 254, 397n150

Hammond life-saving station, 208–209

Hammond Lumber Company, 168

Hammond Mill, 178–179

Hansen, Julia Butler, 403n198

Hanson, Walt, x

Hanthorn Cannery Foundation, 385n80

Hapgood, Andrew, 122

Harbor Defense Command Post, 248

Harbor Entrance Control Post, 248

Harbord, James G., 171

Harold Lumber Mill, 153–154

Harris, A. T., 207

Haswell, Robert, 38

Hawaiian Islands, 71

Hawaiians, Native

fur trade and, 70–71

Kardas on role of “Owhyees,” 375n24

salmon trade and, 81, 118

timber and, 152

Tonquin and, 64

hay, 107

Hay, William, 297–298

Haystack Rock (Oregon), 296–297, 298

Hazard (ship), 187

heads, flattened, by Native Americans, 375n23

Heceta, Bruno de, 30–31

Hegardt, Gustave, 212

helicopters, 209, 394n124

Hennell, S.M., 96

Henry, Alexander, 371n4

Highway 30 (Oregon), 275, 283

Highway 101 (Roosevelt Highway), 275, 276, 399n172,

400n173

highway development, 275–276

Holladay, Ben, 100, 260–262, 268, 273, 388n95, 398n156,

399n168

Holman, James D., 92–93, 226

Holt, C.W., 394n127

Holt, Robert N., 395n128

Homan, Rufus, 252

Homestead Act (1862), 89, 165–166, 273, 387n91. See also

agricultural settlement

Hopson, William, 113

horticulture, Native, 87. See also agricultural settlement

Hudson’s Bay Company

British culture and ethnic makeup of, 69–72, 375n24

Elijah White and, 84

Hawaiian depot, 71

merger with North West Company, 74, 376n26

move from Fort George to Fort Vancouver, 74–76

Native American women, intermarriage, and, 68

Oregon Treaty of 1846 and retreat of, 85–86

reactivation of Fort George, 81

retaliatory policy and William and Ann incident (1828–

29), 77–78, 222

salmon business and, 118–119

“scorched earth” policy on beaver, 84, 377n34

timber and, 152

Hug Point (Oregon), 98, 391n111

Hume, George, 122, 144, 178–179

Hume, Joseph, 122–123, 137, 384n75

Hume, Robert (R.D.), 122–123, 384n77

Hume, William, 122, 178–179

Hume Brothers cannery, 122–124, 123, 382n62

Humphreys, Andrew A., 211, 394n126

Hungry Harbor (Washington), 143, 374n14, 384n73

Hunt, Henry, 152

Hunt, William, 65

hunting, Native American

for fur trade, 43–44

species harvested, 14

sustainability ethic, 15

in upland areas, 16

Hussey, John A., 375n21

hydroelectric projects, 139–140

Illga, Chief, 375n22

Ilwaco, Washington

Aberdeen Packing Company, 127

Chinook tribe trail at, 22

cranberry production and, 111

dredging and, 217

McGowan company at, 133

Pacific City, Washington, and, 93

tourist transportation and, 264, 398n161

Ilwaco Railway and Navigation Company (IR&N or

Clamshell Railroad), 144, 162, 264–270, 267, 270, 276,

277, 399nn163–164, 405n207

Ilwaco Steam Navigation Company (ISNC), 264–266,

398n161

immigrant labor

canneries and, 124–127, 125, 126, 129, 140

Japanese, iii, 140

from Mexico and Latin America, 306

new industries and, iii

— 415 —

Index
See also Chinese immigrant laborers; Native American

labor; Scandinavian immigrants

Indian Beach (Oregon), Radar Road to, 255

Indian Beach village

about, 20

Corps of Discovery at, 57–58

destruction from road-building, 255

on map from journals, 59

the Indian Place (Seaside), 377n36

Industrial Workers of the World (IWW), 171–172, 389n101

Industry (ship), 205

Inter caetera decree (1493), 27

interpretive themes for parks

agricultural settlement and, 381–382n59

Corps of Discovery and, 373–374n14

Ecola State Park and, 405–406n207

fishing history, 385n82

Fort-to-Sea Trail and, 405n207

fur trade era and, 377n35

maritime explorers and, 372n10

timber industry and, 390–391n110

Interstate Commerce Commission (ICC), 276–277

invasive plants, 113

Iowa (ship), 204

iron fish butcher (“Iron Chink”), 140–141, 141

Iroquois people, 71–72, 375n24

Irwin, William, 153, 385n83

jack screw logging, 386n84

Japanese I-class submarine attacks, 250–252, 251

Japanese mine at Fort Stevens oceanfront, 249

Japanese nautical chart of Pacific Northwest, 250

Japanese workers, iii, 140

Jeffers Garden (Oregon), 108

Jefferson, Thomas, 28, 47–48

Jefferson Davis (ship), 393n121

jetties

effects of, 213–214, 214, 218–220

falsework of narrow-gauge railway trestles for, 212–213,

213, 216, 218

