Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Williamson and Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Myers expect to leave next Tuesday for Crater Lake and Klamath Lake, to be gone about two weeks on a camping trip.
"Local Notes," Jacksonville Sentinel, August 21, 1903, page 2

    Thos. J. Williamson and J. W. Myers, accompanied by their families, M. G. Taylor of Muncie and Mrs. T. J. Kenney, are making a trip to Klamath County. They will be gone several weeks.
"Brief Mention," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, September 2, 1903, page 3

    After living on the western slope of the Cascade Mountains for three years, part of which time was spent in the beautiful valley of the Rogue River, and southwestern Oregon, we decided we wanted to visit the new national park at Crater Lake, well up in the Cascade Mountains.
    It did not take us three years to make up our minds we wanted to go, but it took two years of planning before all parties fell into line for the trip.
    At last we were ready, all but a Kodak. The only one we had we could get no plates to fit. As we could not get another we went without, very much to the regret of all.
    What added greatly to the pleasure of our trip was the company of an old friend and chum, Mrs. Etta E. Taylor, who was making an extended visit to different parts of the western coast and reached us just in time to go with us.
    Our party was composed of six adults and three children, Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Williamson and children Louise and Lloyd, Mrs. T. J. Kenney and daughter Frances, Mrs. Etta E. Taylor and Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Myers.
    On August 26th at 12:30 P.M. we started for Crater Lake by the Rogue River route.
    It may be well to give here a brief description of our outfit and appearance.
    First, always, is dress. The ladies wore short denim skirts with leggings to match, high shoes with hobnails and on their heads sun bonnets.
    The children wore sweaters and jumpers--I believe they are called. So we had three boys instead of two girls and a boy.
    The gentlemen did not change their form of dress.
    We had two wagons of the "Democrat" order. One had a fine canvas top for the passengers to ride under; the other was for freight. Just here we will say our wagons were the finest we saw on the whole trip (and we saw several). We had springs under the wagon beds, also spring seats. Had they been painted black instead of green we would have thought them fine mountain hacks. Mr. Williamson had put a "lazy back" [a backrest] to each seat so we were very comfortable.
    Our best team, which was our own horses, was put before the freight wagon. We had hired a "good, gentle team" for the wagon the ladies were to ride in.
    They were iron gray. Had the humane society seen us start we might have been arrested for driving anything so poor, but it was these or none. So we fed them all they could eat for four days before we started.
    On this trip you have to carry food for both man and beast, as part of the way you cannot buy anything at all--so our wagons were well loaded.
    Our first stopping place was Central Point, where the boys bought some axle grease for fear our wagons would run dry.
    Then we went a mile and one-half farther to the ranch Myers had bought and further loaded up with apples.

    Thursday J. W. Myers completed hauling his household effects to the farm he purchased some time since near the Bear Creek bridge a mile east of Central Point, and Wednesday he and Mrs. Myers and the children left Jacksonville to take their abode at their new home. Mr. and Mrs. Myers are new settlers here, coming from Illinois, and in the time they have resided in Jacksonville have made many friends who while regretting their leaving this place wish them success in their new home. Mr. Myers is an experienced orchardist, and he will make fruitraising his principal business.
"Local Notes," Jacksonville Sentinel, October 23, 1903, page 5

    While there the Sheriff came, but much to our relief not for any of us but for a man to serve on the grand jury. As none of us were eligible he passed on.
    Next we came to the Desert. This is a large, level tract of land on which nothing grows, but is surrounded by some very fine farming country and stock ranches. We crossed the Desert and came to the Little Butte Creek valley.
    Little Butte Creek is a beautiful little mountain stream, a tributary to Rogue River. Following this up for some distance we came to Eagle Point, a little town on Butte Creek. Here is a large flour mill. Eagle Point is surrounded by a rich country which produces potatoes, onions and small fruits in large quantities.
    This was as far as any of our party had ever been before, so we made some inquiries as to direction and were informed that the best place to camp would be Vestal's, some miles further up the country. [Samuel Vestal's, on Reese Creek.]
    We drove on through some pretty country and began to think we ought to be near our journey's end when we spied a cabin and schoolhouse a short distance ahead in a pretty grove. We thought sure we were there when upon inquiry we found we were still one and one-half miles away. We were all pretty tired and one of the party was sick with sick headache [migraine]. As it was about 5 P.M. we thought we could easily cover the distance before dark and pushed on.
    The shades of night began to fall and still no sign of habitation. We were traveling over what in this state is called "sticky," a clay soil that will block your wheels in winter when it is wet so you cannot pull through it, and when dry weather comes dries in hard chunks and cracks open. The wagons wear ruts in it and this makes a hard, rough road.
