The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1904-06-16
A Trim lin the Colnmhia

lTlp Up tne COLUMBIA.
What picture this conveys to one
who has ever seen this grand river OF
OF the West--a majestic stream of blue
waters sweeping past wooded isles, pic
turesque walls OF rock, moss.covered
erags and the grandest Of cascades! 1t is
like plunge in fairy land
Leaving the dock at Portland the Il
miles on the broad, quiet Willamette,
decked on either side with green clad
bills, is soon passed. At the mouth of
the Willamette lies Sauvie's island a
labyrinth OF green foliage. Here, un-
der the swaying branches of the cotton
woods, surrounded by the blue sweep
ing waters, Indian legends tell us the
great chief, Multnomah, once called
together the greatest council of Indian
warriors ever known.
Our steamer now points up the Col
umbia. The bright waters, the green
foliage, with the deep, dark forests in
the distance and occasional glimpses OF
snow-capped mountains is a scene new
er to be forgotten. We pass the old,
historic fort of Vancouver, islands
fringed with cottonwoods, pasto-
raj scenes and rugged hills. To
our right rises Rooster Rock, a large,
rocky pillar crowned with frs, while
here and there on its steep sides moss
and shrubs have found a resting place,
Soon we are rounding the beetling
cliffs of Cape Horn, perpendicular walls
tower high above us. Wind and water
hand in hand with Father Time, have
cut fantastic shapes in those grim old
reeks, which are frightened up with
the silvery spray of falling waters. Out
in the river the black head of Lone
Rock stands grim and silent in its lone
illness.
We go on past high rocky crags, where
behind screen OF green foliage we
catch glimpse of bright, sparkling wa
ters tumbling down over the moscow
cred rocks; over hanging cliffs where
verdure clad walls echo the wierd, wild
music of the cold mountain torrent as it
rushes from its narrow bed into the
broad Columbia.
And now we see the far-famed falls
OF Multnomah, a roaring river drops
over precipice 800 feet. The somber
gray rocks and dark evergreens in the
background, the white spray of falling
waters, the light green foliage of the
trees and shrubs>and moss-rocks below,
forms a most enchanting picture. Many
pretty and tragic legends are connected
with these charming spots of nature.
Farther up we pass 81. Peters Dome,
the jutting terraces Of rock leaping up
to it are softened by the vine and shrub.
Castle Rock, standing like an old de-
serted castle Of ancient times, next meets
the eye. As we come nearer we see
that Mother Nature has kindly placed
sprays of green and red and yellow
moses in the inches of its rough, rugged
walls. We pass fish canneries and nu-
merous fish wheels where the unwary
salmon, for which this river is famous,
is scooped up, canned and shipped all
over the the world.
Now, we are out in mid stream, On
either side new beauties await us. The |
strangely wrought domes and peaks
whose sides are draped with fieecy
clouds, perpendicular rocks towering
skyward, worn and weatherbeaten by |
the winds and storms of hundreds of |
years, then again we creep along the
shore almost brushing the willows
bending over the waters.
Away in the distance the hills, |
wrapped in misty blue, are outlined |
against the sky. Now the Cascades are
before US and here we have fine view
of Table Rock. An Indian legend says
1t is one of the abutments OF the bridge
Of the Gods, that long, long ago Won
derful stone arch spanned the river
where now are the falls. Mysterious
and pathetic is the legend of the beau
tifu Cascades. Long before the white
man came, that great arch, under which
flowed the wild dark waters, rang to the
hoofs Of mounted dusky warriors with
plumed head and rude lances.
Now the roaring, foaming waters
guard we'll the fallen bridge. Our
steamer is now plowing into the roaring
waters that are whirling down over the
Cascades and in a few minutes rides
quietly into the locks ready to be lifted
through them and sent on her way.
Millions of dollars and over 20 years
were required until this boat way
through the Cascades was completed.
Leaving the Locks we get fine view
II the knob across the river where
stand the ruins of the old block house
ghere Lieutenant Sheridan fought his
irst battle. Time has wrought many
changes, but memory remains that the
ears and the mould cannot cover.