Editor Times-Mercury: If you will allow me the space in your excellent paper, I will write you a few lines from this part of the world. I have just been in this country long enough to begin to get acquainted with the country and climate. We have had an unusually cool spring so far, the temperature ranging from 35 to 60 deg. F., with some frost nearly every morning. But still the fruit crop is very little damaged. The pear and peach crop will be short in some places in the low grounds. There will be an abundant apple crop, which always brings a good price, and hundreds of carloads are shipped annually from this valley to European markets. The wheat is looking well in this country, and many of the farmers are counting on a yield of 30 to 40 bushels per acre.
    Forty years ago, the first grain crop was raised in this section. Ever since the first crop was raised there has not been a failure of the grain crop in this valley. The grain raised is of superior quality and commands the highest price on the Portland market. With proper cultivation, wheat, rye, oats, barley and onions grow well on all soils and yield fine crops. The grain crops are free from rust and mildew, and the grain full, plump and well matured. The best lands will average 30 to 35 bushels of wheat and from 40 to 50 bushels of oats per acre. If the land is properly cultivated a good crop is assured. Irrigation is not used in the cultivation of small grain. Alfalfa yields abundant crops of hay, producing as much as 6 to 7 tons of hay per acre.
    The mildness of the climate and the healthfulness of the stock make this a favored section for stock raising. Some of the finest horses of the Pacific Coast have been raised in this country. Cattle are raised here without any feed during the year, but careful stock raisers usually provide hay to be used in case of emergency or a hard winter. Some winters are so mild that feed is not necessary. There are winters, however, that the ground is covered with snow for two or three weeks, and cattle then requires feed. Sheep raising is profitable when proper attention is given to the flocks. Hog raising is also a profitable industry, the hogs requiring but little feed. They grow and stay fat on an onion called camas, which grows wild in abundance on all kinds of soil.
    The climate of Rogue River Valley is a mean between that of Willamette Valley and California. As we have neither the excessive rains of the former nor the parching droughts of the latter. The average mean temperature for the month of July for six years was 72 degrees above zero; for the month of January 33 degrees above zero. The thermometer has rarely been known to reach zero in this valley since it was settled by the whites 40 years ago. Destructive windstorms never visit this valley. The rainfall ranges from 20 to 40 inches, and averages about 26 inches per annum. The principal part of this falls from November to April.
    The county is 48 miles wide east and west, with an average length of 54 miles north and south. This area contains 2,592 square miles, or 1,956,880 acres. Of this amount 280,000 acres are in cultivation, which can be enlarged to a total of 550,000 acres. One third of the country is available arable land; the other two-thirds are timber and grazing lands. The arable land comprises the valley, table and rolling hill lands. The grazing land comprises the bald hills which are too steep for general cultivation, and the elevated mountain lands, which are sparsely covered with timber. The timber lands comprise the slopes of the mountains (principally on the north side), the more rugged hills and canyons, and some lands along the watercourses. About one-third of the country is timber land. Rogue River Valley, which is principally in Jackson County, is the basin that is drained by Rogue River and its tributaries. The principal tributaries of Rogue River are Applegate, Bear, Big Butte, Little Butte and Evans creeks, all of which are in Jackson County. Rogue River enters the county near the northeast corner and flows southwesterly, diagonally across four and a half townships, then bending a little more southward, runs through two and a half townships, and thence runs nearly due west to the Pacific Ocean. Along each of these watercourses and their numerous tributaries are valleys of variable extent, which are usually separated by a low range of hills and tablelands. The principal part of this valley land in Rogue River basin lies northeast and east from Jacksonville, and its altitude is from 1200 to 1400 feet above the sea level. Rogue River Valley lies in the midst of scenery of unsurpassing beauty. Looking from the summit of the hills west of the valley, we see fields of green and golden grain spread out before us, with Bear Creek fringed with evergreen trees, hurrying on to mingle its waters with the sea. To the northeast we see Rogue River entering the valley, also fringed with "living green," and Snowy Butte towering 1100 feet above the sea, clad in perpetual snow. Then for a background we have the dark green of the Cascade Mountains, from which rises Mount Pitt, towering above all with its mantle of perpetual snow. And passing over a low range of foothills we find numerous small valleys through which flow streams of purest mountain water, with orchards, gardens and grain fields on either side. The soil of the main valley is principally composed of a dark, sandy loam, with strips of clay, gravelly and adobe (sticky) lands, which is very rich and productive, but is hard to cultivate on account of its sticky nature. The soil in the smaller valleys is usually of a rich, sandy loam along the streams, and of various qualities along the foothills.