    These were the kind of roads we were traveling in the dark.
    We thought we would never get to where we could stop. We had to go until we could find water, so we pressed on and at last reached our goal, Vestal's, at 8:30 P.M. A tired, worn-out crowd, and one very sick. Will say here that last mile and one-half was the longest and roughest we had any of us ever passed over up to that time.
    We pitched our tent and prepared supper. Then to bed, and we were glad to go for all were tired.
    We were up bright and early the next morning to see the country and find out where we were. The view was fine.
    The ranch was a typical mountain ranch, but all declared we did not want to live back of that one and one-half mile of sticky road we had traveled over the night before. The first thing was to see if all the party were all right. Then the horses. Next came breakfast. As all answered to roll call and did their full share at the table, we thought we were ready to break camp  and proceed toward the Lake. We had traveled for one day and were twenty-two miles from home.
    An incident of our first breakfast in camp. The camp stove smoked and continued to smoke. The boys investigated and found two boxes of graham wafers burned to a crisp. They had been carefully packed in the oven. No one would own to having put them in the oven, so of course it was a happen-so and we were minus our crackers.
    At last all was ready to move.
    We were told it was nine miles to Big Butte Creek bridge with a long hard hill to climb, and that was the only hard hill between us and the Lake.
    That was encouraging. We soon reached the hill, and it was steep for sure. It took all our breath to walk up, as most of the party did.
    When we reached the top the view was grand, and we felt it more than paid for our hard climb. We began to realize we were getting up among the high mountains.
    Our way then was downhill for a short distance, so we took things easy and enjoyed the scenery as we drove down the slope, knowing we must soon climb another mountain. We arrived at the Big Butte bridge a little past noon and stopped for dinner.
    Big Butte is quite a large stream and very rapid. The water is snow water, clear and cold. I think it is the largest or one of the largest tributaries of Rogue River.
    There is a pretty grove about the bridge, and all teams stop there and feed. There is a feed barn and hotel, and a mile or so up the mountainside is a saw mill.
    After a good long rest we again started and drove to the next camping ground at Higinbotham's, where we arrived at 5 o'clock, having driven sixteen miles between camps.
    After putting up our tents and getting supper we spent the evening in the grove.
    The large pine trees and bright moonlight made it very pleasant.
    We had plenty of water but not very cold. We noticed it because we had been having snow water.
    Here we made our first acquaintance with fleas, and they were so taken with our company that they never left us during the whole trip and never let us forget them. But in spite of them we had a very pleasant camp there and plenty of feed for our horses.
    Friday, Aug. 28th we left Higinbotham at 8 A.M. The morning was all we could ask, bright and pleasant, and everyone seemed in good spirits.
    We passed a shed called Peyton P.O. at eleven A.M. and soon reached the Rogue River bridge. First the Rogue River Canyon. It was grand. We alighted so as to take it in as we wanted to.
    The hill, or rather mountain, is rather a steep descent to the bridge from both sides. It is a narrow, beautiful canyon. You can stand at the top and look away down the river, and between the trees we could see the churning, sparkling water. It was a beautiful picture.
    Then, as we descended the hill about half way down we found a little stream of clear, cold water flowing down the steep hillside forming a little waterfall then, crossing the road, went down into the river.
    Here we stopped to get a drink. Ferns grew all along the side and it was such a pretty spot we left it reluctantly and went down to the bridge where we fed the horses and ate our dinner. Would I could describe the beauty of this scenery.
    Whichever way you turn there is some new beauty. We enjoyed it thoroughly as we ate our dinner.
    You are never at a loss for cold water as long as you are near Rogue River, even on its tributaries, no matter how small, when you get this far up.
    Well, we were confronted with another long, steep hill, for we had to get out of this canyon on the other side.
    So we again took up our journey and began to climb the other hill, which was a mile to the top and very steep. If it had not been for the beauty all around us we would have had hard work of it, but that made us forget our weariness.
    It was the steepest climb yet and we all but two walked. It was harder on the horses than on us. We were an hour or more going up, but we all felt repaid when we reached the top and the "Hole in the Ground" creek, where we stopped and rested our horses.
    We took off our shoes and waded in the cold water. It was refreshing after our hard climb. While the horses rested we went off from the road a short distance and saw the hole in the ground.
    It is a deep hole where the creek empties and disappears in a deep canyon. This is filled with pines and ferns and trees of all kinds. It is a beautiful spot.
    Then there is an immense rock called Flounce Rock. We would have missed this had it not been for meeting here at the creek the mail carrier who told us of it. The mail is carried all through this mountain region.
    When all were rested we started on and about five o'clock reached the trail that leads down along Rogue River rapids to Mill Creek Falls, where we again stopped and left the horses and wagons in care of Mr. Myers, who was too lame to take the trip, for it is a steep climb.
