The Weber Literary Journal The Glory of the Northwest By Ray Scoville NOWHERE in the world can nature boast so marvelous a display of scenic beauty as in the Pacific Northwest. There is nature at its best. The region, extending from the mighty Columbia northward to the Canadian Rockies and westward to the Pacific, is famed not only for its scenery but also as being the greatest hunting, fishing and outdoor recreation resort in the entire United States. Hundreds of gleaming lakes ranging in size from very tiny ones to Lake Washington, the largest and most beautiful of all, contribute their part to the charm of the landscape. Great forests are even more numerous than the lakes. In all directions scarcely outside the limits of even the largest cities one may find nature in its truest simplicity and majesty. Great pines that tower for hundreds of feet to heaven, massed together so thick as to blot out the sun; on one side a rushing stream of pure mountain water and on the other, tide water of the Pacific, all blend together in such an ecstasy of harmony as one, having once seen, will long remember. A better setting for a summer vacation we could not have found. Over the sun-scorched roads of Utah and Idaho, up great mountain ranges and down again, we finally arrived at a picturesque little town called The Dalles. From this point westward to Portland, following the course of the beautiful Columbia, stretched the Columbia River Highway, in many respects the most remarkable scenic highway in America. From The Dalles the pavement wound around and around, now beside the deep placid waters of the Columbia and again hundreds of feet above them, among the pines and wild flowers. From the high points we could look far down the river upon a panorama rarely to be equaled. Plying up and down the stream were many small boats looking frail and insignificant from our view-point high above. Close upon the bank of the river a train would rush out of a tunnel and then disappear again as 8 The Weber Literary Journal mysteriously as it had come. In the distance a myriad of lights denoting some small city, would shine out prominently, as if a part of nature, too. What with the delightful smell of the pines and the water the very air seemed enchanted. Continuing on, our road spanned great chasms and in some places was cut through solid rock, its tunnels pierced here and there with artistic observation points where one could look out and down for hundreds of feet. We vagabonded and camped along the way and were free to stop when and where we pleased. One of our stops was at a little town called Hood River. I shall never forget it. As we drove in one night about ten o'clock everything was ablaze with light and the bustle of Saturday night shopping. The city itself is built upon a steep hill overlooking the water, where all its multiplicity of lighting effects are reflected. Behind us we could see the road we had traveled, its surface shining in the moonlight and coiled out like a great serpent. Farther back, the different levels were still plainly visible. Constantly rising, they had the appearance of giant steps leading perhaps to some ethereal domain. To the south could be seen the snow-capped peak of Mt. Hood and under favorable conditions it is probable we could have seen the glistening peaks of Mt. Rainer, the Olympics, and even Mt. Shasta. We continued on over miles and miles of almost unending beauty, arriving finally at Multnomah Falls where we stopped for an hour or so. We were told that the roaring falls had a drop of over six hundred feet. Climbing up to points of vantage we gained a beautiful view of the water as it fell in a foaming mass to the caverns below. The next place of interest, aside from the numerous salmon fisheries along the river, was the Vista House, located on a high crest, overlooking what is probably the finest view of the whole hundred mile stretch. Harmonizing with the scenic beauty around it, the Vista House is unique and beautiful as a novel type of architecture. Here crowds are wont to gather in parties and, armed with their cameras, set out for new spots of beauty. Leaving here we motored a short distance and almost before we realized it, we had left the Columbia River and were en- 9