The Midland Journal

THE GREAT NORTHWEST.

THE COUNTRY SEEN AT ITS BEST IN MAY AND JUNE.

Immense Fields of Growing Wheat in Dakota—Charming Scenery Along the Columbia River.

A correspondent at Portland, Oregon, writes: To see at its best what is known as the "Great North-west," one should visit it in the latter part of May or in the month of June. Then the sunshine is warm enough to be pleasant, the landscape is fresh and green, and the atmosphere is delightfully clear and bracing. The later months are apt to be warmer, and in the absence of much rain the constant stream of sunshine dries the earth and makes more or less dust. The Northwest does not know such weather as the East calls sultry and oppressive. The sun's rays are penetrating, but the air is always good, and it is invariably cool in the shade.

Minnesota is the beginning of the Northwest and St Paul and Minneapolis are its gates. Winter there is long and cold, and May is well advanced before Spring shows itself in real earnest; its appearance transforms an icy, cheerless landscape into one of much beauty. Green fields and rolling prairie blend harmoniously, and groves of small oaks wave their new-grown flossy leaves in the bracing atmosphere. Many little lakes are dotted upon the surface of the country. Fresh breezes ruffle their waters, and make tiny wavelets, which dance and sparkle in the sunlight.

Dakota's atmosphere resembles that of Minnesota, but its landscape is quite different. Trees are scarce and prairie abounds. There are long stretches of level country, and again the land rises and falls in graceful undulations like the waves of the ocean. One who has been at sea will have recalled the picture of the waste of waters fringed on the horizon round about with the waves ever rising and rolling one upon another. The billows in the distance seem always higher than those next the speeding ship. Early summer shows Dakota's prairie green for miles with newly sprouted wheat. The cutting of the golden grain comes later on. Miles of yellow beards then wave in the breezes, and the smoke from the many thrashing engines rises against the sky and floats off languidly like that of a far-away steamer at sea. The western portion of Dakota is a bunch grass country. Bunch grass becomes quite green in the Spring, but it is never as fresh and decided in color as grass of Eastern fields and pastures. What is green in Dakota in Spring and early Summer assumes various hues of yellow and brown later on. The hot midsummer sun takes the coloring matter from the grasses and cures them as they grow. Nothing makes a beautiful country like green grass. Without it the eye grows tired of any landscape. But there is much beauty in the many shades of brown and yellow of the prairies and hillsides. At dusk, they have an indescribably rich and velvety appearance. Every possible shade in the changes from brown to yellow can be seen in the softness of deepening twilight. Cattle like the green things of Spring, but they fatten on the bunch grass, and exist on it cured in the Summer and Winter. Dakota grows warm at times in the sun, but the mercury there at 110° does not mean the discomfort of a muggy day in an Eastern city, with the mercury at 80°. The dryness of the atmosphere which sends the mercury up in the Northwest also protects the people from feeling the heat.

Eastern Montana is a grazing country. It is largely prairie, and north of the Yellowstone River are large herds of cattle. To the South of this river for several hundred miles is the reservation of the Crow Indians. Trees are a most refreshing sight to a dweller on the prairie. Except on river banks he does not see them. Trees line the banks of every river, and, rising above the level of the surrounding country, one can by them trace the course of any stream for many miles. The month of June sees a volume of water in the Yellowstone River, scattering spots of snow on the mountains of the Belt range, and the river and streams of the National Park are full of life and energy. It also shows the country west of the Rocky Mountains in its choicest season. The Rocky Mountains do not present a high ridge of snow-capped peaks running north and south across the face of the country. The range is very broken, and in Montana consists of ridges running at all angles with no very high peaks. Some two or three show snow on their summits the year round, but none are snow-capped in the sense that the peaks of the Cascade range are. One does not pass over the main ridge at a high altitude: the journey through these mountains is a series of windings over numerous ridges, through various tunnels, and around sharp curves. It is also a ride through valleys, some of which are green with vegetation. Many low peaks and intervening valleys spread over miles of country describe the chain which constitutes the backbone of our continent.

