National Geographic : 1934 Feb
A NATIVE SON'S RAMBLES IN OREGON Photograph by Amos Burg OREGON'S 20TH-CENTURY CAVEMEN ENTERTAIN TOURISTS Donning appropriate regalia, citizens of Grants Pass call attention to the Oregon Caves, in the Siskiyou Mountains, 52 miles southwest of the city. The caves, carved from lime rock by under ground water, have been called "The Marble Halls of Oregon." They were proclaimed a national monument in 1909. The interest and the effort of the mills is for perpetual operation, which is being assured by their policy of reforestation and selective logging. The loggers are encouraged in the protection of young trees, and the land is left in suitable condition for regrowth. Every visitor to Bend drives on the cir cular road to the crest of Pilot Butte, a cinder cone on the eastern limits of the city. The butte was named by early trav elers, who used it as an important land mark in guiding them across the plains to the point where the Deschutes could be crossed at Farewell Bend. A RAMPART OF LOFTY PEAKS From Pilot Butte 14 mammoth snow peaks of the Cascades dominate the west ern skyline: Mount Hood, 93 miles away, commands the position farthest to the north; Mount Thielsen, 73 miles away, lies farthest to the south, with a dozen peaks scattered between (see map, pages 176 and 177). A range finder, marked with the points of the compass, gives the names of the peaks and their distances. Overlooking Bend is the most majestic alpine group of all, the Three Sisters, said by geologists to rest on the caldera rim of a lofty moun tain the top of which was blown off by an explosion. Each of the Three Sisters is more than 10,000 feet high (see page 192). To the north Smith Rock resembles an ocean headland breaking off into the plain. To the southeast rise the volcanic cones of the Paulina Mountains. In every direction one sees pines. Al though the railroads now tap the forests 60 miles away from Bend, no devastation of timberlands lies in the wake of their op erations. Bend itself is like a park, shaded by the growing pines. South I drove fast and straight down the spectacular Dalles-California Highway, paralleling fresh glistening peaks which crop out of the Cascade Range. The con tinuous pine forests were broken by occa sional scattered lava beds lying in frozen heaps resembling piles of clinkers dumped on the fertile ground.