    Personally speaking, I like this country very well, and considering all advantages and disadvantages, I think this country is as good, if not superior, to any country I have ever been in. But still the "Tarheel" can never forget his longing for the ivy-twined verandas and clear sky of the Piedmont section of the "Old North State."
The Times-Mercury, Hickory, North Carolina, June 7, 1899, page 1


    Next morning the train arrived at Ashland, 20 miles from the California line, the southern terminus of the Willamette Valley and as far south as the editorial train was to go. Here we were the guests of the people of Ashland at a bountiful breakfast served near town in the forest where tumbled and roared a stream direct from the snow visible on the mountaintops 10 miles away. It was a beautiful spot. The hospitable people of Ashland must have been up with the sun to have provided at that hour such an elaborate repast. While the company sat at the snowy, flower-bedecked tables, a lady orchestra made music. Hon. E. V. Carter made an address of welcome and Mayor Colton and others spoke. Col. Henry, president of the editorial association, responded. The visitors were driven about the thrifty town. Here are flouring mills, a woolen mill, planing mills, a quartz mill for working the ores from mines in the neighborhood, a state normal school, and the tabernacle of the Chautauqua association of Southern Oregon. The eating station, roundhouses and other appurtenances of [the] division end of the Southern Pacific railroad are located here. The town has an abundant supply of pure mountain water for domestic use, for fire protection, for power--all its factories and electric light plant taking their motive power from the stream which flows through the town.
    Jackson County includes nearly all the Rogue River Valley. The people claim much for their climate--that it is a mean between the excessive moisture of the Willamette Valley and Puget Sound country at the north, and the scorching summer droughts of the California valleys of the south. The rainfall at Ashland, as shown by the government weather bureau,  has averaged a trifle over 20 inches per annum for the past 19 years, and varies from 15 to 26 inches in different years, with enough moisture always to ensure crops. The minimum temperature recorded during that period was 2 degrees below zero. Such temperature is very rare. During 1896 the thermometer did not register lower than 15 degrees above zero.
    The great industry of this country is placer and quartz gold mining, and the business is constantly increasing. Here we met the venerable David P. Walrod and his son, who were once residents of Sycamore, but who have resided in Ashland since the early '60s.
    Turning their faces back northward, the editors reached Medford, also in Jackson County, in time for dinner. The party was met by a brass band and a large crowd of citizens and escorted to a grove, where a dozen long tables were spread beneath evergreen bowers, and a generous lunch of home-cooked viands was served by the ladies of Medford, who made everybody feel at home, and prominent citizens and officials told what an exceptionally fine place Medford was, and the editors replied, "That's so." The remarks about Ashland's climate and industries apply to Medford pretty well. Medford is located nearer the central part of the valley, and has the best of advantages as regards the trade of the county. It has a distillery, a brewery and ice manufacturing plant, flouring mill and planing mills. Medford also does a large business in the exportation of fruits. Jacksonville, the county seat, is 5 miles west of Medford, with which place it is connected by an independent railroad.
    A half-hour stop was made at Grants Pass, where another brass band was playing a greeting to the visitors, and several hundred people, including many school children dressed in white, were on the platform. A fine mineral and agricultural exhibit filled the depot. It was one of the best the editors saw in the West. This county, Josephine, is rich in minerals, much of which is yet undeveloped and offers a good field for investment.
"National Editorial Association View the Northwest Coast Country," The True Republican, Sycamore, Illinois, August 5, 1899, page 1



    Roseburg was reached in time for supper and several hours were spent here very pleasantly by the party. As usual the pretty girls greeted us with fruits and flowers, a night run being made to Ashland.
    Ashland is a beautiful city, near the southern border of Oregon, and is the largest town in the Rogue River Valley. Its elevation is about 2,000 feet, and near it are a number of rich gold quartz mines in operation. The citizens claim that here are produced the finest fruits, sweetest flowers and prettiest girls in the world.
