Rogue River Valley is an intermediate link between the inland valleys lying east of and parallel with the Coast Range and extending from the Willamette on the north to the Sacramento on the south. Here is where the conflicting elements meet and compromise between the dreaded drought of the south and the excessive rains of the north. Here all extremes are amicably adjusted, and the result is no drought and no unusual rainfall. In addition to the rare climatic conditions with which this valley is specially favored, it is one of the most productive and healthful to be found on the coast, and withal a very gem cozily nestled in a richly variegated mountain setting. The valley is an irregular amphitheater about forty miles in length and twenty miles wide and is completely surrounded with lofty mountains. Sharp spurs, alternating with low hills, extend into it at intervals, and the whole is delicately touched and toned with striking diversity and mellowed by the pleasing light and shade peculiar to mountain scenery. It is truly a lovely valley, such as would delight the artist's heart and almost attune with poesy the most determined stoic. It is little wonder that the outraged Red Man, crowded to ocean's surf, with not a foot of land to call his own, fought and fell and died to save this, his goodly heritage, for surely there is none fairer on earth. The fabled vales of cashmere, with all their wealth of blooming flowers and perennial founts that fling their silvery spray amid a world of richest fragrance, could scarce excel the reality that here alternately delights and inspires the rapt beholder when first this valley greets his wondering gaze. What is now the valley was once a lake. The evidences of this fact are most unmistakable, and Rogue River was doubtless the stream that fed it. Sometime in the remote past it discharged its waters through what is now known as Sterling Creek. Applegate at that time was a large river, as is abundantly shown by the immense wash from the head of Sterling to its present junction with Rogue River. How long the waters of the lake were discharged through this channel, if at all, it would be impossible to tell; but from the deep wash in the solid bedrock for miles down the creek it would be safe to say centuries elapsed before this gorge was cut to its present depth. The mountains at the head of Sterling were probably much higher than now, and that there was no opening or low pass through which the waters of the lake were first charged, cutting the deep channel referred to above [sic]. Later, there must have been a great slide from some of the adjacent mountains, and the pass and river channel were filled up and the pent-up lake was forced to find an outlet elsewhere for its surplus water. This it did by cutting a pass through the mountains from Gold Hill to Grants Pass and thus finally flowing into the old channel where it now forms a junction with Applegate. This is bold speculation, but there is strong presumptive evidence to support it, and one gratifying feature about it is that it can be more readily believed than disproved.
Democratic Times, Jacksonville, February 3, 1893, page 2


    We make the following extracts from a private letter from Central Point, Jackson County, Oregon, dated March 2nd, giving some interesting facts regarding that country:
    "We are having delightful weather now, and gardens are being made and spring crops put in. We have not had near as much rain as usual this winter, so the mud is only hub deep instead of being clear over the wheels. While all those storms were raging in the north part of the state, and in the Willamette Valley, we had very good weather here.… Southern Oregon has got a boom this spring. Several rich ledges and pockets of gold have been discovered, some near here. A party of capitalists from Seattle are here, and have made arrangements to build a flume from near the headwaters of Rogue River to open up the vast forest of sugar pine up there. The shares have been sold, and our town being the terminus of the flume of course makes things lively. A bank will be established soon, and the Southern Pacific R.R. Company have contracted with a man hereto furnish him 1,000 tourists at $8 apiece, if he will put on a line of stages and run to Crater Lake, about 80 miles from here. He says he has ordered the coaches and necessary tents, etc., and will be ready for business in June. I only hope all this will materialize. The Rogue River Valley R.R. will be extended up the river also. They took a layoff not long ago, and swept the car out and gave it a coat of paint. The mail was carried to Medford in wagons, and the passengers walked down the railroad while all this was going on. Business was dull. The folks from the "states," as they say here, are not coming here by the hundreds, as they used to. They are wise, for when one has a good home there, they had better stay. When the climate and fruit is taken out, there is little here to induce one to stay.…
    "Eggs are low here now, only 12 cents per dozen; butter 20 cents, wheat from 40 to 52 cents per bushel, pork $6 per cwt., beef 10 cents per pound. Vegetables are plenty and prices reasonable. Apples are scarce and high, fish plenty at 5 cents per pound and sometimes cheaper than that. The canneries at the mouth of Rogue River were compelled to take out their nets this spring, so the run of fish is larger. There was nearly as many salmon canned at Gold Beach last year as there was on the Columbia."
