In 1869, Peter Nelson, a Danish trader, homesteaded near Horsethief Butte and later, with his Indian wife Elizabeth, purchased more acreage for his son-in-law, Peter Jensen, another Dane. Jensen set himself up as a dairyman to supply local homesteaders and The Dalles with fresh milk.
I decided to delve into this story a little more as well as follow an old Indian trail up through the rimrock to the hills above. Setting out east from the Crawford Oaks Trailhead, I first encountered the remains of an old wagon road across Eightmile Creek at the base of Horsethief Tableland. I searched in vain for Peter Nelson’s unmarked grave, which is supposed to be across the creek from the Jensen homestead site, but the area is now covered with blackberries. Peter Jensen’s spring house, where he piped in spring water to keep his milk stores cool, is still there. It was once the oldest standing building in Klickitat County, but a construction crew for SR 14 accidentally burned the roof off. Soon, I passed the grove of locust trees which was the site of the Jensen homestead.
On the slopes across, I took note of rock corrals constructed around 1880 by a crew of Indian women for Jensen’s milk cows. Then I took a jaunt along the Fort Dalles-Fort Walla Walla Military Road, built during the Yakima Wars (1856-1858), which led east under high basalt ramparts.
From here on, I was in a land of myth. The area features in the lore of Native Americans, but before that it was the realm of ur-beings and spirits at a time when the above-world and the underworld traded, partied, and sometimes clashed violently. Much poetic license has been taken with the stories below – they exist only in fragments and much inference is needed to make sense of them.
First, I clambered about Walak’iklaami, the Bastion of Perdition, where Chilwitwapsux, Lord of the Underworld, posted minions to look over the Great River. Above were the high, sheer rock faces of Tnan K’shpali, with a dozen dark birds wheeling on the thermals, and there were spectacular views west to a certain butte and snow-capped peak.
From Walak’iklaami, I returned to the military road and soon reached Waypxt Tmish, the Vein of Life, which in those times ran powerfully and pristinely throughout the year. Waypxt Tmish took me up under shady maples to Chuush Ttmayima, the Pool of Maidens, and Chiish Lalupaa, a two-tiered waterfall splashing down the rimrock.
Here, the young women from Lord Xwixwi’s kingdom would bathe while guarded discreetly by a corps of soldiers, who kept their backs turned at all times. One day, a young warrior who was infatuated with one of the maidens turned to ogle. She saw his eager gaze and displayed herself to him but the soldier, taking one step forward, found himself turned into a column of silica-rich plagioclase basalt.
I looked up, and there was the poor warrior, Waachila Inaw, still gazing with soulful desire down on the Pool of Maidens.
Then, a determination had to be made – east or west? For somehow, I had to negotiate the sheer rimrock cliffs to reach the Kingdom of Xwixwi and its further sights.
I decided to go west first. Stopping at the base of the cliff, I examined Tanawit Tl’uya, the former opening to the Underworld, now blocked to all entry.
In times of peace, spirits from below the ground fraternized freely with Xwixwi’s people, who on feast days would pass through the opening to experience the delights below. After the Great Apocalypse [date lost in time], the tunnel collapsed and beings were stranded on one side or the other with no further trafficking between the two realms [Note: except by those impervious to physical barriers].
From the
tanawit, I looked up Watik’aas Mitash, a narrow passage hidden behind a tall slab of exfoliating basalt. I made my way up and came to a narrow cleft, about one foot wide, and had to take off my backpack to squeeze through and up in a little chimney move next to a basalt column at the top of the waterfall.
Watik’aas Mitash was the way to Xwixwi’s Kingdom for all those who were not warriors or the military: tradesmen, ostlers, tinkers, milkmaids, tech geeks, and other minions. Soldiers at Walak’iklaami would issue passwords (both lower and upper case letters plus at least one number and symbol) which changed daily. Where the way became very narrow, the password was asked. If it could not be given, the hapless entrant, trapped in the narrow cleft, would be unceremoniously speared and the carcass tossed over the precipice into Chiish Lalupaa’s upper grotto. The ttmayima would abstain from bathing after such an incident.
Now above the waterfall, I decided to descend again, crossing burbling Waypxt Tmish, to find the principal grail for the day: Pshwa Chilwitwapsux, the Devil’s Pass. There, below me, was the sad sentinel of Waachila Inaw. The Devil’s Pass is much wider than that of the minions, and is concealed behind a much more massive screen of exfoliating rock, invisible to all but those who know its presence. I descended to inspect Tnannak’it Wanaytt, some small lush springs at the base of the cliffs, and a second filmy waterfall before returning to the small valley above the pass.
I trudged up the valley, scattering a few deer, and reached the Pawaatla Waxpush, an altar of sacrifice ringed with the bones of large creatures now gone from the land. The altar stands above the Maw of Golgotha (Xwish Waxpush), where more bones (well, at least a couple) attested to the carnage of appeasement.
Citizens of Xwixwi’s Kingdom lived in fear of Waxpush, a large serpent-like dragon, who issued from the cliffs and demanded sacrifice or he would lay waste to their land. They kept Waxpush under a modicum of control by slaughtering large ungulates at the altar, lacing the carcasses with fermented hackberries so that Waxpush maintained a generally congenial, if undisciplined, demeanor.