    We took the trail for the Falls. We could distinctly hear the roar of both the Falls and the Rapids for some distance before we came to them.
    The trail is a narrow path. You have to go on foot. In some places the large trees have fallen across it and you have to climb over, and if you cannot climb, roll over.
    The going down is easy, but the coming back, Oh! Oh! It takes both muscle and breath, I tell you, and plenty of time.
    You first come to the Rapids, where you look in wonder.
    A narrow, deep, rocky gorge with this great body of water dashing and foaming down over them. A fall of at least two hundred and fifty feet in half a mile will give some small idea of the force of the stream. To describe the beauty of it is impossible. It must be seen to be understood and realized.
    The Falls is at the bottom of the gorge where Mill Creek comes tearing over into the river and is 275 ft. high, a clear stream of mountain water falling into the canyon below, the spray filling the narrow gorge.
    We did not descend to the water's edge as the rocks were wet and slippery and the banks very steep, but we were on the opposite side of the river from the Falls so could enjoy the full beauty of it which we all did, sitting on the bank and watching the rush of the water. We stayed as long as we could, but night was coming so we slowly retraced our steps; the beauty of the scene made us loath to leave it. We regained the top of the hill and our wagons and drove over the bridge which spans the Rapids.
    We could not get the view from the bridge we had expected for it was a covered bridge, but some friendly Kodak fiend had knocked a few holes in it, through which we got a few glimpses of the river.
    We arrived at Prospect at 7 o'clock and again camped for the night. Here was a hotel, and we went there for our supper to have a change of fare from camp grub.
    The hotel was a large frame building, just the board partitions up and five or six rooms finished. We climbed an open stair. The upper floor was loose boards laid over beams.
    As they had quite a run that night only part of our party could be accommodated, so we pitched a tent and the rest slept there.
    Our room had a curtain for a door. We were put to sleep by the music of the wind in the tall pine trees and the roar of Mill Creek not more than one hundred yards away.
    Prospect is the last sign of habitation this side of Crater Lake. From Prospect to the Lake is thirty-two miles.
    Besides the hotel there is one house, a post office and store, feed barn, a school house and sawmill. The mill was not running when we were there.
    This is the last place you can buy anything, and if my memory serves me right, it was the last house we saw for nearly five days.
    We had a fine supper and breakfast, and the bracing air of the high mountain region gave us all good appetites.
    The next morning the sun shone brightly, and not a cloud to be seen. We packed our wagons and started onward, thinking perhaps we might reach the Lake that day if the road was not too steep.
    We had begun to doubt what we heard about no more hills to climb; besides, there were several stops we wanted to make.
    Our road led at once into the tall timber. It was a most delightful drive. While it was up grade, it was so gradual we did not notice it much. It was rather hard pulling through, for the road was sandy. The first trees were pine and oak.
    About noon we arrived at the road which leads to the left about a mile to the natural bridge over Rogue River. This was one of the most wonderful sights of the trip.
    We had never been told what form of a structure we would find, and we looked for a bridge such as man would build over the stream, but saw nothing of the kind. We came to the river bank. It was rushing and roaring over its narrow bed; this was the upper rapids. We followed it down to see where it went, it is such a beautiful and fascinating stream.
    First we came to a little narrow channel, not more than five feet wide, through which this great body of water rushed in a torrent into a small basin which is foaming all the time, then disappears under a bed of rock which looks as if it had been melted and poured into the riverbed. The rock on either side is a great deal higher and of a different color. The rock in the bed of the river, which forms the natural bridge, is of a brown color and polished.
    This covers the whole riverbed.
    I suppose the bridge is twenty-five or thirty feet wide. At the lower side there is a square hole about two feet square where you can see the water boiling  underneath. The noise is like an engine with a full head of steam on.
    At the lower side of the bridge there is very little water goes down the stream bed. The river has entirely disappeared. That is the wonder of it. Then, you follow on down what seems as if it might to be the river for about 50 yards and the whole body of water comes pouring out of the rocky side of the river back into its channel and goes on about 50 yards further and shoots under as perfect an arch as ever man made and disappears for a short distance, when it comes back into the channel. A person cannot realize anything about it unless they see it. The wonderful beauty cannot be described.
    Here, way up in the mountains, this wonderful piece of God's own handiwork unmarred by the touch of man. Niagara did not seem to me as beautiful nor as wonderful. Ferns and vines grow all over the banks and quite large trees grow in the crevices of the rocks.
    The whole channel is very rocky and makes a most beautiful picture, one that will never be erased from the minds of our party.
