Amador ledger., 1903-07-03
OFF FOR NOME.


1905 O'Clock, the sleeper in which l
was resting sleeplessly in my birth, was
attached to the overland Oregon Pa
cific train bound north For a few
hundred yards she bumped and jerked
along the track as the great train to
which she was attached sped out over
the switches with gradual increasing
motion, then, as if settling down to an
equilibrium of measured velocity, she
went with a gentle occilating motion,
as if trying to lull the reclining pas
sengers into peaceful lullaby of silent
slumber. When awoke the sun was
cleaning over the landscape, sending
its golden shafts of sunlight in a brilli-
ant sheen through the green foliage of
the evergreen trees that nature had
seen proper to dwarf in their growth.
AS peered out through the glass win
dow at the squatty growth of live oaks
scattered here and there over the
ground, they semed to be trying to
dodge out of sight by an hallucination
OF phantasm of mistaken imagery.
Along here no one seems to live. Only
tumbled down shack attests the fact
that some one of years ago had been
its occupant. A barbed wire fence
moldy by age and rust, told that it had
been turned into stock pasture. The
train was bounding over this rolling
country with speed of a race horse.
Soon the brakeman stuck his head in
at the door and drawled out 'Re-ding."
A five mintues' stop was made here,
when on the train went, winding in
serpentine course along the rocky sides
OF the Sacramento river, now turned
into mere brook. Up here its lucid
waters CLINT and dimple in the sunlight,
where might sport the nymph of Mad
in all her glory. Sheer precipitous
mountain sides rise rough, gloomy, and
ragged to our left, while to our right
rises rough, bare, and bleak stupendous
mountain sides, cut into shapeless de-
pressions or thrown by the terrible
adion of nature into mass of shapeless
ruin. Here, then. you have glimpse
of Shasta. Mount Shasta denuded of
most of her snow, stands like a giant
monster, lifting it's head in awful
grandeur above the filmy white clouds
in all its weird glory. From
here on to the top of the mountain,
looking down on Ashland, Oregon, the
country is rough and mountainous. It
is enchanting in appearance, wearing a
green garb of bright, thrifty foliage
that comes from underbrush and
squatty dwarf evergreens of several
species. Occasionally spring bursts
from the mountain side, and goes fall
ing, running, and leaping over the
messy bed below. Strange and enobl-
ing as this scenery is, so far,as I could
see, it is void of animal life. Not even
bird did I see fitting through this
weird wildness of mountain grandeur.
Looking from the mountain tops
through which railroads run, you see
the head of the Rouge river valley,
rolling in character, running from
elevation to elevation upward toward
the mountains upon the opposite side
until it reaches steepness that bars it
from cultivation. Down the valley the
road goes on to Portland. Ashland
stands at the head of the valley, dainty
and neat as woman in evening attire.
Further down Grants Pass stands, the
most beautiful place in Rouge river
valley. The townsite is almost as level
as lawn, and we'll laid out. South of
it rises blue, illimitable and grand,
well-cut mountain range, mineral in
character, and said to contain some
we'll developed rich gold mines. Below
the Pass are many beautiful farms,
green with enchanting verdure that the
princess of Mediaeval times might have
envied, and where wizard knights OF
ancient ages would have shed their
blood to acquire. From here on
grandeur after grandeur passes you as
the train speeds on toward the beauti.
full Willamette valley, where flowers
in morning rise up in their beds,
crowned with crystalline beauty that
nature hath shed. At 7:15 Portland
is reached, gloomy in appearance, and
with great clouds OF smoke playing like
a toy balloon above it, it presents to
the eye an unfavorable aspect. Not
withstanding this Portland is one of
the great cities of the west. Here we
leave the Oregon Pacific line and take
seats in that of the Northern Pacific off
for Seattle. At $50 the train moves
slowly out of the depot, gradually in
its motion till we are flying
along the Columbia river at the rate of
45 miles an hour. The train halts, and
we find that we are on the great ferry
boat that takes us to the opposite side
of the stream. Going out of the car
upon the boat, one has splendid view
of the Colum bia, whose waters dimple,
CLINT, and gurgle on her tedious gait to
the salty sea- Once more the train
speeds on, this time leaving the great
Columbia which winds her course
through blue mountains, off to our left.
verdure green as the
Emerald Isle meets the eye. The
country from here on to Seattle is