Fort Stevens and erosion concerns, 210–212, 394n127–

395n128

Jetty A, 218

landmark/historic status and, 396n134

maintenance of, 395n132

militarization of, 252

north jetty project, 216, 217, 217–218, 219

south jetty project, 212–215, 213, 216

surveys, 209–210

U.S. Army Corps of Engineers and, 209, 395n132

Jewett, Thomas, 135

Jimo, 71

John Yeon State Natural Site, 294, 296

Johnson, Edwin, 395n131

Johnson, William Pierce, 282

Jordan, William, 225

Joseph Lane (ship), 205

Juan de Fuca, Strait of, 27, 187

Julia Butler Hanson National Wildlife Refuge, 288,

403n198

Kamchatka Peninsula, 32

Kaminsky, William, 173

Kamm, Jacob, 264, 266

Kanah (or Kanak), Frank, 71

Kardas, Susan, 375n24

Kern, Daniel, 218

Kindred, B.C., 95, 95, 226, 378n41, 396n138

King, James, 34

King, W.C., 379n53

“King George’s Sound” (Nootka Sound), 33

Kinney, Marshall J., 134–135, 145, 270–271, 384n71, 384n73

Kinney, Mary, 283

Kinney, William S., 134

Kipling, Rudyard, 382n63

kitchen gardens, 101–102

Klipsan Beach life-saving station, 208

Klondike gold rush, 234

Kodiak Island, 31–32

Konapee village, 18

Kotata, Chief, 54

Kuril Islands, 32

Kwakwaka’wakw (Kwakiutl) people, 16, 374n17

Kwalhioqua people, 14

Kytr, Hobe, 271

La Framboise, Michel, 375n21

labor, organized, 136–137, 159, 171–172, 388n99, 389n101

Lamazee (George Ramsay), 65, 374n17

land title, Native American, 89–91

landmark status. See interpretive themes for parks; 

National Historical Landmark status and National 

Register of Historic Places

Lane, Joseph, 90, 205, 393n121

Langfitt, W.C., 215

Lapérouse, Jean-François de Galaup, comte de, 36

Larson mill, 186

Lattie, Alexander, Sr., 99, 379n45

Lattie, Ce-cust (or Marie Catherine or Sikkas), 99, 100

Lattie, William, 100

Lattie family, 99–101

Lattie guest house, Seaside, Oregon, 260

Leadbetter Point (Washington), 288, 403n198

Leckenby, A.B., 215–216, 395n131

Leckenby, Harry N., 395n130

Lee, Jason, 92, 95, 378n39

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 416 —
Lee, Sam, 147

Lewis, James, 374n17

Lewis, L.A., 283, 285, 286, 402n191

Lewis, Meriwether

at Cape Disappointment, 52

as keystone character, i–ii

Peale portrait of, 48

on sea otter fur, 8

on whale blubber, 57

See also Corps of Discovery

Lewis and Clark Narrow Gauge Railroad, 389n106

Lewis and Clark National and State Historical Parks, 

map of, v

Lewis and Clark National Wildlife Refuge, 288, 403n198

Lewis and Clark Railroad, 174, 175, 176, 177

Lewis and Clark River (Oregon)

Broughton at, 372n8

Corps of Discovery hunting parties at, 53

farms along, 103

logging railroad at, 161, 174–175

tidal flats expansion on estuary, 183

Lewis and Clark River Bridge, 400n172

Lewis and Clark River estuary dikes, 116

Lewis & Clark expedition. See Corps of Discovery

L.G. Isaacson mill supply store, 157

lifeboats, 208

Life-Saving Service, U.S. (USLSS), 205, 207, 207–208,

394n123

life-saving stations, 204–209, 396n144

Lighthouse Service, U.S., 194–195, 200, 201

lighthouses

Cape Adams lighthouse, 199, 204

Cape Disappointment lighthouse, 192, 193–194, 195, 197,

392n114, 395n134

electrification and automation of, 204

Fresnel lenses, 193, 196, 197, 391nn112–113

landmark/historic status and, 395n134

legislation authorizing, 190

as lookout stations, 204, 393n119

McArthur Coast Survey, 190–193, 191, 194

national campaign for, 193

North Head Lighthouse, 196–197, 198, 199, 204, 391n114,

395n134

Point Adams lighthouse, 196, 197

Tillamook Head lighthouse reservations, 199–200

Tillamook Rock Light, 200–201, 203, 393n117

U.S. Lighthouse Service, 194–195, 200, 201

Willapa Bay, Tongue Point, and Desdemona Sands, 197

lightships, 202, 202–204, 393n118, 396n134

Lincoln, Abraham, 89

Lionnet, Louis Joseph, 94

Lituya Bay, 36

livestock grazing, 104–106

lodgepole (shore) pine (Pinus contorta var. contorta), 6

log trucks, 181–182, 184

logging camps, temporary, 156–157

logging industry. See timber industry

Long Beach, Washington

beachfront strip of, 295

commercial district development in, 278

early tourists to, 261

real estate speculation in, 273

as Tinkerville, 266–267, 267, 398n161

Long Beach Peninsula (Washington)