    A vote of the male members of the editorial party would doubtless have sustained the claims made for the fair daughters. A number of the party visited the orchard where the peaches were grown that were awarded the first prize at the World's Fair. Breakfast was served in a beautiful grove where is annually held the Southern Oregon Chautauqua. The long tables were beautifully decorated with flowers, and the good people of Ashland had made every provision to meet the heavy demand of the editorial party for those good things that go to satisfy the inner man. There were fruits in abundance--the big Oregon cherries, luscious strawberries, pears, apricots and plums. After breakfast had been served we were taken in charge by the citizens and driven to the principal points of interest about the city.
    This lake is situated a short distance from Ashland and is one of the most wonderful sights on the American continent. Crater Lake was discovered in 1853 and has an area of about fifty square miles. The water's surface is 9,251 feet above sea level and is completely surrounded by cliffs from one to two thousand feet high.
    A long time ago, long before the white man appeared in this region, a band of Klamaths while out hunting came suddenly upon the lake and were startled by its remarkable walls and awed by its majestic proportions. With spirits subdued and trembling with fear they silently approached and gazed upon its face; something within told them the Great Spirit dwelt there, and they dared not remain, but passed silently down the side of the mountain and camped far away. By some unaccountable influence, however, one brave was induced to return. He went up to the very brink of the precipice and started his camp fire. Here he laid down to rest; here slept till morn, slept till the sun was high in the air, then arose and joined the tribe far down the mountain.
    At night he came again; again he slept till morn. Each visit bore a charm that drew him back again. Each night found him sleeping above the rocks; each night strange voices arose from the waters; mysterious noises filled the air. At last, after a great many moons, he climbed down to the lake and there he bathed and spent the night. Often he climbed down in like manner, and frequently saw wonderful animals, similar in all respects to Klamath Indians, except that they seemed to exist entirely in the water. He suddenly became hardier and stronger than any Indian of his tribe because of his many visits to the mysterious water. Others then began to seek its influence. Old warriors sent their sons for strength and courage to meet the conflicts awaiting them.
     First they slept on the rocks above, then ventured to the water's edge, but at last they plunged beneath the flood, and the coveted strength was theirs. On one occasion the brave who first visited the lake killed a monster or fish, and was at once set upon by untold numbers of excited Llaos (for such they were called), who carried him to the top of the cliffs, cut his throat with a stone knife, then tore his body in small pieces, which were thrown down to the waters beneath, where he was devoured by angry Llaos--and such shall be the fate of every Klamath brave who from that day to this dares to look upon the lake.
    To the southwest is Wizard Island, which is 845 feet high, circular in shape, and slightly covered with timber. In the top is a depression or crater--the Witches' Cauldron--100 feet deep and 475 feet in diameter. This was evidently the last smoking chimney of once a mighty volcano. The base of [the] island is covered with very heavy and hard rocks, with sharp and unworn edges, over which scarcely a score of human feet have ever trod. Farther up are deep beds of ashes and light, spongy rocks and cinders, giving evidence of intense heat. Within the crater as without, the surface is entirely covered with volcanic rocks, but here it forms one of the hottest places on a clear day in July it has ever been my lot to witness.
    Not a breath of air seems to enter and the hot sun pours down upon thousands of rocks and stones that reflect his rays with an intensity that seems to multiply beyond conception. Directly north of the island is Llao Rock, a grand old sentinel, standing boldly out on the west side of the lake and reaching over 2,000 feet perpendicular. From the top of it you can drop a stone and it will pass down and grow smaller until your head begins to swim and you see the stone become a mere speck and fade entirely from view; and at last nearly half a mile below, it strikes the unruffled surface of the water and sinks forever from sight in the depth of a bottomless lake.
    There is probably not a point of interest in America that so completely overcomes the ordinary Indian with fear as Crater Lake. From time immemorial no power has been strong enough to induce him to approach within sight of it. For a paltry sum he will engage to guide you thither, but before you reach the mountaintop will leave you to proceed alone. To the savage mind it is clothed with a deep veil of mystery, and is the abode of all manner of demons and unshapely monsters. Once inhabited by the Great Spirit, it has now become the Sheol of modern times, and is certain death to any proud savage to behold it. This feeling has to a certain extent instilled itself into the minds of such whites as have made it their Mecca until every stray log that floats upon the water is imagined to possess life and possibly be a monster. Exaggerated accounts of different points have been given and implicitly believed without a question or reflection.
    The end of our southern itinerary was reached at Ashland, and we boarded our cars for the return trip, stops being made at Medford, Grants Pass, Eugene and Salem.