    While we sat and enjoyed this lovely scene we asked ourselves, "Can the Lake be more wonderful or beautiful than this?" We stayed a long time down at the bridge and canyon, then returned to our wagons and ate our lunch, but all were too full of what they had seen to be hungry.
    After lunch we started on again and reached Union Creek about 4 P.M. This is a lovely mountain stream of clear cold water, another tributary of Rogue River. We stopped to drink and drove on to Silver Camp, where we camped that night. At Union Creek there is a road leading off to Huckleberry Mountain. That is a mountain covered with huckleberries.
    Hundreds of people go every year to pick them. It is very steep. You have to pack in on horses, so we did not go.
    We were alone when we first reached Silver Camp, but not long. The first party to arrive after us was a minister's family from Idaho. They put up their tent, and soon others followed until the grove looked like a small village with its tents and camp fires.
    Silver Camp is the regular camping ground for people crossing the mountains.
    There is a fine grove and good water. The minister had been on the road for three months, and his party looked like it. They were going to Jacksonville. They had friends there. He had lost one of his horses and asked us to look out for it on our way over the mountains.
    We again broke camp, feeling that surely we would reach the Lake that day. At 11 A.M. we crossed Whiskey Creek, so called for a saloon which used to be situated on it when the soldiers were stationed at Fort Klamath. A saloon had to be a certain number of miles from a fort, so they put it out on the creek and called it Whiskey Creek.
    We stopped for lunch at Big White Horse Creek. On our way that morning we found the minister's horse and took it along with us. We met a young man on horseback going toward camp and sent him word we had it.
    At noon when ready to go on we put it into our freight team, as one of the horses' shoulders had become sore.
    After traveling some distance further we reached Castle Creek Canyon.
    This is a very deep narrow canyon, the sides of which look as if there had been a big landslide which had broken off big trees and left the jagged trunks standing. Later we learned they were not trees at all but rocks.
    Spires of rock like cement rock. As the earth gradually rolls down into the canyon, they are left bare and look like spires of old castles. At the bottom of the canyon is a lovely stream of water. The scenery was wild and beautiful. After resting here long enough to get a good view of the canyon we proceeded on our journey and soon reached the forks of the road where you turn off to go to the Lake. Here a sign met our gaze. It read--"Two miles to Crater Lake." "Don't get discouraged--it is there." So we took heart and went on. It was now uphill for sure, but a good road, and every little way a clear little stream where we could drink, for it was warm work climbing the steep.
    It was well on towards sunset. One of our wagons had lost a bale of hay so Mr. Williamson went back to look for it while the other wagon and foot passengers went on.
    The ascent became so steep that Mr. Myers decided to wait until the other wagon caught up before he tried to pull any further up.
    Addie, Etta, Kate, Louise and Lloyd said they would walk on and see what kind of road it was and how far to the Lake. So we pressed on, and just as the sun was sinking behind some of the highest points about the Lake we came to it.
    There is nothing to tell that you are near it. You climb quite a steep hill, and as you reach the top that beautiful body of water stretches out in full view.
    No one can describe the feeling that comes over you as you catch your first view.
    We stood speechless. We forgot we had gone to look out the road and report. We forgot everything and just stood there drinking in the wonderful beauty of the scene.
    Here lay a sheet of water eight miles long, five miles wide, surrounded by high mountains.
    The lowest point is on thousand feet from top to water's edge. The highest is 3200 feet.
    No inlet, no outlet that is known. And just now all illuminated by the rays of the setting sun.
    At an altitude of 9000 ft. How small we felt. We had seen wonderful and beautiful sights all the way up; but Crater Lake crowns them all. "Great and wonderful are thy works Lord God Almighty."
    We reluctantly turned our steps down the mountainside to meet the rest of our party. We received a scolding for running away but did not mind, for we had seen the Lake.
    We all pitched in and got supper and arranged for the night and went to bed, as we all wanted to be up bright and early the next morning to get back to the Lake.
    The best place to camp was ¾ of a mile from the Lake. There was plenty of good water, so we walked from there to the Lake.
    After breakfast the next morning we fixed our camp, packed our lunch and prepared to spend the day at the Lake. When we reached it, it looked like a large mirror. There was not a ripple on its surface. The banks were so clearly reflected in the water that you could scarcely discern the waterline.
    "Wizard Island" loomed up in front of us a little to the left, the "Phantom Ship" to our right.
    The Island is three miles from the landing. When a row boat leaves the Island for the shore it is scarcely discernible with the naked eye. The Island is 800 ft. high from the water to the rim of the crater. Then you descend into the crater 200 ft.
    It is of volcanic rock formation. Quite large pine trees grow upon its sides.
    When you first come up to the Lake it does not look so large, but walk on around its sides and it grows larger all the time.