agricultural settlement and, 102

Chinook villages on, 11–12

Columbia River sediments and, 4

Corps of Discovery at, 52

cranberry farming on, 110–111, 380n54–381n57

grazing on, 105

Leadbetter Point, 288, 403n198

name of, 398n158

sand dune stabilization on, 115

tourist transportation to, 264, 265, 266

See also Cape Disappointment

longhouses, 14

Loomis, E.G., 226

Loomis, Lewis Alfred, 264, 266, 268, 398n160

Loomis Stage Line, 265

Lopez de Haro, Gonzalo, 36

Louis XVI of France, 36

Louisiana Purchase, 47

Lovejoy, Asa L., 99, 378n44

Lower Chehalis people, 12

“Lower Columbia” (1910 photo; Curtis), 15

Lower Columbia Cooperative Association, 107

lumber. See timber industry

MacArthur, Douglas, 245

MacKay, Alexander, 69

Mackenzie, Alexander, 45

MacMurray, J.W., 395n129

mail transport, 398n160

Makah people, 16

malaria epidemic (1830), 79–81

Malaspina, Alejandro, 36

Malone, Ed, 156

Malone, Pete, 156

Map of the Oregon Territory by the U.S. Ex. Ex., Charles Wilkes,

Esqr.,1841, 83

mapping and charting

Japanese nautical chart of Pacific Northwest (1942), 250

McArthur Coast Survey compared to Wilkes, 192

by Wilkes, 82, 83

Maquinna, Chief, 34–35, 373n10

maritime exploration. See exploration, maritime

— 417 —

Index
marriage

interethnic, 68

intertribal, 16

polygamy, 375n21

Martinez, Esteban Jose, 36

Mather, Stephen, 282

McAdoo, William, 174–175

McArthur, William P., 190–193, 209

McCall, Tom, 297, 298

McClure, John, 98

McCullough, Conde, 399n172

McCullough Motors Corp., 182

McDonald, Lucile, 374n16

McDougall, Duncan, 66

McFarlin, Charles, 379n53

McGowan, Patrick, 94, 94, 120, 133, 139, 382n60, 384n69

McGrew, P.G., 115

McKenzie Head (Washington), 52, 218

McLoughlin, John, 76–78, 77, 84, 376n26

Mears, John, 35–36, 371n7

Megler, Joseph, 134–136, 384n70

Megler Bridge, 277, 400n174

Megler Cove (Washington), 134–136, 143, 144, 384n73

Megler Safety Rest Area, 373n14. See also Dismal Nitch

(Washington)

Megler Station wharf, 269, 276

Memaloose Point (Oregon), 19, 95

Menzies, Archibald, 37

Métis people, 70

Mexican immigrants, 306

Mexican War of Independence, 44

Mexico, 30, 36

Michel, Jennie, 49, 56, 279, 376n30

Middle Village (Qiqaiaqilxam)

about, 17–18

in Broughton’s sketch, 42

Chief Concomly and trade at, 66

landmark/historic status and, 371n6, 377n35

longhouses in, 14

malaria epidemic (1830) and, 80

maritime explorers and, 39, 40, 372n8

missionaries and, 94

names for, 371n4

TCP eligibility and, 371n6

Migratory Bird Treaty Act (1918), 288

militarization of Columbia-Pacific landscape

about, 221–222

Civil War era, 223–231

clearingnew forts of prior occupants, 95, 226–228

Coast Artillery, 394n123

decommissioning forts and park development, 289–294

electrification of forts, 235–236

Endicott Program era, 232–241

Fillmore’s military reservation on Cape Disappointment,

93, 194, 391–392n114

Fillmore’s order to develop forts, 222

fire control structures, 235

garrison structures and housing, 227, 235, 240

gun batteries and fort construction, 225, 226, 228–229,

234–235, 237–240

housing and other facilities, 227

lighthouses and, 194, 195, 196, 391–392n114

National Register of Historic Places and, 397–398n154

obsolescence and environmental challenges after Civil

War, 231–232

Pig War and, 222–223

Sewell-type structures, 237, 241, 242, 244, 244

Spanish-American War and Philippine-American War,

234

Taft Board recommendations, 241

“triangle of fire,” 221, 239, 252

William and Ann incident (1828–29), 78, 222

World War I and aftermath, 241–246

World War II, 246–257

See also Fort Canby; Fort Columbia; Fort Stevens; World

War II

mink farming, 112–113

Minott, Florence Glisan, 285, 286, 402n191

Minott, Gainor, 402n193

mint, 378n44

missionaries

Lee and Smith, 91–92, 378n39

Station Camp mission grant, 93–94

White, Elijah, 92, 378n39

Moore, Permelia, 153

Moore, Richard M., 153–154, 385n83

Morissette, Mimi, 393n117

Morrison, R.W., 378n44

Mount Rainier National Park, 387n94

Mowachat Nuu-chah-nulth (Nootka) people, 33, 373n10

Muller-Schwarze, Dietland, 377n34

Multnomah Falls Recreation Area, 386n88

Munson, Joel W., 205–206

Nahcotta, Washington, 267, 398nn161–162

Naiaqsta village, 18

Nakut’at village, 21

National Cranberry Association, 112, 381n57

National Guard, 247, 247–248

National Heritage Area proposal, iv

National Historical Landmark status and National Register

of Historic Places

agricultural settlement and, 381–382n59, 405n207

canneries and, 150, 385n82

Corps of Discovery and, 373–374n14

fur trade era and, 377n35

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 418 —
maritime explorers and, 372n10