Blue Valley Blade, Seward, Nebraska, March 15, 1893, page 3


    MR. EDITOR: Will you allow me to resume my "experiences," a bit of which I gave you some months ago? The last was of our district conference, in which allusion was made to the fact that in two or three counties, with an area nearly half as large as the whole state of Mississippi and a population of about 30,000 people, there was scarcely ever any preaching, and that most of this people is more approachable by us than by anybody else. Well, a month later I had opportunity to see much of this country.
    Just before noon on a Monday I got off the train about sixty miles south of Grants Pass, where I was met by one of our old pioneer preachers, Rev. R. C. Oglesby, and we started on a jaunt over the mountains. We, however, spent that morning and night only a few miles away, enjoying the luxury of Jackson County, Soda Springs, or one set of them, for within a few miles there are several clusters of them. Several times next morning we had a view of that wonder in engineering skill where the S.P.R.R. doubles upon itself no less than three times in crossing the Siskiyou Mountains. We had been told that in crossing the mountains you had to drive over rocks that were like sugar barrels thrown along the streets. Ofttimes it was even worse, for while one wheel is so low you fear falling down, there is danger of striking a rock with the upper wheel and throwing both buggy and riders far down the mountainside below. Of course, the rocks are fast to the earth; still occasionally we would meet persons driving one horse. How they got over these rough places I could not see, but they did it, and in some instances the drivers were women. Our first night out was quite oppressive, for the mountains to the north of us were on fire, and the smoke was quite oppressive. The second night we reached Klamath Falls on the Klamath River. There is a village of 600 to 800 inhabitants situated in as romantic a place as one will seldom find. There are two lakes, the upper about 8x35 miles in extent, upon which steamers run, the lower about 2 or 3x12 miles, and they are about one mile apart, with nearly 100 feet fall, giving a magnificent water power. On the west side the mountains come almost to the river, but east and south there are large scopes of sagebrush lands, and much of it is being brought into cultivation, and the people are beginning to avail themselves of the advantage of this great water advantage by taking out irrigating ditches, for it must be recollected there is not much rain in this portion of the state. It begins to snow in November and generally continues until March or April, when most of their "season" is gone. But the many mountain streams of pure limpid water make full amends for want of rain, for where there is any concert of action upon the part of the people they can soon irrigate all the land they want. True, early or tender vegetables do not flourish here, the altitude in the valleys being over 3,000 feet above sea level. Still the cereals and hardier fruits do well; but the chief business is stock raising, and it is surprising how stock thrives. There is a grass called "bunchgrass" grows thickly over mountain and plain, and it is as nourishing after it dries as when green, and stock seem to relish it as well. There is a large Indian reservation which comes to the upper lake in the east, and extends up Hood, Williamson and Sprague rivers to the north and east, which has a large lot of fine land, and there being less than 1,000 of these Indians, when they sell to the government and the land is thrown open there will be a rush for settlement.
    I noticed, as we were driving through some of these unsettled "prairies"--as they call them--stakes set up along the road like I've seen in creek and river bottoms in the South. I asked what they were for. "To enable you to keep the road." "Why, the water does not get that high along here," said I, for I thought of some experiences in Big Black River bottom. "Oh, no, but the snow does." "What! as high as those stakes?" "Yes, the snow frequently gets six feet deep and sometimes deeper, and the mercury goes down to forty-two degrees below zero here on the plains and valleys." "Whew! how do you stand it?" "Our blood becomes thick and we do not mind it." We have two preachers in this vast region of country, and they tell me the best meetings they hold is in these coldest spells and when snow is deepest. They harness their sleighs and hurry to church, cover their horses and have their best times, for there is little to do and the nights are very light.
    We spent a week in and near Klamath, preaching at night and hunting and fishing during the day. We had a unique experience along the falls one morning. I feel sure we must have seen 1,000 snakes in two hours' time. They seemed to be everywhere and on everything. They were from the size of a thumb to half as large as a wrist. Fortunately they were harmless. One of our preachers told us he had seen fish so thick in one of the rivers there that you could back a large wagon into the stream and fill it with fish with a pitchfork in a few minutes; that actually they were wedged so close that their fins formed an almost solid surface above the water, and this when the river was up. It is during what they call the running season.
    We continued our trip eastward up the headwaters of Lost River, then across into Lake County on to Sprague River, where we also spent several days visiting, fishing, hunting and preaching. Returning down Sprague, we crossed the cascades at Crater Lake and down the romantic Rogue River, home. Much occurred and was seen on this latter trip worthy of note, but we cannot tell it now. Maybe we will do so before long.
Tangent, Oregon.
New Orleans Christian Advocate, April 27, 1893, page 2


Written for the Medford Mail.