    One thing about it--It is never the same long. It is constantly changing. The Park Superintendent says a storm comes up very quickly and the water lashes in a perfect fury. The waves roll high, and it is very dangerous to be caught out upon it at such times.
    Tom, Addie and Etta took the trail down to the water edge, the others not being able to make the descent.
    At lunch time we could find no water to drink and were obliged to eat snow in place of it.
    After spending most of the day we started for camp.
    Tom, Addie and Etta being the last to arrive, supper was nearly ready when they came back.
    The next day they had arranged to go to the Island, but Addie got up with a sick headache and so was barred out. Tom and Etta joined a party from Grants Pass and made the trip.
    They climbed to the top and went down into the crater and registered and had their picture taken on the snow but we have not been able to get one of them as yet. They left camp at 7:30 A.M. Tuesday and did not get back until 4 P.M. dead tired from their tramp and climb and hungry enough to eat the cooks had nothing better been in sight, but their condition had been anticipated and a good supper was waiting for them.
    (This had been baking day in camp, cooking a new supply to start on our journey the next day.)
    They had climbed 4000 ft. that day beside the ¾ of a mile to and from camp.
    Soon after supper we were all in bed.
    One word about the Lake before we leave it. From the shore the water looks blue as indigo. The party who went to the Island experimented to test the clearness of the water. They put stones on their oars and dropped them in the Lake and timed them to see how long they could be seen. They watched the first one 17 seconds, the second 23 seconds. The third they tied in white paper and could see it 27 seconds.
    Wednesday morning Sept. 2nd we broke camp at 9 o'clock and started on our return trip. We drove over the summit to the Klamath side and stopped at Bridge Creek for lunch. This was a clear mountain stream cold as ice. Then we drove along the Anna Creek Canyon.
    This beautiful canyon is entirely different from the Rogue River. This had high sides and all colors, reminding us of the Colorado Canyons.
    The rocks looked as if they were chiseled in some places. It was a delightful drive all the way down.
    At the foot of the canyon we came to the Copeland ranch, the first house we had seen since leaving Prospect, a distance of fifty-six miles. We drove on to the Pelton-Sisemore ranch, where we arrived about 6 o'clock and was met by Mr. and Mrs. Sisemore, Mr. James Pelton and Mrs. Miller of Jacksonville.
    We camped in a large grove of quaking-asp trees. A large irrigating ditch ran through it. There were two young ladies from Ashland camping there, also the Misses Wells. It was a beautiful place and we had a jolly party all together.
    After pitching tent and getting supper over, the boys built a big bonfire to burn up a cow that had died that day, and when that died down built another in the grove and we all gathered about it and spent a lovely evening.
    This Pelton Sisemore ranch is one of the largest cattle ranches in Klamath Co. We had heard of large cattle ranches, but this was the first time any of us had ever been on one.
    It is in the Wood River Valley. They have 1480 acres in one section and 160 acres in another. They have 1100 head of cattle. The land is enclosed by ten miles of fencing.
    They make one hundred pounds of butter per week.
    They have put up 1150 tons of hay for the winter.
    This is an ideal cattle ranch and in one of the loveliest valleys you want to see.
    Water clear and cold all through both for cattle and irrigation. And it is run like clockwork. They have a milk separator. One man does the milking (They milk 30 cows) and attends to the butter. Someone helps him mold it out; all the rest he does. After enjoying the morning in and around the ranch, after dinner we took one of our wagons and Mr. Pelton took his hack and he and Mrs. Sisemore drove us all over their part of the valley.
    We crossed Wood River and drove to the head of it. The head is a clear lake of water so clear you have no knowledge of its depth. You think you can touch bottom, and one place we tried it where it did not look more than a foot deep; we could not touch bottom with our walking sticks. It is believed to be a seepage from Crater Lake, and in some places it is sixty feet deep.
    It is blue in color but not as blue-looking as Crater Lake. Where we crossed the river the bridge was just to the water edge. I asked if it was not taken out every year at the rainy season. They said "No." "That was the peculiar thing about Wood River. It was never any higher nor any lower, no matter how much it rained nor how dry it became: it was just the same."
    It is a lovely stream, clear and cold. The valley is named from the river.
    We drove on to the Indian reservation and old fort.
    It is a very pretty place and good ground. We saw some of the Indians and heard a good deal of the history of the old fort, then drove on to Fort Klamath. The buildings on the reservation are very much dilapidated.
    Fort Klamath is a little village. A post office, and a few stores. While there is not much of a town, it is a good trading point for the surrounding country.
    From there we drove back to camp, got some supper and then spent the evening around a big camp fire until bedtime.
    The next morning we broke camp at 8:30, said goodbye to our friends and started for Pelican Bay.