    As our train pulled out of the station at Medford, as if our floral treasuries were not yet sufficient, hundreds of bouquets were showered at us through the open car windows. It actually rained flowers. And screams of delegates' goodbyes were waved while the ladies were pelting the train with bouquets innumerable. Thus garlanded we began our return journey to Portland. At Medford the train was met by a brass band, and a large crowd of citizens escorted us to a grove where a dozen long tables were spread beneath evergreen boughs and a generous luncheon was served by the ladies of the town, who vied with each other in their efforts to make everybody feel at home. An address of welcome was made by the mayor, telling us all about Medford and vicinity in an interesting way. A neat display of fruits and grain helped us to realize that the beautiful Rogue River Valley was all that its most ardent admirers had claimed for it--a land of plenty and prosperity.
    Grants Pass, where we next stopped, is a town of considerable importance, as the trading center of an agricultural and mining section, and here are located a number of manufactories for the utilization of pine-cane [sic] in the manufacture of mattresses, medicated pillows, etc. Souvenirs of cane moss [sic] and mineral ores from the mines, with pretty bouquets, were given each visitor. [I can find no other references to "pine-cane" or "cane moss." I assume they were experimental products similar to excelsior, probably made from sugar pine.]
    One of the prettiest little cities visited on the trip through Southern Oregon is Eugene, where we took breakfast the following morning. It is the center of a fine agricultural and fruit country and has a population of 6,000 or 7,000. Here is located the state university, which enjoys a large attendance.
    This is also one of the largest hop-producing sections in the state, and to one who has never seen them growing, the thousand-acre hop fields to be seen from the railroad prove an interesting sight.
    An elaborate trout breakfast had been prepared by the citizens of Eugene and was served on the summit of Skinner's Butte, a mountain overlooking the town and commanding a splendid view of the country for twenty miles around A story was told of the exciting experience of some of the fishing party who were catching trout for the editors. One of the party was attacked by a huge black bear some miles from the town on the Willamette River. A companion on the opposite bank with his rifle was attracted by the call for help and killed the bear. The carcass was brought to Eugene and exhibited to the editors.
    The last point visited on the southern tour was Salem, the state capital, where luncheon was served in a beautiful park and a drive taken over the city.
    Salem is the center of the beautiful and fertile Willamette Valley, fifty-two miles southeast of Portland. All the state institutions are located here and it has a number of manufactories. We arrived at Portland on the evening of July 11th, and started at Tacoma, Washington.
    In next week's Dispatch I shall write about the cities of Tacoma and Seattle and the state of Washington.
"State of Oregon, City of Portland," report on a National Editorial Association excursion, The Dispatch, Lexington, North Carolina, August 16, 1899, page 1


    The [National Editors Association excursion] editorial train left Roseburg late in the evening and arrived the next morning at Ashland, the southernmost town in Oregon, being 12 miles from the California state line. This is the home of the far-famed Oregon peach. Breakfast was served here for us in the beautiful Chautauqua grove by the industrious ladies of this thriving city. While here we met Dr. J. K. Reeder and wife. Mr. Reeder is a former Macoupinite, who is well known by everyone in the west part of the county. Dr. Reeder has made quite a success in his profession and is well pleased with his Western home.
    Among the many things that impressed the editor on this trip was the enterprise of these Oregon towns, for every day we were entertained by the citizens.
    Think what an undertaking it was for the ladies to prepare a breakfast or dinner for 400 hungry editors. Would any town in this locality show such hospitality? At Ashland the ladies were out early enough to have breakfast ready by eight o'clock in their beautiful grove.
    Our next stop was made at Medford, Oregon, the central city of the Rogue River Valley, one of the most fertile in Oregon. When the train came in the people were out in force to greet the editorial fraternity. After a short program welcoming the party to the city, the women of Medford vied with each other in serving an elegant lunch in an improvised bower which had been constructed in a park and covered with fragrant fir bouquets. In addition to the lunch, the citizens had on display fruits and grains, which helped the visitors to realize that the beautiful Rogue River Valley was all its ardent admirers represented it to be.
    Ashland and Medford are in Jackson County, which borders on California. The county has an area of about 1,658,880 acres, of which 278,000 acres are in cultivation, and this amount can be enlarged to half a million. The arable land comprises the valley, table and rolling hill lands. The timber lands are on the slopes of the mountains, the more rugged hills and canyons and some lands along the watercourses.
