If you’ve followed the journey thus far, you know that there wasn’t a singular Oregon Trail, with a tidy, uniform line of wagon wheels rolling westward in perfect formation. On the Platte River, for example, Mormon pioneers tended to follow the north side, while the Oregon and California Trail folks held to the south. And even there, they spread out widely, in order to track down water and eat less of one another’s dust.
The Choose-Your-Own-Adventure aspect of route-finding only increased once the travelers reached the Columbia. For some, the walking and riding were concluded for a spell, as they took to the water, kicked up their feet, and drifted onto the Willamette Valley or Fort Vancouver. Others remained on solid ground as far as Wascopam Mission, which later became The Dalles, only to struggle with the terrain from that point on. While Lewis and Clark, along with a host of French trappers and the Astoria crew, had shown that it was possible to follow the Columbia westward, it was tough going with wagons and livestock. Unfortunately, a little thing called Mount Hood, along with its friends the Cascades, left the emigrants with no good alternatives.
Until, that is, the Barlow Road was established in 1845 under the leadership of Sam Barlow, providing a viable option for wagon travel through the mountains. Portland-area folks are likely familiar with the idea that Oregon City marks the “official” end of the Oregon Trail, and it might seem like a curious choice for those following the Columbia. Instead, though, the Barlow Road cut south from The Dalles, into the Tygh Valley, and then pushed westward through Government Camp en route to the Sandy River.
As it happens, it was on this very day in 1846–October 12–that the first Barlow expedition pushed through the Mount Hood foothills. Barlow’s 22-year-old son climbed the south face of Hood to chart a route forward through the woods, as the wagon team operated with growing urgency, recognizing that snow could fall at any moment. Ultimately, they bailed on many of their wagons, leading to the establishment of the well-named Fort Deposit, before most of the crew beat a hasty path to Oregon City to ride out the winter. Barlow’s reward for this expedition was control of the toll road–and all its profits–for its first two years of operation. In time, most of the Barlow Road was converted into Highway 26, which speaks in part to my decision to remain on the Columbia.
While I’ve enjoyed aspects of the walk on I84, I experienced considerable relief when I made it through today’s stage without being blindsided by any private property. I was free of freeways for the full walk. The least interesting part came early, following the highway from Biggs Junction to the Deschutes River, but I covered it in pitch dark, with the sun rising just as I crossed the river. Pioneers had a much harder time of it than I did, needing to float their wagons across and swim the livestock. An informational sign notes that women and children were often ported across in indigenous canoes, in exchange for “bright colored shirts and other trade goods.”
The key to the day was “Old Moody Road,” which climbs sharply from the westside of the Deschutes, approximating the original route of the Oregon Trail. This is the kind of road I’ve been dreaming of through the gorge, taking me up onto the cliffs, and then back into the country south of the Columbia. The views early on were rivaled only by later glimpses of the Oregon Trunk Rail Bridge. An original Oregon Trail commemorative marker still stands in the tiny town of Fairbanks, well to the interior, reinforcing that the pioneers weren’t cruising merrily along the riverside. It would take a whole lot of dynamite to make that possible later on.
From Fairbanks to Petersburg, and then onto The Dalles, I followed Fifteen Mile Road, passing Eight Mile Road along the way. This uncreative nomenclature also has its roots in the Oregon Trail, with the number corresponding to the distance from the end of the trail in The Dalles.
While we’re on the subject of nomenclature, I spent most of the walk puzzling over the “the” in The Dalles. A quick search confirmed my hunch–no other town name begins with “the” in any of the west coast states. It’s incredibly rare in the US. And yet, as any traveler in Spain or France knows, to pick just two examples, it’s entirely commonplace to lead with “the” in those countries. It makes sense, then, that The Dalles’s name comes from those French Canadian fur traders who took note of the “great rapids,” or “grandes dalles” that cut through here. Oddly enough, even with those origins, the town was originally incorporated as Dalles City in 1857, before changing to The Dalles in 1860, and finally City of The Dalles in 1866. Perhaps this was the inspiration for the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim.
With most of the Oregon Trail travelers river- or mountain-bound, I’ll part ways with them for my final approach to Portland, leaning heavily instead on the Historic Columbia River Highway, America’s first scenic highway. The end is nigh!