    The ride through the valley was delightful until we struck the road leading along the mountains.
    Then! Oh my! You needed all kinds of pillows and all over you to stand the bumps.
    We stopped at Cherry Creek for dinner at 12:30, after which we traveled on till about three o'clock, when one of our horses was taken sick. Etta, Kate and Tom walked the rest of the way to Pelican Bay, a distance of about three miles through dust from four to six inches thick. (There had been 5000 sheep driven over the road the day before, that made it so dirty.)

    The superintendent of Crater Lake park has been advised to permit Al Melhase to drive 2000 sheep over the public park to the Fort Klamath feeding ground. In the same letter the superintendent was again advised to warn cattlemen in that section that such permits will not be issued during the season of 1904. The Interior Department is emphatic in stating that other means will have to be devised in future for driving cattle to and from the several ranges than across this section of the reserved public domain.
"Here and There," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, October 7, 1903, page 3

    We arrived at Pelican Lodge at 6 P.M.
    Tom shot two grouse, a pine squirrel and a killdeer, which we had for supper.
    Here we met Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gosham, part of the Wizard Island party.
    Pelican Bay is quite a large body of water, and it runs out in sloughs or arms. On one of these is Pelican Lodge.
    We camped near it on what had been named Paradise Alley.
    Near the Lodge is a boat house where you can hire boats to go fishing and hunting out on the lake.
    Along the edge of this arm of the bay there are seven springs of clear, cold water bubbling up all the time.
    One beauty of Klamath Co. is its streams of clear, cold water. Spring water everywhere, and Pelican Bay seems to be the same.
    You can stop for a drink anywhere; you will find good cold water.
    We spent Saturday there, but it was showery so we did not go out on the water.
    Tom went out and shot four water grouse. A gentleman gave Frances another so we had them for supper, as well as a fish a gentleman gave us.
    There were a number of people here, several camping parties besides a number of guests at the hotel. It is a great place to come to fish and hunt.
    Sunday morning we broke camp and started for Lake of the Woods over the Dead Indian route, which is the direct route from Ashland to Pelican Bay.
    Before we reached the summit it began to rain. It was a miserable trip, rough and wet. We stopped under some big trees and ate our dinner. It was a very damp and cheerless meal. We reached Lake of the Woods at 4:30 P.M. As there was a pouring rain we did not stop but pushed on as fast as possible in hopes of reaching some kind of habitation where we could get some shelter for our horses. The lake looked like a very pretty body of water, but it was too wet to stop and enjoy it.
    We did not see sign of life. Finally we met a man who said there was a camping ground some distance further on at a spring. We set out to find it over the worst roads I ever saw or want to see again.
    You bounce from one rock to another all the way.
    It was too dark to see where we were going, but finally we reached the place at 8 o'clock in the evening, got our tent up, a big fire started and supper.
    Then we all felt better, but this was the first time we had had to pitch tent in the rain, but we were very comfortable after all.
    We had driven since 8 o'clock that morning and had only passed one team and one cabin, but the cabin was empty.
    The next morning, Monday, when we saw the road in front of us we were very glad we had not tried to pull any further the night before. It was rock and nothing but rock, and steep at that, but we packed up and started on, hoping that surely we would soon be over that awful road.
    One thing in our favor--the sun had come out nice and warm and made everything look bright. Of course we were in the timber, but it was pleasant, and the trees hung with moss made a very pretty sight.
    At noon we came to an open spot. It was in the Bonnebird ranch. The fields were full of cattle, off to the right and only eight miles away from Mt. Pitt, all covered with snow. It was a pretty sight.
    We stopped and fed our horses and ate our lunch.
    We met the stage driver from Ashland here. He leaves Ashland in the morning and stops at the ranch for dinner and changes horses and drives to Pelican Bay in the afternoon.
    He had an Englishman with him who was going to Pelican Bay for a hunting and fishing trip. We told him about the rough road, and he thought we were trying to scare him out. I would like to have seen him that evening. Think he would have use for several bottles of arnica and a very soft bed.
    We were heartily thankful that we were over the Dead Indian, for many more miles of that kind of road and there would have been some dead white people. We were then 22 miles from Ashland, which we would have liked to make that night. We were eight miles from the summit of the mountain and then it was fourteen miles down grade all the way, so we pushed on in good spirits. It was now a pretty country and good roads. We finally reached the summit.
    On our way up we met a man who said he had lost a woman on his way up.
    They had stopped at noon to feed his horses and eat lunch. After they were through eating she said she would walk a ways while his horses finished eating, and he said he could find nothing of her after.
    He was on his way to her son's ranch to get them to help hunt for her, and told us to look out for her and tell her, if we can find her, that they would come back for her.