military history and, 397–398n154

navigational aids and, 395–396n134

Oregon State Parks and, 405–406n207

Oysterville and, 266

park expansions and, 405n207

timber industry and, 390n110

Tokeland Hotel, 398n157

tourism history and, 404–405n207

tunnel beneath Fort Columbia, 269

Yeon site and, 405n207

See also specific park sites

National Motor Lifeboat School, 209, 394n125

National Wildlife Refuges, 287–288, 298, 403n198

Native American labor, iii, 111

Native Americans. See specific tribes, individuals and villages

Nature Conservancy, The, 298

Naukane (“John Cox”), 70

navigation hazards and shipwrecks, 187–189, 192, 204,

391n111, 396n134. See also specific ships and 

expeditions

navigational supports. See dredging; jetties; life-saving 

stations; lighthouses; lightships

Na’yigôsh (Tillamook Rock), 200–201

Neah Bay (Washington), 205

Neawanna Creek (Oregon), 21

Necost village, 22, 374n14

Nehalem (northern) Tillamook people, 13

Netul Landing log dump, 175, 176–178, 177, 184, 390n110,

405n207

Netul (Ni’tl) village, 18, 22

Niak’ilaki (or Clatsop) village, 18, 22

Niak’iwanqi village, 21

Ni’tl (Netul) village, 18, 22

no skwalikul site, 22

Noah, Henry Bell, 71

Nobles, David, 201

non-native plants, 113

Nootka (ship), 35

Nootka Cove (1792 painting; Vancouver), 34

Nootka Sound, Vancouver Island

Chief Maquinna, 34–35, 373n10

as “King George’s Sound,” 33

maritime explorers and, 33, 34–35, 36

Tonquin at, 65, 374n17

Nootka Sound Convention of 1790, 37

North Coast Land Conservancy, 299

North Head Lighthouse, 196–197, 198, 199, 204, 391n114,

395n134

north jetty project, Columbia River, 216, 217, 217–218, 219

North Pacific Fur Seal Convention (1911), 86

North West Company

Astor and, 64

ethnic makeup of employees of, 69–70

on Fort Clatsop, 19

Hudson’s Bay merger with, 74, 376n26

interethnic marriage alliances and, 68

Iroquois people in, 71

Pacific Fur Company holdings sold to, 72

timber and, 152

Northern Pacific Railroad, 163–165, 166, 265–266, 387n90,

387n94, 388n96

Northshore CRPA fish transfer facility, 143, 149

Northwest Passage, 41

Norwegian immigrants

dog fish and soupfin shark fisheries and, 146

in logging industry, 158, 160–163

recruitment of, iii

in salmon industry, 126–127

See also Scandinavian immigrants

No’s-to-ils or Nóse-to-ilse (Chinook Point, Washington), 18,

371n4. See also Chinook Point

Nuu-chah-nulth (Nootka) people

Mowachat of Yuquot village, 33, 373n10

Thorn’s conflict with, 65, 374n17

traders, 15

Nygaard, Ole, 389n104

ocean currents, seasonality of, 4

Ocean Spray Cranberries, Inc., 112, 381n57

ocean-going log rafts, 161–162, 386n87

Ogden, Peter Skene, 76

Olcott, Ben, 282–283

Olney, Cyrus, 97–99, 100, 378n43

O’Neal, Mollie, 177

Onion Peak (Oregon), 16

Onondaga (ship), 204

Ontario (ship), 73

Oregon and California (O & C) Railroad, 167, 388n95

Oregon Central Railroad, 166–167, 388n95

Oregon Country, American claims to, 82–84

Oregon Highway Department, 283–284

Oregon Historical Society, 61, 279, 378n42, 400n176

Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge, 287–288, 298

Oregon Land Law (Donation Land Claim Act of 1850), 89,

91. See also agricultural settlement

Oregon National Guard, 247–248

Oregon Pacific Mill & Lumber Co., 175

Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company (OR&N), 262,

268–269, 399n165

Oregon State Parks program, 282–284, 291–294

Oregon Territory

creation of, 190, 391n114

strategic importance of, 223

Oregon Trail, 378n39

Oregon Treaty (1846), 85–86, 376n28

— 419 —

Index
Oregon & Washington Fish Propagation Company, 139

Oregon-Washington Railroad & Navigation Company

(OWRR&N), 269, 399n165

Oriole (ship), 193

Osburne, JoAnne, 177

Oswald West State Park, 287, 299, 404n204

otters. See sea otter (Enhydra lutris)

Owens, Ton, 378n44

Owhyees. See Hawaiians, Native

oystering and canning, 109, 119, 120–122, 121, 267, 382n61

Oysterville, Washington, 121, 264, 265, 266, 398n160

Pacific Aircraft Spruce Production Board, 388n99

Pacific City, Washington, 92–93

Pacific Coast Cranberry Research Foundation, 380n55

Pacific Coast Survey, U.S., 190–193, 191, 194

Pacific Cranberry Company, 111–112

Pacific Fur Company, 63–64, 72. See also Astoria (Fort

George)

paper pulp production, 184–185

parklands. See conservation; tourism and recreation; 

specific locations

Paul, John P., 379n52

Peacock, U.S.S., 82, 188, 377n35

Peacock Spit (Washington), 188, 218

Pearson, Clara, 392n116

Perez, Juan, 30

Pershing, John J., 171

Peter Iredale (ship), 189, 189, 391n111, 396n134

Philippine-American War, 234

Pickernell, John E., 92

Pierce, Franklin, 97, 224

Pig War, 222–223

Pillar Rock (Washington), 50, 52

pilot boats, 393n120

P.J. McGowan and Sons Company, 120, 133, 133, 134, 149,

149

plate tectonics, 1–2

Poah, Paul, 70

Point Adams (Oregon)

agricultural settlement at, 95, 95, 378n41

British plans to conquer, 84–85

Broughton and, 42, 372n8

as “Cabo Frondoso,” 31

Chief Illga at, 375n22

Clatsop reservation promised at, 90

Corps of Discovery at, 54–55

landmark/historic status and, 373n10, 377n35

life-saving station, 208

on map from journals, 59

as navigational landmark, 190, 373n10

Niak’ilaki (Clatsop) village at site of, 18

strategic importance of, 224

See also Fort Stevens

Point Adams lighthouse, 196, 197

Point Adams village

Corps of Discovery and, 54–55

displacement from, 227–228

longhouses in, 14

William and Ann incident (1828–29), 78, 222

Point Ellis (or Ellice) Buying Station, 135–136

population decline of Native Americans from disease and

disasters, 22–23

Portland, Oregon

agricultural market, 106–107

Columbia-Pacific militarization and, 223

Ecola State Park and “Portland society” families (Couch,

Flanders, Glisan, Lewis, Minott), 284–286, 402n191

Japanese seasonal workers from, 140

Lovejoy (Asa) and, 99

lumber mills in, 184

McGowan (Patrick) and, 120

navigational supports and, 220

Pig War and, 223

Portland Basin tribes, 76, 119

salmon canning industry and, 132, 140

tourism from, 259, 261–262, 269, 273, 279

transportation connections to, 140, 166–167, 265, 269,

271–272, 275–276, 400n175

Portland Air Defense Wing, U.S. Army Air Corps, 254

Portland Lumber Company, 161

Portland & Western Railroad, 277, 400n175

precipitation, seasonality of, 4

Presbyterian Church along Fort-to-Sea Trail, 99

public domain lands, privatization of, 166, 388n94

pulp and paper production, 184–185

Qailciak village, 21

Qiqaiaqilxam. See Middle Village

Quilleute people, 16

Quimper, Manuel, 36

Quinault people, 16, 375n22

Raccoon (ship), 72–73

“Radar Road” (Oregon), 255

radar station at Tillamook Head, 254–256, 292–293,

397nn150–151

rafts, log, 161–162, 173, 386n87

railroads

Army Spruce Production Division and, 173–175, 174,

389n102

Astoria and Portland, 399n170

Astoria and South Coast Railway (A&SCR), 266, 270, 271

Astoria & Columbia Railroad (A&CRR), 167, 272, 272–273,

388n96, 396n142, 400n175

automobiles and the end of tourist railways, 275–278, 277

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 420 —
Colorado Midland, 389n103