    Leaving Talent on Friday morning, June 22nd, after the soaking rain the day before, we found the dust well laid and some puddles of water, but the weather was as clear and pleasant as we might ask. After procuring a 9x10-foot tent and complete supplies at Talent, Medford and Central Point while passing through these places, we lunched at the Central Point camp meeting grove, and camped and pitched our tent on the bank of Rogue River near the venerable Dr. Colvig's residence [in Rock Point]. The second night near Wilderville, the third near Waldo, the fourth, three miles beyond Patrick's Creek, and the fifth on the plaza in Crescent City. We found the Coast Range very hilly and but very little level land after crossing the Illinois River four miles beyond the mining town of Waldo, but the road is superb and an easy grade all the way, but the toll is $3 each way for a two-horse vehicle. We considered this cheap after learning the grading cost, at least $100,000. The toll gate is at Gasquet's ranch, 15 miles from Crescent City. We found the redwoods immense and the ocean more so. We found the citizens of the place and its suburbs clever--both whites and Indians. We camped five days on the bluff near Pebble Beach two miles southwest of the city. Leaving our goods in care of the Indians near by, we visited around daytimes and went home evenings. We visited the logging camps, saw mills and dairy ranches on Smith River to our heart's content and reached Talent on Thursday, July 6th. We had an enjoyable trip and cost, all told, $12.
Medford Mail, July 21, 1893, page 1


    EDITOR ADVOCATE:--Being anxious to hear from my former home in Ohio, I presume a good way is to write first. By the favor of God we are all enjoying good health, although I believe the good Lord is apt to favor those who use good judgment, and live in a healthy locality. We might mention some of the peculiarities of this part of the country. There is no stagnant water, consequently no miasma, no lightning because there is nothing to cause it, no mosquitoes, and but few flies. There are no severe storms of any kind, but we have a pleasant sea breeze, twice each day, to and from the ocean.
    Besides these peculiarities we are blest with other natural features, such as health resorts. About 60 miles west from Talent "as the crow flies'' is the Pacific Ocean beach, but by the wagon road it is 125 miles to Crescent City, California, where many go to enjoy the pleasures of a health resort of this kind during the heated term. If families are not fixed to go so far, and pay the six dollars toll for a team, they have the choice of a dozen soda springs resorts where they may go and camp nearby and not cost any more than living at home, or, if the young people wish, they can go in excursion parties by rail to Colestin Soda Springs, 25 miles south, or 75 miles beyond to Sisson, the foot of Mt. Shasta, and delightful scenery, or yet 20 miles beyond to Castle Crag Tavern, or still a few miles further and stand in wonder while viewing and listening to the roar of Moss Brae Falls; all, and much more, on the line of the O.&C. or Southern Pacific R.R. To cap the climax of sublime scenery one must take a camping trip to the summit of the Cascade Range and see Crater Lake. It is situated among rugged and tortuous canyons. The lake is five by seven miles in extent and now an extinct crater of a once stupendous volcano. It is seven thousand feet altitude at the rim and from there down to the water it is sixteen hundred feet. The water is two thousand and five feet deep at the deepest. Thus from the rim to the bottom of the lake it is more than three thousand six hundred feet. The inside walls are very steep, and only at one place, down a ravine, is it safe to attempt the descent. There is an island, also an extinct crater in the lake.
    There is much grand and sublime scenery for many miles around this beautiful lake, and it would repay a journey across the continent to behold the marvels of nature in this Cascade region. A space twelve by thirty-six miles is now set apart by the government as a National Park. A railroad is projected to cross near Crater Lake in the near future. There is a heavy body of sugar pine and fir timber in this mountain country, also mineral deposits.
    Ashland is the terminal of two divisions on the O.&C. R.R., and it is also a health resort of increasing importance. There are numerous mineral springs, warm and cold, in and within a few miles of the city, and up a canyon about ten miles from the Plaza at an altitude of 6000 feet brings a heroic traveler to an extinct crater filled with perpetual snow. From this body of snow flows Ashland Creek, and furnishes pure water for a city of 50,000 inhabitants, prospectively. The Rogue River Valley, Oregon, enjoys the happy medium between the cold, rainy and foggy sound country north, and the heat and drought of Southern California, south of this. This valley never has a failure. There are no chinch bugs, no weevil, no rust, no potato bugs, and no grasshoppers.
    No storms, no need for lightning rods, all that seems to be lacking is energy sufficient to tickle the soil, sow the seed and harvest abundance. If you think these words worthy the space in your interesting paper you can rest assured the picture is not overdrawn, as I have been an eyewitness to all and much more.