    Wheat, rye, oats and barley grow well on all soils and yield fine crops. The straw is generally bright and clean and is free from rust or mildew, and the grain plump, full and well matured. The best lands will average from 30 to 35 bushels of wheat to the acre, and from 40 to 50 bushels of oats. Common-grade land will yield from 20 to 25 bushels of wheat and from 30 to 45 bushels of oats per acre. Corn grows well on all soil and yields from 40 to 60 bushels to the acre. Fine grasses, such as timothy, clover, bluegrass, alfalfa etc., do well on the bottom lands. The climate is mild, and there is an absence of any epidemics among the people. Fruit culture is attracting much attention, and Jackson County peaches are known throughout the fruit-using world. Vineyards do exceedingly well. Jackson County has excellent school and church privileges. Placer and quartz mining is carried on extensively, and the value of the precious metals taken from Jackson County soil will run up into the millions.
"The Willamette Valley," Macoupin County Enquirer, Carlinville, Illinois, August 23, 1899, page 3


    Monday morning we awoke in Ashland, 341 miles south of the metropolis and 20 miles from the California line. Ashland is a thriving little city of 3000 inhabitants, 2000 feet elevation, the location of the State Normal School, a Chautauqua and tabernacle, rich gold mines, and of the finest peaches on the coast. We were taken up through the town, past the beautiful Chautauqua grounds to a little canyon where meanders a little mountain stream and flows the surplus water not taken by the city pipes, where amid the stately trees tables were set for 800  people. Such a breakfast of chicken, raspberries and cream, cherries, etc.--a regular banquet under the friendly forest shade, and the best of attention and kindly greeting. The town is enclosed with mountains, and however hot the day its inhabitants can look out upon snow-capped peaks and feel refreshed. The water is of the purest and best, with a strong gravity pressure.
    In all the Oregon towns we visited the Iowa delegates were sought out by people formerly from our state. Iowa is well represented in Oregon. They all admit Iowa is a good state to live in, but Oregon is a little better. The only objection we heard offered against Iowa was that it is swept about fortnightly by a cyclone. This in the face of the fact that not one Iowan in a thousand ever saw a cyclone and the imputation against our fair state seems somewhat ludicrous. But to return to Oregon! We met Mrs. E. Maude Young, professor of painting in the Normal School in Ashland. She is either a daughter or a niece of William Taylor, of Fayette. We also met Dr. Songer, a former Iowan, well-to-do, but not from a fat practice. While he thinks there is no town quite equal to Ashland, he admits it being a poor place for the practice of his profession, which is indeed a good recommendation for one seeking a home.
    Medford is a thriving town of 1500 inhabitants, the first on our return trip. Here we were treated to a fine dinner in the grove, and an interesting literary program. A brass band attended us in our eating. Medford is on Bear Creek, 12 miles above its junction with the Rogue River, and is in an agricultural paradise. The temperature never exceeds 106 degrees--so says their advertisement.
    Did you ever hear of Grants Pass? This is where we made our next stop. It is a town about the size of Sumner, well built, broad streets, has a fine school house like Sumner ought to have, and is on the Rogue River at point where the valley is narrow, 296 miles south of Portland. While the train halted 30 minutes to allow the editors to view a mineral exhibit at the depot waiting room, we borrowed a bicycle and rode half a mile through town to the river to see our esteemed townsman, Mr. S. F. Cass and family, at that time taking their summer outing in Oregon and at that particular time off on a fishing expedition. We had the satisfaction, however, of seeing his fine grounds and improvements. It was a great disappointment to us that they were not at home. Grants Pass is an excellent town at the head of a fine valley, and the vicinity is rich both in agricultural and mineral wealth. Mr. Cass has kept well within the bounds of truth in his glowing accounts of that country. He has large interests there, and we would say it is money well invested.
    After passing through two long tunnels and making the circumlocutions of a loop we fetched up at Glendale, where it was eat again. This place is chiefly an eating station of the Southern Pacific Ry., and the supper that Mrs. Clarke and her three daughters served us at the order of the Portland committee seemed to lay everything else in the shade.
    We passed through Roseburg about 10 o'clock that night, and while our train was being watered, the young folks of that city, where we got our supper on our outward trip Sunday night, besieged our train and tried to rout us out of bed to eat. In the morning the early risers found in the vestibules of the train a profusion of flowers and a crate of cherries for each of the fourteen coaches.