“Daddy Trains,” 273, 277

Ilwaco Railway and Navigation Company (IR&N or

“Clamshell”), 144, 162, 264–270, 267, 270, 276, 277,

399nn163–164, 405n207

land grants and privatization of interior lands, 162–169

Lewis and Clark, 174, 175, 176, 177, 389n106

narrow-gauge railway trestles for jetty construction, 212–

213, 213, 216, 218

networks for logging, 160–161, 162, 182

Northern Pacific, 163–165, 166, 265–266, 387n90,

387n94, 388n96

Oregon and California (O & C), 167, 388n95

Oregon Central, 166–167, 388n95

Oregon Railroad and Navigation Company (OR&N), 262,

268–269, 399n165

Oregon-Washington Railroad & Navigation Company

(OWRR&N), 269, 399n165

Portland & Western, 277, 400n175

Spokane, Portland and Seattle (SP&S), 268, 273, 277–

278, 388n96, 400n175

Spruce Corporation, 176

tourism, rail-based era of, 264–273, 267, 270, 398n161

transcontinental, 168

Union Pacific, 269, 276–277, 399n165

Ramsay, George (Lamazee), 65, 374n17

Raymond, W.W., 95, 226, 378n41, 396n138

razor clams, 147

red alder, 386n85

red cedar. See Western red cedar

red fescue (Festuca rubra), 381n58

Reed, Charles, 266

regelbau style bunker construction, 252, 253, 254

relocation of Native Americans, forced, 82–83

reservations, Native American, 82–83, 90

Resinov, Nicholas, 372n9

Revenue-Marine (Revenue Cutter Service), U.S., 204–205,

394n123

Rival (ship), 207

roadside beautification movement, 282–284

Ronda, James, 224, 373n11

Rondeau, Mary, 93

Roosevelt, Franklin D., 246, 288

Roosevelt, Theodore, 241, 288, 297

Roosevelt Highway. See Highway 101

Rosecrans (ship), 208

Ross, Alexander, 69, 71, 75

Ruby (ship), 88

Russian maritime exploration and fur trade, 26–27, 28–30,

31–32, 44–45, 372n9

Russian-American Company, 372n9

Sacagawea, 49, 56

Saddle Mountain

about, 400n178

Cathlamet hunting on, 371n1

geology of, 2

national park proposal, 280–281, 400n180–401n181

Northern Pacific Railroad grant on, 281

park development on, 287, 403n195

reforestation of, 401n187

spiritual importance to Native Americans, 16–17

state park, establishment of, 281, 401n187

TCP eligibility and, 371n6

tunnel plan, 399n170

Saddle Mountain Logging Company, 176

Saddle Mountain National Park (proposed), 168, 280–281,

400n180–401n181

salmon

beaver extirpation, effects of, 84

Columbia Rivers population of, 150

dried and pounded, trade in, 15

Endangered Species Act and, 150

types of, 7–8, 8

See also canneries, fisheries, and salmon industry

Salt Works and Salt Cairn (Seaside)

agricultural settlement at, 99–101, 101, 382n59

establishment of, 55–56

identification of site of, 56

importance of, 49

Lattie claim at, 282n59

Nakut’at village near, 21

as National Monument, 400n177

public acquisition of, 279

replica of, 280

travel to and from, 22, 56

salvage wood, 185–186

San Blas naval station, Mexico, 30, 36

San Juan Islands, Washington, 222–223

sand dunes

agricultural settlement on, 102–103

beach towns and westward shift of dunes, 295

Clatsop village site displacement, 396n148

dune formation, 3

stabilization projects, 114–115, 116, 248, 381n58

Sand Island (Oregon), 132, 192, 209–210, 214, 218, 381n58

sands, accretion of, 3, 295

sandspit reclamation and stabilization, 215–216, 395n131

Sanler, James, 82, 377n33

Santiago (ship), 30

sardines, 146

“Saul’s Point,” 377n33

sawmills

Fort Clatsop site, 97

Fort Vancouver, 81

— 421 —

Index
Hammond mill and competing upstream mills, 178–179

Moore and Harold Lumber Mill, 153–154

retooling of, 183–184

Vancouver Barracks, World War I, 172, 389n100

Willapa Lumber Company mill, 181

See also timber industry

Sayce, Jim, 374n14

Scandinavian immigrants

in fishing and canning, 126–127, 129, 130, 146, 383n65

ranching by, 107

recruitment of, iii

in timber, 158–162

See also Finnish immigrants; Norwegian immigrants;