    Well, we saw no trace of the lost until we reached the summit of the mountain, when lo! she bobbed up serenely right in front of us. She had taken the wrong road and missed her driver. We told her what he was going to do. She said she would go on till she met them, which she did.
    When we reached the summit we stopped to take in the view, which was grand.
    The whole valley opened out before us. We could see Ashland in the distance fourteen miles away. The mountainsides were all colors. The road wound in and out around them all the way down.
    It was a hard descent for the horses but a beautiful panorama to us; but night shut it off from our view and we camped four miles south of Ashland.
    On Tuesday morning we broke camp for the last time at 8:30 and started for Jacksonville. Stopped at Ashland to leave an ax we had found that belonged to a man we met at Pelican Bay. Then on through Talent and Phoenix, arriving at Jacksonville 2:30 P.M., having completed our first real camping trip in the mountains.
    We had driven over 200 miles in 13 days.
    We were all tired out and glad to be home again.
    But we felt that we would gladly go through rougher country to have the pleasure of seeing and knowing what a beautiful and wonderful country we live in.

    T. J. Williamson and family and J. W. Myers and family and Mrs. T. J. Kenney and Mrs. Etta Taylor, who is from Muncie, Indiana, arrived home Tuesday noon from a two weeks trip to Crater Lake and Pelican Bay. They went by way of Rogue River and returned by the Dead Indian road. They reported a delightful trip and that Crater Lake in grandeur and beauty far exceeded their expectations. They were camped for two days and nights at the lake and fully explored its wonders. While they were there the waters of the lake were as smooth as glass, making the lake like a great mirror, in which the surrounding walls were reflected in perfect outline.
"Buncom Items," Jacksonville Sentinel, September 11, 1903, page 7

    Mr. Williamson and family, Mrs. T. Kenney and Mr. and Mrs. Myers returned home Tuesday from their outing at Crater Lake and other interesting points. All report a splendid time.
"Jacksonville News," Medford Mail, September 18, 1903, page 8

    Mrs. Etta Taylor, who has been spending the last month in Jacksonville as a guest of Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Myers and Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Williamson, left Tuesday for her home in Muncie, Indiana. Mrs. Taylor will go by way of McMinnville, where she will make a short visit with friends. Mrs. Taylor was greatly delighted with Southern Oregon, the climate, scenery and fine class of people here, and she may return to reside here. She was with the Williamson-Myers party to Crater Lake, and she declares it the greatest natural wonder in the United States.
"Happenings Hereabouts," Jacksonville Sentinel, October 2, 1903, page 7

    Mrs. Etta Taylor of Muncie, Ind., who has been visiting with Mr. and Mrs. T. J. Williamson and Mr. and Mrs. J. W. Myers, has started for her home. She was very well pleased with this part of the country, and especially enjoyed her trip to Crater Lake.
"Local Notes," Democratic Times, Jacksonville, October 7, 1903, page 1

    A party of nine, six adults and three children with two wagons, one for the passengers and one for the supplies left Jacksonville, Wednesday, Aug. 26th, 1903 at 12:30 P.M. via Rogue River route for the Cascade Mtns., the objective point being Crater Lake, although many places of much interest are to be seen on the way along the beautiful Rogue River and its tributaries. Therefore will note some of them as we go along and intersperse with some views also.
    By the way, it might be well in beginning to give a little description of our outfit, which consisted of two good stout wagons which are very essential; as some of the road we traveled was the roughest of roads.
    One of our wagons was fitted with a good bow top for the passengers and the other for our supplies, with a good wagon sheet. The supply wagon might be wondered at, but not by anyone who has made the trip, for the mountain climbing seems to be conducive to an unusual appetite, and feed must be carried along for the horses, as very little grazing is to be found at this time of the year. Then too, we were all clothed for roughing it, which is an essential thing for the enjoyment of the trip. A camping trip in any country is a poor place for a fine toilet, and especially on this trip would a person who had any inclination for Nature's scenery have little thought or time for toilet.
    Leaving Jacksonville as stated, we passed through Central Point, 5 miles north, then to Eagle Point, 11 miles N.E., 6 or 7 miles of this distance over the Rogue River desert, which is a fine smooth road in summer, but a desert, which is descriptive enough of that part of the country.
    Eagle Point is an old town, but small, situated on Butte Creek and surrounded by some fine lands that produce some immense crops of alfalfa, hay, onions, berries, &c.
    This was as much of the road as any of our party was acquainted with, and by inquiry found that a good camping place for us that night was 6 miles northeast, at Vestal's Ranch, which we thought could make easily; but finding the last end of 6 miles uphill and rough, we called it eight mi. and went into camp late the first night out.