Crestline Advocate, Crestline, Ohio, August 10, 1893, page 1


    EDITOR FARMER: Last Tuesday at 1:25 o'clock A.M. myself and wife and J. W. McGrew left Live Oak to rusticate and prospect the Siskiyous and Rogue River Valley, Oregon. Your readers all know that "Mage" travels in style in the baggage car in his invalid chair. We stop at Gridley, Biggs and Chico, and next at Vina and take on all the milk of the Stanford dairy for the use of the bon ton of Castle Crag Tavern. When daylight comes we are at Anderson, which is quite a fruit shipping station, and has a side lumber railroad coming in from the mountains. Then Redding is passed and after that everything seems dead except the scenery until we reach Castle Crag, which has about half its usual patronage. The scenery along the canyon of the Sacramento is even grander than last year on account of the lateness of the season and the greater supply of snow water.
    We stop five minutes at Shasta Springs, where all take soda water and then all the wheels have to be tested for cracks but all the crack-brained passengers go without being examined. The two fresh engines put on at Dunsmuir begin to labor, and we are on a climb of 1270 feet in the next 14 miles. The baggagemaster opened up his lunch and spread it out with my own, which consisted in part of a lot of luscious grapes presented to me by Mrs. Galbreath, Locke and Hedger, and then we dined like lords.
    Arriving at Sisson Mrs. Mage and Mr. McGrew took breakfast at the Del Coronado, and many of my friends of last year came in the car and wanted to help me out, but after promising to see them later, and leaving them a sample of Mr. Galbreath's Ponderosa tomatoes we sped on up past the Igerna sawmill, the scene of the late accident where 16 freight cars were derailed and broken up, and soon find ourselves in Shasta Valley, dotted with many little green ranches, with large crops of timothy and red top hay in the shock in the field.
    As we enter big Shasta Valley we find larger farms and large stock ranges, many of them barren and rocky, but all well fenced, giving evidence of past if not present prosperity. At Gazelle we saw Edgar Hogeboom, one of Pennington's citizens, and at Montague passengers take the little plug railroad for Yreka, the shire town of Siskiyou County. We pass Ager and at Hornbrook we put on two fresh engines, one being a monster built for the purpose, with eight drive wheels, and then we commence a climb of 1975 feet in 10 miles. At the crossing of Klamath River there is an immense sawmill, cutting lumber and shingles from logs that are floated down Klamath River, and the town is called Klamathon. One mile beyond Coles Station we see a post that points out the state line, so that when that tired feeling comes over the passengers that is so natural to all Oregon people, they won't think that they have been stricken with paralysis.
    The laboring of the engines can be heard and even felt by the jerking motion of the car, as we worm back and forth on the mountainside, crossing many little green ranches and not going faster than an ordinary horse trot. We still have on the open observation car that we put on at Castle Crag, and looking back on a curve I saw a man running back from the car after his hat that he had lost. And, Mr. Editor, I suppose you wouldn't believe me if 1 should tell you that the man picked up his hat and walked across a little farm and jumped the train at the next turn. We arrive at Siskiyou Station after passing through two tunnels, which is the highest elevation on the road, being 4130 feet above the level of the sea. We pass through another tunnel after stopping at the Colestin Springs and hotel and sampling the soda water, and we pronounce it superior to that of the celebrated Shasta Springs.
    We are now on the down grade, which descends 2232 feet in 17 miles, and to describe the natural grandeur of the scenery, and the frightful chasms that we go over, surpasses the power of my pen. It is pleasant however to reflect that this apparent blunder of nature in getting up these mountains may have been a providential act, as Mr. McGrew and myself have resolved that we would join the church before attempting to go home, and as for Mrs. "Mage," she concludes that being treasurer of the Sunday school, she will get to Heaven on that, the same as she gets to Oregon on the coin.
    The first glimpse that we get of the Rogue River Valley is the head of Bear Creek canyon, and is a beautiful sight. The mountainsides are covered with a greater variety of timber, shrubs, vines and flowers than are seen in California and reminds us that we have suddenly changed climate. Finally we arrive at Ashland, Oregon, in Jackson County--our present destination--and promise to write up the country in my next letter [below].
Sutter County Farmer, Yuba City, California, September 1, 1893, page 1

    EDITOR FARMER: Arriving at Medford, Oregon, August 26th, the most centrally located town in Jackson County, containing a population of 1600; a magnificent school house, 500 school children, six churches, a flouring mill, a brewery and whiskey distillery; a pork-packing establishment and the usual number of business houses with a good trade.
    On Sunday Mrs. Mage went to church and got prayed for, on account of being afflicted with a husband on wheels, but if the minister had asked the Lord to cure "Mage" of the concentrated lie habit, he would have come nearer hitting the nail on the head.
