When I traveled through Oregon in 1877, we visited the Siletz Indian
reservation. To get there from the district called King's Valley, where
we were, we had to take the mountain-trail first cut out by General
Sheridan, when, as a young lieutenant, twenty years ago, he was
stationed on this coast. The trail went up one mountain and down
another, and crossed this river and that creek, till, at the foot of
one long descent from a lofty ridge, which we thought then, and which I
know now is, the water-shed between two great divisions of this county,
we entered a valley entirely shut in. At the southeastern end, where we
entered it, it was a narrow gorge, down which a quick stream hurried,
with many a twist and turn, and over many a rocky ledge. The hill-sides
above were thick with fern and berry-bearing bushes, and the black
trunks of the burned timber stood as records of the great fire; but the
stream ran through a leafy wilderness, where maple, alder, and cherry
shut in the trail, and the maiden-hair and blechnum ferns grew thickly
along the banks. The valley widened out as we advanced, and we found it
in shape almost like an outspread hand, the palm representing the
central level bottom, and the fingers the narrow valleys and cañons
between the encompassing hills. The trail led us by turns along the
bottom and the lower steps of the hill-sides. We camped to dine, and
explored some distance up the side-valleys, coming on old Indian
camping-places, with the bones of deer and beaver scattered round.
The isolation of the place, hidden away there among the hills, the
fresh abundance of the vegetation, the mellowness of the thick, fat
soil shown where we crossed again and again the creek dividing the
valley down its entire length, all charmed me; the steep yet rounded
outlines of the hills often recurred to me when I was very far away.
When I came back to Oregon, in 1879, I took the first chance I had of
going over this old ground.
The question was, if it were possible to run in a road out of the main
Yaquina road, which I knew lay but some five or six miles off.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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