Swedish immigrants

Scarborough, Ann, 93

Scarborough, James, 93, 94

Scarborough Hill, 93, 190, 373n10

school indemnity schemes for timberland claims, 388n94

Schwatka, Frederick G., 95, 95, 226–227

Scots broom (Cytisus scoparius), 113, 114, 403n200

Scott, Thomas, 96, 377n38

Scott, Winfield, 223

Scouler, John, 376n27

scripper acts, 166, 387n94, 388n94

sea lions, 201, 392n116

sea otter (Enhydra lutris)

boom and bust of, 9

depletion and extirpation of, 74, 86

history of, 8

maritime fur traders, 28–30, 35–36, 41–44

North Pacific Fur Seal Convention (1911) and, 86

population rebounds, 86

Steller drawings of, 29

See also fur trade

Seaborg, B.A., 127

Seal Rock Beach plat partition, 275

Sea-otter (ship), 35

Seashore Road Company, 271–272, 399n170

Seaside (Oregon)

beach access and, 295

Ben Holladay’s Seaside House resort, 261–262, 263

commercial district development in, 278

early tourism to Bill Lattie’s Place, 100

Gearhart compared to, 399n168

Lattie family claim, 99–100, 101

Lattie guest house, 260

Nakut’at village, 21

rail connection to Hillsboro, 399n170

rail-based tourism in, 270

tribes at, 13

West Seaside and, 399n168

See also Holladay, Ben; Salt Works and Salt Cairn

seasonality, 3–4

Seaview House, 271

sedimentary formations, 3

Seeman, Albert, 112

settlement of homesteads. See agricultural settlement

Sewell-type military structures, 237, 241, 242, 244, 244

shad, American (Alosa sapidissma), 148, 149

Shane, Carlos, 96–97, 378n42

Shane, Franklin, 96–97

Shane family and farm, 61, 96–97, 97, 98, 262–263,

382n59

Shannon, George, 56

Shark, U.S.S. (ship), 188–189, 391n111

Shark Rock (Oregon), 391n111

Shay engine, 160–161

Shelburne Inn, Seaview, 271

Shelikov, Grigory, 31–32

shipping, role of, 187. See also exploration, maritime

shipwrecks and navigation hazards, 187–189, 192, 204,

391n111, 396n134. See also life-saving stations; specific

ships and expeditions

shore (lodgepole) pine (Pinus contorta var. contorta), 6

Shubrick (lighthouse tender), 194, 224, 396n136, 398n155

“Sierra de Montefalcon” (Oregon), 31

Simpson, George, 74, 84, 374n18

Sitka spruce (Picea sitchensis), 5

Clark on, 57

Corps of Discovery on, 6

dominance of, 4–6

sand stabilization and, 114

U.S. Army Spruce Production Division, 169–176, 170

skid roads, 155, 386n84

slavery, 15, 69, 375n23

Sligh, Charles R., 388n99

smallpox, 22–23, 376n31

Smith, A.M., 167–168, 281, 388n97

Smith, Celiast, 91, 104

Smith, E. A., 140

Smith, Sam C., 379n44

Smith, Silas B., 56, 61, 279, 378n42

Smith, Solomon, 91, 104, 105, 153

Smith’s Point (Oregon), 379n44

snow, 4

soil acidity, 102–103

Soil Conservation Service (SCS), USDA, 114–115

soupfin shark, 146, 148

south jetty project, Columbia River, 212–215, 213, 216

South Wind (spiritual being), 4

Spanish maritime exploration, 26–28, 30–31, 36–37

Spanish missions, 27–28

Spanish-American War, 234, 247

spirit questing in upland areas, 16–17

splash dams, 157

Spokane, Portland and Seattle (SP&S) Railroad, 268, 273,

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 422 —
277–278, 388n96, 400n175

Spruce Corporation Railroad, 176

Spruce Production Division, U.S. Army, 169–176, 170, 174

St. Mary’s Catholic Church, 133

Station Camp, Washington

agricultural settlement at, 93–94

Chinook protected lands, 90

Corps of Discovery departure from, 52

establishment of, 51–52

fishing history interpretation and, 385n82

gillnet grounds, 135

interethnic marriage and, 382n59

landmark/historic status and, 377n35

McGowan fish operations at, 133, 139

Middle Village at site of, 17–18

TCP eligibility and, 371n6

view from, 51

See also Middle Village (Qiqaiaqilxam)

steamers, 262–264, 396n136, 398n155–156. See also

Shubrick

Steel, W.G., 281

Stellam’s Mission, 94

Steller, Georg, 29, 30

Stevens, Isaac Ingalls, 229

Stevens, Sydney, 398n162

Steward, C. S., 210–211

Stone, Edwin, 384n74

storms, 3–4, 50–51

Stout, Jonathan, 264, 271, 398n160

strikes, 136–137, 171–172

Stuart, David, 66

Stubenrauch, A.V., 215

Sunset Beach, Oregon

agricultural settlement at, 97–99, 100

Civilian Conservation Corps work at, 287

county-owned lands, 399n171

dune restoration on, 115

landmark/historic status and, 373n14

Oregon Parks acquisition of, 299

subdivision of, 273–274, 274

Sunset Division, 400n173

Sunset Highway (Oregon Highway 26), 276, 400n173

Surf Pines, Oregon, 271

surfboats, 208

Swedish immigrants

recruitment of, iii

in salmon industry, 126–127

See also Scandinavian immigrants

Swedish ships at Nootka Sound, 36. See also Scandinavian

immigrants

Szymanski, David, iv

Taft, William Howard, 241

Tagami, Meiji, 250–251

Tansy Point, Oregon, 378n41

Tansy Point treaties (1851), 21, 90, 393n122

Taylor, Esther, 99, 378n44

Taylor, James, 99, 273, 378n44

Taylor’s Astoria, 379n44

“Terrible Tilly” (Tillamook Rock), 201

Territorial Act (1848), 190, 391n114

theft and ownership, concepts of, 373n13

Thomas Corwin (ship), 205

Thompson, David, 65

Thorn, Jonathan, 64, 374nn16–17

Thurston, Samuel Royal, 75

tidal flats, sedimentary expansion of, 183

Tillamook Bay, 36

Tillamook Burn, 179–180, 390n107

Tillamook Head (Neaseu’su) (Oregon)

cattle drives over, 105

“Clark’s Point of View,” 57, 59

clay gathering on, 20

conversion from military to parkland, 292–294

Corps of Discovery at, 49, 57–58

Indian Beach village, 20

landmark/historic status and, 373n10

lighthouse reservations on, 199–200, 402n192

in Oregon Islands National Wildlife Refuge, 288

Oregon State Planning Board report on, 287, 402n194

ownership patterns, 402n192

spiritual importance of, to Native Americans, 17

See also Ecola State Park

Tillamook Head Air Warning Station (AWS) radar site, 254–

256, 292–293, 397nn150–151

Tillamook people, 16, 58. See also Nehalem (northern)