    On Monday our party started out for a drive, and going west we go through a thick timber called Heber's Grove and then come to some rich farms with some very heavy corn and alfalfa. At five miles we come to the old mining town of Jacksonville, the county seat of Jackson County, lying at the foot of the Coast Range, containing a population of 800; a graded school, a fine court house, a church, a newspaper, and the Rogue River Railway carries passengers and freight out to Medford, with the cutest little engine and combination car, and the youngest conductor, little 18-year-old Johnnie Barnum in knee pants, is supercargo.
    After driving through shades of balm of Gilead, native maple and other ornamental trees, we take down Jackson Creek, that overflows the adjacent farms in winter, the bed being filled with mining debris, but mining is now mainly prohibited although the country is rich in placers. We pass through all sorts of country and see many ricks of alfalfa hay and feed racks, where beef cattle are fattened in winter. At five miles we come to Central Point, on the railroad, a small town with a grist mill, hotel, church, school house, business houses, and a race track in a beautiful grove where the fairs are held. We now leave the main valley and take the old stage road through mountain and glen, past old apple orchards with 50 bushels of apples on a tree, and see many evidences of placer mining, and in 11 miles cross Rogue River beside the railroad bridge into the town of Gold Hill, where we drank the coldest well water on our trip. We start up the north side of Rogue River, pass a grist mill and stop to lunch and feed on the bank of the river, where they are putting in a dam on the rapids for mill power. The scenery here is grand, and looking into the clear water above the dam we see the opposite mountains a thousand feet high mirrored in the stream. We drive up the river passing small farms and orchards, and in 7 miles come to Sams Valley, a fertile spot of about 2500 acres hemmed in on all sides by hills and mountains, pass a school house, a store and post office, and after going over a ridge and past Table Rock, the relic of Nature's architecture and a glacier's force, we come again to the main valley, with more large rich farms, fenced in with ancient rail fences and many old and some young orchards, and in six miles come to the bridge across Rogue River where Wm. Bybee, a wealthy farmer, has a large herd of Angora goats, and makes them believe that it is fun to eat brush to help clear land. The view from the bridge is magnificent, and we linger a while to christen this river the most beautiful stream on the coast.
    We are now on our homeward trip through a strip of desert land, and a piece of timber, and then come to Bear Creek, through more orchards and grain fields not yet harvested and through the old town of Central Point, and from here we ride over the blackest adobe land in the universe worth $75 per acre yet it doesn't crack open, and the strangest thing about this land and climate is that we see growing fields of corn that will go 50 bushels per acre, and the finest young apple orchards with four rows of heavy corn between each row and still the trees are thrifty.
    Completing our drive of about 45 miles we arrive in good time to our hotel, satisfied that we have seen a wonderful country and one that must have seemed a veritable paradise to the early emigrants from the cold Northwest, since they could raise all the products of their native states, and build their houses and fences without money from the abundant forests.
    On close inquiry of men engaged in the real estate business here, we find that the railroad has not been a blessing to all, and that many homes have been hopelessly mortgaged to furnish modern luxuries to the changed mode of life.
    The fruit industry is growing here, and we found one man loading 13 carloads of pears for the East, and another man has sold his crop of pears for $3000. Much wheat is being stored, and if it could be sold at all would bring about 45 cents per bushel.
    Mr. McGrew and myself having exhausted the news-gathering business here, our party take the train again for California.
Medford, Or., Aug. 30, 1893.
Sutter County Farmer, Yuba City, California, September 15, 1893, page 6


    The church at Ashland was well prepared to join in evangelistic efforts. The members had, under the direction of the pastor, visited from house to house extending invitations to attend the services. The earnest labor and genial manners of Rev. F. G. Strange secured for us the cooperation of the ministers and members of other churches; we believe great good was accomplished. This is one of the most flourishing churches in Southern Oregon, and we expect in another year it will reach self support.
    Of course, we cannot expect to prosecute such work without opposition. During our meetings the "Freethinkers" must introduce a special lecturer, who gave me a challenge to public debate, which I treated with silent contempt.
    From Ashland I went to Jacksonville, which bears the reputation of being the hardest city in Southern Oregon. Certainly the church here was weak--no midweek prayer meeting, no additions to membership by profession for two years, no Christian Endeavor Society, only a small Sabbath school, with not enough teachers to carry on the work; the minister utterly discouraged and could not be led to expect "any good thing to come out of Nazareth." Rev. F. G. Strange and Rev. A. S. Foster rendered valuable help in the services. In five days the church was quickened and seventeen persons inquiring the way to Zion.
Undated letter from Rev. F. H. Gwynne, D.D., The (Presbyterian) Church at Home and Abroad, August 1893, page 124