I came upon my interest in the fur trade through Alan Eckert’s book The Frontiersman. I read the stories of Simon Kenton and Simon Girty as they trekked through the virgin forests of The Kentucky wilderness. I expanded my reading to include the American Mountain Men. Reading of bigger-than-life legends like Kit Carson, Liver-eatin Johnson, and Hugh Glass. Eventually I found Frances Fuller Victor’s River of the West; a biography of Joe Meek. So, when I heard of Meek’s cutoff, I thought of Joe. But this story starred, not Joe, but his older brother Stephen.
Stephen Meek’s attempt at leading wagon trains resulted in a combination of events of lasting consequence to Oregon’s history. In 1845, he convinced a wagon train of about 450 people to follow him on a safer route to The Dalles. The Walla Walla and Cayuse Indians were getting fractious, making threats against emigrants on the Snake and Columbia River trails. Meek’s cutoff would bypass those routes by going south of the Wallowa Mountains. A bit less water, a bit rougher trail, but no Indians.
In brief, the journey was a disaster. Rough roads and lack of water took their toll on the emigrants. Division of the wagon train into smaller groups impeded communication and allowed wild rumors to spread. They eventually drove Stephen off just ahead of a noose. But here is where the story takes an unexpected, but significant, turn.
Somewhere along the route, a member of the John Herren family reportedly found a few gold nuggets which they collected in a blue water bucket. Well, each time the story was told, it was embellished. Until finally, the legend of the lost Blue-bucket Mine was born.
A couple of decades later J.L. Adams raised a party of gold hunters by regaling them with stories of the journey across Meek’s cutoff. He also told them how he had tried to return to the mine site but was chased off by an Indian attack. Adams raised a party of about 50 heavily armed gold seekers and led them into the high desert in search of riches.
The would-be miners eventually divined that Adams had never been in the wagon train that Meek had led. In fact, he had never been to eastern Oregon at all, so they ran him off. While most of the explorers quit the hunt, some of them clung to Adams’ story and continued the gold search. They had heard the legend of the Blue-bucket mine, so there must be gold out there somewhere.
After two years of searching, one of them, Henry Griffin, finally found gold in one of the tributaries of the Powder River near present day Baker City. The site isn’t particularly near the Meek cutoff, but never mind, gold is gold.
One of his nuggets made its way back to Portland and the rush was on. Not long after Griffin’s discovery, an even richer strike was made near Canyon City, again, not too close to the Meek cutoff. More discoveries followed, and for a time Canyon City was the largest city in Oregon.
As might be expected, most of Canyon City’s supplies came up the Columbia from Portland to the Dalles, then south along the John Day River. Well the influx of people from the south resulted in construction of a southern road. It stretched from Red Bluff, California to Canyon City, Oregon. This road passed within a few miles of Yreka Butte just south of the Imperial Valley.
These people and this road inflamed relationships between the new Oregonians and the Paiute. This lead directly to the Snake Indian War of the late 1860’s. But let’s not get too far ahead.
Because horses need periodic care, rest and resupply stations dotted the route. One of them stood on a flat desert plain southwest of picturesque Yreka Butte; Mahogany Flat. I haven’t found much information on the Mahogany Flat Stage Station. I only knew of its approximate location from a 1930’s topographic map. However, I thought I would try to find the remains of the station and trace the road past its location.
Sadly, the weather during this trip was predicted to be unseasonably cold and intense. A June snow storm was to hit the higher elevations. As a consequence, I kept one band of my radio tuned to the NOAA weather station in Hood River. All day Saturday the announcer sounded so apologetic about having to report on a June snow storm. He assured us listeners that Boise was going to be really hot. I was amused, a lot of good that did me in central Oregon. Anyway, I was pretty sure that I was too low in elevation for snow as the temperature was 50 degrees. The black-grey clouds streaming from the northwest dragging visible trails of showers did give me pause for thought.
On the drive, I passed an area where the Oregon department of Forestry had cut a large swath of Juniper exposing a wonderful view of the Maury Mountains to the northwest. I’m not sure why they left the trees, but the view is improved.
The road I followed south into the desert climbed an old lava flow out of Brown’s well. After crossing the flow, it joins up with the Canyon City wagon road and passes by Mahogany Flat on its way north. Not far along the wagon road I met the storm. The wind was fierce. Snow and sleet alternated and the temperature fell to the low 40’s. The top of the lava flow has no topography to slow the wind, so it wasn’t looking good as a camp site right now.
I pulled off on the side track where I had marked the GPS location of the station. The wind was howling and the sleet was falling nearly horizontally. I walked the area but found no sign of the station. I’ll admit my search wasn’t too thorough, I wanted to get out of the cold wind and snow. And the ground was getting slippery. The layer of dust had turned to real slick mud that did a good job of filling the lugs on my tires at slow speed.
I had planned to camp near the station, but the arrival of the severe weather changed my mind. It was a good thing that the storm hit before I set up camp. I continued on the wagon road to find a more sheltered spot. I knew that about an hour north the road would drop down the side of the lava flow to a dry lake bed. I hoped to find a camp site up against the rimrock where the wind was at least partially blocked.
After sliding around on the wet dust for a time, I found a passable site with shelter to west winds. NOAA assured me that the winds would shift to the west late in the afternoon.
Here is my camp the morning after the storm. The grey-black clouds were replaced by puffy whites swiftly blowing past.
The night before, some of the strongest winds I have felt in the desert swept the lava flow. I could hear them howling through the junipers growing above the camp. I took the short hike up the rimrock and was very pleased to have sought shelter below. The wind so prevalent above, passed over my camp barely ruffling the tree spread over my truck. By noon the ground had dried and the desert returned to its dry self. A brisk wind continued through the day, so I was very judicious with my campfire.
I spent the day in camp exploring the area nearby and watching the social life of the cattle in the area. The view from camp was of the dry lake bed. Ranchers had cut a water tank out in the middle. This served to provide a water source for their bovines but also serviced the local wildlife. The range was much too far for my camera so I contented myself with watching the deer, elk and coyotes that came to the waterhole throughout the day through my spotting scope.
I was treated to about an hour of watching a female coyote hunt the grass for small mammals. She worked the patch of sagebrush to the left of the water in the photo below. I enjoyed watching her leaps and bounds as she chased whatever rodents were attracting her attention.
In this photograph, taken from the rimrock above my camp site, the wagon road, and my route, are across the dry lake bed, just before the trees. I’ve been told that the wagon masters would roll the rocks out of the road to smooth their passage. Some of those stones are still visible in places, but with the widening of the road to accommodate modern vehicles so are many more.
I followed the wagon road as it wound around on its way north. Along the route I came across a fenced waterhole. Somewhere in this area the Meek cutoff passed on its way between the Glass Buttes. The party crossed this area in the middle of September 1845. They had just crossed the Harney Valley so the terrain looked pretty lush. I didn’t find any evidence of the wagon train’s passage but after over 100 years of cattle grazing, I didn’t expect to.
By this time in the trip the party had lost faith in Stephen Meek’s leadership. The large train had broken into smaller groups and were making their way across the desert as best they could. This waterhole was important to the wagon train parties. From here it was only five days travel to the Crooked River.
My journey was ending. I had missed finding the stage station, but I had experienced a wild late spring storm, and verified the location of the wagon road. It was not the trip that I had imagined, but it was certainly an adventure. And to cap it off, just before I came out onto the main gravel road taking me to the highway, I saw a pronghorn. It was too far away for a good photograph, but this was only the second antelope I’ve seen in this area of the desert.