Tillamook

Tillamook Rock Light, 393n117

Tillamook State Forest, 179, 390n107

Timber and Stone Act (1878), 166, 168, 387n93, 388n97

timber industry

Benson log rafts, 161–162, 386n87

California gold rush and, 153

changes through history of, ii

current status, 306

earliest commercial mill, 152–153

Fort Clatsop mill, 97

Fort Vancouver and, 81

Fort Vancouver mill, 81

Harold Lumber Mill and Moore, 153–154

landmark/historic status and, 390n110

into late 20th century, 178–186

logging camps, temporary, 156–157

mill supply stores, 157

Native American peoples and timber, 151–152

Netul Landing log dump, 175, 176–178, 177, 184, 390n110

— 423 —

Index
North West and Hudson’s Bay Companies and, 152

pulp and paper production, 184–185

railroad grants and privatization of interior lands, 162–

169

railroad networks and, 160–161, 162, 173–175, 174, 182,

389n102

reforestation projects, 180

road-building for, 183, 184

salvage wood, 185–186

Scandinavian immigrants in, 158–162

technology of, 154, 156–162, 181–183

tidal flats expansion from, 183

tidewater trees and market demand, 155–156

Tillamook Burn, 179–180

U.S. Army Spruce Production Division, 169–176, 170, 174

USGS estimates of timber per acre, 388n98

Tinker, Henry H., 266

Tinker Hotel, 267

Tinkerville, 266–267, 267, 398n161. See also Long Beach

“Tlatcep” people, 15, 18 See also Clatsop people

Tlingit people, 44

Tokeland Hotel, 264, 398n157

Tongue Point, 49, 84–85, 372n8

Tongue Point lighthouse, 197

Tongue Point Naval Air Station, 209

Tonquin (ship), 64–65, 66, 70, 374n17, 375n21, 377n35

Tostom, Chief, 21, 67, 105, 227–228

tourism and recreation

automobiles, highway development, and the end of

railways, 275–278, 277

beach access issues, 295–298

current tourist economy, 307–308

early Long Beach visitors, 261

Great Depression and, 288–289

Lattie guest house, Seaside, 260

natural-resources tourism, 295

nonprofit conservation and, 298–299

overexploitation potential of, ii

parks, creation of, 279–287

post-WWII park development, 289–294

rail-based, 264–273, 267, 270

real-estate speculation and platting, 271, 273–275, 274

Seaside House, 261–262, 263

steamers and wagon roads, 262–264, 265

town impacts, 278–279, 294–298

transition to, 259

trade

Chinuk wawa (Chinook Jargon) trade language and, 16

diversity of goods traded for furs, 67

networks of, 15–16, 43–44

See also fur trade; Hudson’s Bay Company

Traditional Cultural Properties (TCPs), 371n6, 406n207

trails

cattle drives and, 105

Corps of Discovery and, 22, 56

Fort-to-Sea Trail, 22, 56, 97, 99, 263, 373n14, 405n207

Gainor’s Trail, Ecola State Park, 402n193

Shane farm and, 97

Transamerica Corporation, 385n80

transcontinental railroad, 168

transportation

agricultural settlement and, 106–107

automobiles, 275–276, 277

of logs, 157–158, 158

wagon roads for tourism, 262–264, 265

See also exploration, maritime; railroads

Trask, Elbridge, 378n41, 396n138

treaties with tribes

Chinook rights to cranberries (1851), 109–110

Tansy Point treaties (1851) (unratified), 21, 90, 393n122

Treaty of Ghent, 73, 376n27

tree farms, 180, 390n108 See also timber industry

Tres Reyes (ship), 27

Trewaves, John R., 201

tribes of the Columbia–Pacific region (overview)

Athabaskan groups, 14

canoe travel, 14, 15

Cathlamet proper, 14

Chinook proper (Lower Chinook), 11–12

Clatsop, 12–13

Corps of Discovery, populations encountered by, 11

interior lands, 16–17

intertribal gatherings, 16

longhouses, 14

Lower Chehalis bands and Willapa, 12

maps of, 10, 19

Nehalem (northern) Tillamook, 13

population decline from disease and disaster, 22–23, 44

resource use, 14–15

trade, 15–16

trails, 22

villages at or near current LEWI sub-units, 17–21, 371n6

Wahkiakum Cathlamet, 14

See also specific tribes

tsunami (1700), 23

tuna, 146, 148–149

tunnel beneath Fort Columbia, 269, 276

Twilch, Chief, 54, 96

ucmuyáqxan (Utsumuekhan) village, 371n5

Union Fishermen’s Cooperative Packing Company, 136

Union Pacific Railroad, 269, 276–277, 399n165

United States Exploring Expedition, 82

United States Railroad Administration, 174–175

upwelling, ocean, 4

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 424 —
U.S. Army Corps of Engineers