"The Eden of Oregon," Sumner Gazette, Sumner, Iowa, September 7, 1899, page 1


     Towards noon we boarded our train again and started on the return trip. Our first stop was at Medford and there we found a thrifty town. All Oregon is very dry at this season, but they have less rain in this locality than farther north, and it is claimed that the excessive sunshine and absence of showers make it a favorable
place for invalids.
    Medford is in a noted fruit region. From this point fruits are shipped, and even exported, in large quantities. It possesses springs of natural soda water, and fountains are charged with it, just as the water comes from the earth. We were conducted to a grove in the heart of the town and treated to an excellent dinner. We sat down to picnic tables groaning with meats, fruits and delicacies of all kinds. It was a genuine banquet. After the feast was over, a toastmaster took charge of the meeting, and an hour or more was spent by local speakers, describing the good things the country possesses, and by the editors (there are but few of them who are tongue tied in responses), flattering everything Oregonian we had seen, the western ladies coming in for a big share of the praise. Here the Ohio man was again in evidence. Judge Crowell, the master of ceremonies, was, a few years ago, a member of the Ohio senate. President Cleveland appointed him to a consulate somewhere in the Orient, and upon return, instead of crossing the plains and taking residence again in Ohio, he settled down in this village, and has there made a success. He is judge of the court, and a prominent man in the locality. We had in our party Hon. Jacob C. Fisher, and C. B. McCoy, of Coshocton, O., the former home of Judge Crowell, and of course Ohio people had the best of everything on this occasion. Mr. McCoy is secretary of the Ohio association and a valuable member. The Ohio delegation all feel under strong obligation to him for many acts of courtesy and service. He is genial, good looking and is a bachelor. He has been a constant attendant upon these editorial trips, and very popular with young lady editors and daughters of editors who have been in our parties. It has several times seemed as though he would be caught in Cupid's snare, but he has been able in some way to avert being ensnared. How long this is to continue seems past finding out.
    At Medford we met several other Ohio people, the names of many of whom we did not take, as they would be of no interest in this locality. One lady, however, should be mentioned, as many people here have known her, or were acquaintances of her husband. She is the wife of a former noted president of Oberlin College, Dr. Finney. This is her present home. The town is in what is known as the Rogue River Valley. There is no legend connected with the name of the river. Instead of, as one might suppose, the name arising from it having been at any time the abiding place of one or more notorious swindlers or criminals, it was thus called from the fact that there have never been any rogues living in the valley, or at least the minister of the town told us so in his after-dinner remarks, and nothing to drink but water had been passed.
    All aboard was called again, and we sped away, stopping next at Grants Pass, another prosperous town, the county seat of Josephine County.
    The climate here is delightful, agriculture, horticulture and forestry prosperous; and profitable mining carried on to a considerable extent.
    At Grants Pass we found Mr. R. L. Coe, once a resident of Norwalk. The family lived on West Main Street, in the D. Stoutenburgh house. He is a nephew of a former Norwalk postmaster. J. S. Coe. He is engaged in the mercantile business. Pitt Curtiss was one of his playmates, and he wished especially to be remembered to him.
    To pass from the Rogue River Valley north, it was necessary for us to ascend the mountains. The Southern Pacific does this by a loop, a marvelous piece of engineering. Placer mining is carried on extensively in this part of Oregon, and evidences of it were visible all along our route.
    The descent of the mountains was through the delightful Cow Creek Canyon. It took us several hours to reach the Willamette Valley again, but the time seemed
short, the magnificent mountain scenery we viewed being so interesting that we took but little note of the passing hours.
    We stopped for supper at Glendale, a most charming spot. The valley between two tall mountain ranges opens just sufficiently to furnish a flat place large enough for the town. The railroad enters through a canyon just wide enough for its passage. The mountains are covered with a dense growth of evergreen, pine and fir trees. The foliage is so thick that, as the saying is, the birds cannot fly through it. On each side of the valley there are several parallel ranges beyond the one which met our view, and we were informed that in them is the finest hunting in the United States. Bear, deer and a great many kinds of wild animals abound,
Jay Ford Laning, "Through Southern Oregon," Norwalk Daily Reflector, Norwalk, Ohio, September 12, 1899, page 2