    Thurs., Aug. 27th 9 A.M. left Vestal's Ranch for bridge across Big Butte Creek, 9 miles N.E., finding some rough and steep road for our loads, we had a late dinner, but the camp ground at the bridge is fine, a few families living there, and after a good rest for our teams drove on to Higinbotham's Ranch 7 miles north, where found a good campground with horse feed, milk and butter plenty.
    Friday A.M. Aug. 28th, camp broken, we took up our journey again to the N.E., intending to have lunch at the engine bridge [the bridge built for R. A. Proudfoot in 1899 to accommodate his steam logging tractor] across Rogue River. Passing Peyton P.O. about 11 o'clock, we soon came to the Rogue River Canyon and from here to the bridge along the road down the side of the canyon, which is very steep (and here some of the party discovered that they were tired of riding but was really afraid to remain in the wagon going down the hill to the bridge). The scenery is more than grand, well worth one's time to go to see this place alone.
    Landing down at the bridge about noon, where water was plenty and good, we had lunch and then began the climb out of the canyon, and now it was a case of walk for sake of the horses, as it is a long mile of very short pulls, if any load at all is in the wagon. All walked up here except drivers, and though steep and dusty, the scenery kept all from considering the walk at all. The end of the steep climb terminates at the Hole in the Ground Creek, where the whole party took a good rest. Then after going down the creek a short distance to see the Hole in the Ground, where the creek flows into and from which it derived its name, took up our journey for Prospect, an old sawmill town and our next camping place, and where a party going this trip should have a day at least to see some more of the beauties of Rogue River and Mill Creek. Shortly after sighting the bridge across the river though, and only a short distance from Prospect, a trail leads off to the right and down along the Rogue River rapids, which are beautiful, to the Mill Creek Falls, which are more beautiful.
    Mill Creek is a good-sized stream and here has a straight fall of about 275 feet, and at the bottom of the fall is a mass of spray; a sight with the rapids of Rogue R. in plain view (which have probably 200 ft. fall in a quarter of a mile, all surrounded with dense timber and ferns) that must be seen to be appreciated.
    Moving on again and crossing the river, a beautiful view is to be had from the bridge of the Rogue coming down through the timber and over the rocks in a foam.
    Going on from here to Prospect, only a short distance from the bridge is found hotel accommodations for most of our party and stopped for the night, it being now 7 o'clock. This is the last place that looks like a hotel on the way to Crater Lake and will be remembered, especially by those of the party who had rooms on second floor. Prospect consists of the hotel, one residence and P.O., one store, feed barn and an abandoned sawmill.
    Sat. Aug. 29. From Prospect it is 32 mi. to the Lake, and we saw no more buildings for 5 days or until we were down on the Klamath side of the Mtn. Our next stop after a fine drive through dense forest of big timber was at the Natural Bridge for the noon hour, which we made a long hour and should have made a day there only for our limit of time.
    At this point in the course of R.R. it disappears from view under the rocks for some distance and can only be heard rushing through the recesses below in puffs similar to those of an engine at hard labor with an occasional small crevice from which a little spray is forced out. The bridge is not of loose boulders but of bedrock formation, worn smooth by the water running over it during the rainy season or high waters.
    This bridge is used by stock on the range, and a great deal by deer and other wild animals for a crossing place, and is another of the many sights upon this trip which must be seen to be appreciated.
    Reluctantly leaving this place after lunch, we had an uneventful drive on to Silver Camp near Union Creek where pitched tent for the night in company with parties going to R.R. Valley and to Huckleberry  Mountain, to which place a trail leads off from the main wagon road here. A great many people go to this place for their supply of berries, which they say are fine.
    Near this camp ground is Union Creek Falls.
    Sun. A.M. Aug. 30, 1903. We broke camp and started for Crater Lake; lunching at Big White Horse Creek, and some time after leaving came to Castle Creek Canyon, 2½ mi. from where leave main Klamath road going up to Lake. This canyon is very interesting and cannot be appreciated at just a glance while riding by. After leaving here some time, came to a sign board which read 2 mi. to Crater Lake, don't be discouraged, it is there. "It was," but we did not all get up to see it that day. We climbed up steep after steep until within about ¾ of a mile of the Lake, to the last watered camping place when night overtook us with the teams, and some pitched camp while others climbed on up to see the wonder. And a wonder it is, even to those who have traveled extensively.
    Monday A.M. Aug. 31, '03. After a good night's rest up in a good crisp air, all were anxious to view the Lake and with lunches in our pockets started again uphill. It is uphill, too, right up to the very rim of the Crater, and one does not come to see the Lake from a distance, but is brought up standing on the very edge and wondering how it can be so.
MS42, Southern Oregon Historical Society Research Library
Last revised May 20, 2025