jetties and, 209, 232, 395n132

retention of land by, 291, 292

U.S. Army Spruce Production Division, 169–176, 170, 174

U.S. Coast Guard, 208–209, 393n121, 394n123

U.S. Corps of Topographical Engineers, 224

U.S. Life-Saving Service (USLSS), 205, 207, 207–208,

394n123

U.S. Lighthouse Service, 194–195, 200, 201

U.S. Neutrality Act (1939), 394n123

U.S. Revenue-Marine (Revenue Cutter Service), 204–205,

394n123

USDA Soil Conservation Service (SCS), 114–115

Utsumuekhan (ucmuyáqxan) village, 371n5

Valde y Flores, Cayetano, 36

Vancouver, George, 32, 37, 40–41, 45, 49, 372n8

Vancouver Barracks, 172, 388–389n100

Vaughan, Warren, 104

Vavasour, Merwin, 84–85, 222

vegetation of Columbia–Pacific region, dominant, 4–7

“Village Point” (Chinook Point), Washington, 41, 372n8

villages

Clatsop and northern Tillamook, 12–13

Duflot de Mofras’ map of Columbia mouth (ca. 1841), 19

gathering of tribes in, 16

longhouses in, 14

Lower Chinook and Lower Chehalis, 11–12

population decline and combined or abandoned villages,

23

specific villages at or near present LEWI sub-units, 17–21

See also Indian Beach village; Middle Village; Point

Adams village

Vizcaíno, Sebastián, 27

volcanic landforms, 1–3

wagon roads for tourism, 262–264, 265

Wahkiakum Cathlamet people, 14

Wallace Slough, 386n87

Walmlm village, 17

War Assets Administration, U.S., 290, 292–293

War Emergency Spruce Council, U.S., 388n99

War of 1812, 72–73

Wards Cove Packing Company, 385n80

Warre, Henry, 84–85, 85, 222

Warren, D. K., 105, 270

Warrenton, Oregon

air station at, 209

Clatsop in, 228

farming around, 108

mills in, 158

steamer/wagon travel through, 263

tourism and, 295

whaling station, 148

See also Camp Rilea National Guard Base

Warrenton Dune Control Project, 114–115

Washington (or Lady Washington) (ship), 38

Washington State College (later WSU), 112, 380n55

Washington State Historical Society, 373–374n14

Washington State Parks program, 290–291

weaponry at forts. See gun batteries and artillery

Weathers, Larry, 93, 134, 384n69, 399n163

West, Oswald, 296, 296–297

West Seaside, Oregon, 399n168

Western hemlock (Tsuga heterophylla), 6, 184

Western red cedar (Thuja plicata), 6, 155, 185

Weyerhaeuser, Frederick, 164–165

Weyerhaeuser Timber Company, 164–165, 167, 169, 180,

183, 387n92, 390n109

whale meat and blubber, 56, 57, 58

whaling station, Warrenton, Oregon, 148

Wheeler, John R., 200–201

Wheeler, Olin, 279

White, Elijah, 82–84, 92–93, 226, 260, 382n59

White, W.T., 115, 378n39

Wickaninnish, Chief, 65

wildfires in regional ecology, 6. See also fire

wildlife refuges, 287–288, 298, 403n198

Wilkes, Charles, 82, 187, 188, 209, 375n21, 400n178

Wilkes Expedition, 82

Willamette Paper Company, 402n192

Willapa Bay (Washington)

Chinook villages on, 12

dikes on, 106, 116

as estuary, 7

life-saving station, 205

logging railroad at, 161

Mears and, 36, 371n7

oyster production, 119, 120–122, 121, 382n61

tourism and, 264, 265–266

Willapa Bay Light, 197

Willapa Harbor Migratory Bird Refuge, 288

Willapa Lumber Company mill, 181

Willapa National Wildlife Refuge, 288, 298, 403n198

Willapa people, 12

William and Ann (ship), 78, 187–188, 222, 377n35

Williams, Patricia, 177

Wilson, Woodrow, 241, 280

winds, seasonality of, 4

Wine-O (Astoria Soda Works), 109, 110

Winship brothers (Abiel, Jonathan, and Nathan), 88, 374n15

Wirt, Andrew, 135

“Wolf Creek” (Sunset) Highway, 276, 400n173

wolves, 105

Wood, Ben, 152

Work Projects Administration (WPA), 276, 400n173

— 425 —

Index
World War I

canneries and, 143

U.S. Army Spruce Production Division, 169–176, 170, 174

World War II

civilian involvement and impacts, 255–256

Coast Guard and, 394n123

cranberry production and, 112, 380n56

deactivation of forts following, 256–257, 257

Japanese I-class submarine attacks, 250–252, 251

Japanese mine at Fort Stevens oceanfront, 249

Japanese nautical chart of Pacific Northwest, 250

lighthouses as lookout stations, 204, 393n119

logging and, 176

mines and minefield, 249, 397n149

regelbau style bunker construction, 252, 253, 254

Sunset Highway and, 400n173

Tillamook Head Radar Station, 254–256, 397nn150–151

tourist towns, impact on, 288–289

weaponry and construction at forts, 248–250, 252–254,

253

Wright, George, 223

Wyeth, Nathaniel, 68, 376n26

Yaquina people, 16

Yeon, John, 294–295

Yeon, John Baptiste, 283, 388n100

Yeon, Norman, 294–295

Yeon Building, Portland, 388n100

Yeon House, 388n100

Yeon property, 294–295, 299, 404n203, 406n207

York, 49, 60

Young, George, 372n8

Youngs Bay (Oregon)

boat landing in estuary of, 97

Corps of Discovery hunting parties at, 53

Quinault people at, 375n22

rail bridge across, 271–272

Smith claim on, 379n44

tidal flats expansion, 183

Youngs Bay Bridge, 400n172

Youngs River (Oregon), 161, 372n8

Yuquot National Historic Site of Canada, 373n10

Yuquot village, Vancouver Island, 33, 373n10

Empires of the Turning Tide

— 426 —