The Willamette River: Settler's Highway

Jeffrey Butts

The Willamette River, the largest river wholly inside of Oregon and one of the few rivers in North America that drains from south to north, is nothing like it was 150 years ago. The lower Willamette runs from the Falls in Oregon City to the coast. The middle Willamette drains the fertile farmlands between the falls and Eugene. The upper river drains the mountains on the southern edge of the valley. Getting the crops from the valley to deep-water ports on the lower river was no easy task. Before the railroads and before any semblance of year 'round roads, the river was the main commercial conduit. And what a river it was. Oregon is known for its' rain and during flood years the channels of the river could be completely redefined. During the thirty years or so beginning in the late 1840's, until the arrival of the Railroad in 1871, the river was the highway of commerce and major communities were established around boat docks and grain storage barns. In many cases all that is left of these population hubs now is little more than a memory and some old roads and pilings. In a few rare instances, some towns still exist. On a recent (hot) July Saturday I set out in search of some of those communities. This, then, is a drive to the Willamette Landings.

There are three ferryboats that still cross the middle Willamette. The first of these, at Canby, I had been on before so I elected to skip that side of the river and start my journey at the Willamette Falls. My first stop was at the Farm Toy store in Oregon City, at the foot of the West Linn Bridge. Much to my surprise, they were no longer there. I don't know if you recall my story on this mom-and-pop store but the building itself had as much history as the owners had toys, including a genuine ghost story. It turns out that a couple of wealthy foreigners purchased the building and by virtue of raising the rent to stratospheric levels, forced out the toy store on the bottom floor and the dentist on the top. The building is still empty, providing a tax shelter that rankles me, and the toy store has relocated down the street in a smaller shop.

Oregon City gets a lot of ink. It was a major hub and a seat of considerable political weight in Oregon's early days. In spite of many claims to the contrary, it is indeed the end of the Oregon Trail. Other towns that boast that they are the "real" trail's end, they are more like secondary destinations, pretty in their own right, but the commerce and power was in Oregon City. Just above the falls, on the west side, was Linn City. This was not the West Linn of today, high on the bluff, but a good-sized town on the banks of the river. It lasted until 1861 when a fire in April gave it a jab to the nose and Oregon's most famous flood, in November of that year, finished it off with a hook to the chin. The water level at the falls was 55 feet above the summer norm.

On the east side of the falls, Highway 99E leaves town and heads south towards Canby. Just before you get out of the built up, if you look carefully, you will see the name of Canemah above the street signs on either side of the highway. Mind you, the community only extends about a block to either side of the highway, but it's there. Canemah was a gravelly beach where the Indians would beach their canoes prior to or after portage from the falls. In the early 1840's, it too was a center of commerce and boating, this time for the white man. While canoes and flat boats (think Davey Crockett and Mike Finn) normally plied the middle Willamette, they began to build paddle wheelers to get the crops from the valley to the markets of Oregon City and Portland. These were steam engine boats, the 30hp engines coming round the horn at considerable expense. The boats were not small by any means. Originally, side-wheel boats were built but within ten years they were putting out real river craft. In the heyday of the 1850's, 10 boats were launched from the Canemah docks. Much like the modern ferries that run on Puget Sound today, the main deck had a superstructure that wagons and teams could be loaded on. The second deck was a passenger deck, the third a crew deck and it was topped with a wheelhouse. These shallow draft riverboats ran from 90 to 150 feet in length and the larger ones were well over 120 tons.

Oooops. Sorry, I lost track of my ride. I turned west down Jerome Street and met a family that was working on the gangplank to their floating dock, tied to which was a nifty little pontoon equipped single engine plane (photo left). Their house sits at the edge of the little bluff with the only division between their front yard and the path to the river is the Burlington Northern track. Not sure I'd want such a thing in my front yard but kept my thoughts to myself as I talked to the young wife who was holding her child as a fast moving freight sped by.

Just south a couple of miles I turned off the highway onto South End Road in search of New Era. A "spiritualist" camp, I could find no trace of it. I'm sure it was there but the only spirits I saw were those of a hopeful family at their yard sale. Sorry. Back down to the highway and on towards Canby. I was looking for the old Boone's landing, for which Boone's Ferry Road is named. The other side of the river is Wilsonville but the ferry no longer exists, apparently out of service since 1954. Now a boat dock, this landing in the shadow of the I-5 Boone's Bridge was once on the main road between Portland and the 1849 California gold rush.

