Page:History of Oregon Literature.djvu/199

 that fill the ravines and cover the heights of the Cascade Mountains, with the exception of the snow peaks, even to the valley of the Clackamas. We had been traveling over monotonous prairie land—through wild, wide, sandy wastes, with their prolific growth of the somber-looking Artemisia, with nothing to relieve the eye, or dissipate that sense of sickening sameness that day after day weighed upon our spirits. How gladly then did we hail the change, and gallop into the bosom of the majestic woods! The breath of the forest was laden with the scent of agreeable odors. What a feeling of freshness was diffused into our whole being, as we enjoyed the "pleasure of the pathless woods." In every glimpse we could catch of the open day, there, above and beyond us, were the towering heights, with their immense array of sky-piercing shafts.

Up, up, to an altitude fearfully astonishing —the ascent is steep and difficult, but there are many such ridges of the mountains to be crossed before you can descend into the flourishing valley of the Willamette. Down, down, into the deep, dark, and silent ravine, and when you have reached the bottom of it, by its precipitous descent, you may be able to form an idea of the great elevation which you had previously attained. The crossing of the Rocky Mountains, the Bear River range, and the "big hill" of the "Burlies," with the Blue Mountains, was insignificant in comparison to the passage of the "Cascades." Here is no natural pass—you breast the lofty hills and climb them—there is no way around them—no avoiding them, and each succeeding one you fancy is the dividing ridge of the range. How profound is the solitude of those old and far surrounding woods, which is only invaded by the dash of the mountain torrent, as it plunges downward to its more tranquil course in the distant valley.

The sun had sunk to the horizon, and was arraying itself in a magnificent drapery of crimson colored clouds as we emerged from the forest into a beautiful little glen, even upon the breast of snowy Mount Hood. Here was the fountain-head of rivers; and the foaming waters were rushing