234 Recreations of a Sportsman 



waterfall that goes tumbling down the moun- 

 tain passes, foaming capriciously on through 

 groves of giant ferns. 



There is a fascinating change in the trees as 

 we ascend. The willows can be seen in the 

 valley below, alders, and others. We pass firs 

 and spruce, and on the summit, half a mile pos- 

 sibly above the sea, find a plateau covered with 

 volcanic cannon balls shot out of the great cones, 

 partly overgrown by trees, and for ten miles or 

 more the train runs through what is to me one 

 of the most remarkable volcanic regions in 

 America. The forest becomes deeper and darker, 

 and suddenly we are at Pokegema, the starting 

 point of the most interesting mountain road 

 in Oregon, as it virtually crosses two ranges 

 the Siskiyou and the Cascades; rises to nearly 

 a mile above the sea, drops into deep caiions 

 swept by dark rivers far below, skirts the face 

 of impossible cliffs, all the time deep in the heart 

 of the splendid fir and pine forests which clothe 

 the ranges of Oregon. 



The old-fashioned Concord coach and six 

 horses is waiting for us, and after the freight, 

 from a coffee mill to a bedstead, has been packed, 

 the two passengers are stowed away and the 

 driver, who has driven the stage, we are told, 

 for twenty years, speaks to the horses and we 

 are off over the road made from the bark, seeds, 

 cones, and leaves of the giant trees of centuries, 