But the chief reason why the trip should be made in early Summer is that Oregon, Washington Territory, and the country about Puget Sound then show to best advantage. During the whole season, and until late in December, the Northwest coast is most beautiful, and has many very clear days, but in late May and June a clear sky is more to be depended upon. Not to see the snow-capped peaks makes any trip to Oregon unsatisfactory. Clouds and bad weather do not interfere with the tourist to any extent during the whole Summer. After the rainy season of Winter the sky becomes clear and sunshine pours down bountifully. Smoke is the enemy of the tourist. It does not come every year, nor does it always last long, but when the season for its presence comes one cannot tell how long a time will elapse before the atmosphere can clear itself. Rain or a good stiff breeze from the proper point will dissipate it, but rain cannot be depended upon in Summer, and the breeze does not always blow from the right quarter. This smoke comes from various sources. Each year new land is opened for cultivation. The brush cleared away and the stumps dug from the ground are burned. This burning for legitimate purposes makes some smoke, but proper care is not taken to extinguish the fires, and fanned by the breezes they often spread and consume large portions of the forests. Other fires made by "campers" for cooking meals are carelessly left burning and communicate themselves to the timbered forests. These fires set at the height of the dry season are apt to consume millions of feet of timber. They occur annually and the destruction depends entirely upon the condition of the forests for communicating them. In the East such waste by fire as occurs here would be considered criminal. The smoke is referred to in Oregon and Washington as "very disagreeable," but such reference is made more as a topic of conversation than as a matter in which people are usually seriously interested. The timber of the Northwest coast is apparently inexhaustible, and the destruction of a few million feet concerns no one very deeply. Back of Tacoma, on the line of the projected Cascade Division of the Northern Pacific Railroad, much injury has been done the forests by fires. There can be seen acres of trees measuring from 1 to 10 and 12 feet in diameter, stripped of their bark and limbs. They rise from 100 to 200 feet in the air, and like spectres stand in the midst of a waste of trunks fallen thick about them. The sight of a burned forest is not pleasant. One cannot help contrasting the dead and dying mass of trunks with the living trees beyond, and blaming mankind as a whole for the destruction of a forest's beauty and a wanton waste of fine material. I have known people to miss much of the beautiful and grand on the North Pacific coast by this smoke, but fear of meeting it should not cause any one to hesitate about a trip. But June and even earlier is a safe time to make the trip, because then the sky is clear, and the moisture is not so dried out of the ground that serious fires can occur. Such smoke does much to injure the country in the eyes of those unfortunate enough to meet with it. They carry East with them an impression of the country very unlike what it really is. The whole Northwest coast is filled with scenery both grand and beautiful. The Columbia River is famous for its mass of water, its perpendicular cliffs, its picturesque waterfalls, and the many exquisite bits of water view. Early summer shows its waters high, and plenty of volume in Multnomah Falls. These falls are fortunately near the river and so convenient to the railroad that tourists can climb to a point giving a good view while the train waits. The main fall is 800 feet high. The water pours over a perpendicular cliff, blackened by the dampness and covered with dark moss. It leaps out into midair from the surface of the rock, and falls in one stream, touching nothing in its descent. Separating into showers of sparkling globules in its rapid rush to the dark pool below, the volume drifts away a mass of spray and fairy rainbows. Grand indeed are these falls. To do them justice while the train stops is impossible. To look at nature "on time" seems almost an offense. It is easier to mix oil with water than to enjoy thoroughly the beautiful and grand when "will I get left!" "how long can I look?" and kindred thoughts are hammering on one's brain and dancing between the eyes and landscape.

Portland lies amid very picturesque surroundings. At its back and to the west are timbered hills. They are the forerunners of the Coast Range, but between them and the Pacific the country is a series of oases surrounded by bits of forest. To the south of the city is the fertile valley of the Willamette, a river wide and navigable. It flows by the city and empties into the Columbia twelve miles below. To the east and north a country open and ripe for cultivation is soon lost in the forests of the Cascade Range. Out of this range rise four snow-capped peaks. Not snow-capped as is an Eastern mountain, but white with ice and for thousands of feet below their summits. Perpendicular cliffs and projecting rocks, whose surfaces afford no shelter for the falling snows, here and there stand out bare and black against the surrounding whiteness. Beginning with Mount Hood, St. Helen's and Adams rise in turn to the north, and Puget Sound furnishes Tacoma. With a river whose surface is in summer smooth and mirror-like with wooded hills, fertile valleys, green pastures, and a distant view of the Cascade Range and four of its snow-capped peaks, Portland's situation is indeed fine. Of its advantages and disadvantages as a city and its relation to the surrounding country I shall speak in another letter. For a view of much beauty and grandeur one can find few in any country surpassing that to be had on a clear day from Portland's western hills.

And as with Oregon so it is with Puget Sound and its adjoining country. Clear days and a pure atmosphere are more plenty in late Spring and early Summer than at any other time. A most beautiful view of water, sky and mountain is to be had from Victoria, Vancouver Island. Across the breadth of Puget Sound and well in the interior, the Olympian Range snow-capped and rugged, rises into the clouds. Clear as a bell was the air the day I sat on Victoria's Beacon Hill and looked out over the water. A gentle breeze raised countless waves for the playful sunlight, and the dense dark timber of the shore and nearer country made a rare foreground. Clouds chased one another across the summit of the range, and sunlight and shadow were in hot pursuit. The whole effect was wonderful.

For visiting Alaska and the country above Puget Sound July is the proper month. Steamers for Sitka, Glacier Bay, and other points will leave Portland twice a month during the ensuing season. The journey takes about three weeks and aside from its novelty of scenery has the attraction of no seasickness. For a few hours only one is at sea, and one can cut off this short trip on the Pacific by going overland to Tacoma and from there to Port Townsend. I understand the July steamers are already pretty well filled.