On the road again and headed to Butteville. When I told Scott about the ride he said that when he was little and we used to take Easter trips to California, he and his brother would joke about the name. Butt ville. Originally though, it was La Butte, named for a prominent hill a mile to the south. Oregon wheat was shipped from here to the Sandwich Islands (there's just got to be a joke there somewhere). Although mostly wiped out by the 1861 flood, literally put 7 feet under, it was rebuilt and continued on quite successfully. The railroad finally dealt it a deathblow by virtue of bypassing the town entirely. I stopped at the Butteville Store for a sandwich. Sitting out on the front porch eating I watched a steady parade of cyclists ride by. Drive on, Dude, this sandwich is great but you don't want to stop. Heh heh. The sign on the store marquee said that this was the oldest continuously operating store in the state (1851), a claim I also saw on the King's Valley store. Who's gonna ask? As I walked down to the river in search of the site of the old landing, I passed a nicely restored grounds and "mansion" of one of the town's original high rollers (photo right). The landscaping is terraced and the grounds are well maintained. Although there is a sign marking public vs. private property on the trail down to the water, it is unobtrusive and I suspect that they routinely have to shoo away nosey tourists. I did not want to fall into that category but I could not resist snapping a couple of photos of the home. Interestingly, the front does not face the town or the road but the river, from which most of the visitors came when the original homeowners lived there. I walked around town a bit, including up to the church, a sad little building with a sign promising a new home soon. The bell outside purports to be from Champoeg, washed downriver in the 1861 flood.

Off again I go, this time the destination is Champoeg (Cham-poo-ick), once a major point of commerce for the entire French Prairie region and the site of the first activities to establish civil government in the region. Much is written about the events that led to the formation of the judicial center of the legislative district stretching from the coast to the Rockies and from California to the Canadian border. I'll leave it to you to look it up if you're interested but I cannot resist telling the tale of the "big meeting." Understand that the population in and around the river landing known as Champoeg was made up of American trappers and mountain men from such companies as Astor's American Fur Company and Pacific Fur Company and their French counterparts, primarily from Hudson's Bay Company. The issue was whether or not to form a government and, with 102 men present, it was settled dramatically by having for and against line up on opposite sides of the clearing. The swing vote was decided when two French trappers were persuaded to join the Americans and the rest was history. No hanging chad. At the time, the Oregon territory had about 250 Americans living here (according to one of my history books) but by the 1860's, Champoeg and the area around it had grown to around 150 houses and multiple supporting commercial buildings. The flood of 1861 wiped them out. The location of the park now was 7 feet underwater.

Leaving the park, I continue on Riverside drive. Homes here run the gamut from tony farms to singlewide mobiles. The road is relatively flat but twists as it follows the river channel to the west. As I zip around one corner I come upon a beautiful rose garden that stretches out on both sides of the road (photo left). I could not resist stopping and "smelling the roses." I take these trips solo, you know. Stephanie is not fond of my enthusiastic driving style and tends to be less than excited about poking around in moldy spots looking for Oregon history. I can never go wrong with a gift though and the store at the Heirloom Rose Garden offered a perfect opportunity.

Into St Paul, home of a famous local rodeo and also the heart of the French Prairie. There is a wonderful church here, the site of the oldest Catholic parish in the state (dating from the mid-1830's). I didn't see any choirboys; then again, I wasn't looking. South out of town, I was looking for Fairfield, a pretty major Willamette Landing according to what I had read. All I could find was the Grange Hall. The road that I thought I should take looked like a long driveway to someone's home and I was not eager to go poking around someone else's farm so that particular side trip was aborted and I went to Wheatland. To get there, you turn on Matheny Road. Matheny was a veteran Army officer who, accompanied by his wife and seven children, bought land and platted a town he called Atchison at the edge of the river. Farmer's from the west side of the river would bring their wheat to the shore and use the ferry Matheny had constructed to sell their crop at the warehouse on the east bank. Wagons and teams from the east side would use the ferry to cross to the west to head to Astoria and other locations on the coast. Matheny had the first ferryboat on the Willamette that was capable of transporting a wagon and ox team. What with all the shipping of wheat, the name never took and Wheatland is how it was known. In 1889 the population had grown (in spite of the floods) to over 300 and Wheatland sported two hotels. Now all that remains is a ferry and it was the first I used today. I almost got hung up getting off it though. There are plenty of signs warning you that the gummint is not responsible for your low-riding car. Thank goodness I didn't have the 914. As I drove down the steel ramp exiting the ferry, the cement grade up to the shore caught the bottom of the 911. I had a fleeting vision of being stuck and the boat pulling back thereby depositing the ass of the 911 in the river. Didn't happen. Car made it out with no damage but I can tell you this; if the clearance between road and the lowest part of your car is anything less than six and a half inches, stay off the ferry. I won't tell you what to use for measuring.

Now I head south and skirt the NW corner of the capitol with Highway 51 and Independence as my target. I have to cross Eola Heights, a posh Salem neighborhood. I've never been a big fan of Salem but this is a very nice spot. I drive into Independence, one of my favorite Oregon towns. It retains the look of a hundred years ago and, although I did not stop there this time, has a wonderful soda fountain on the main corner in town. The town has made a nice pavilion overlooking the river. The site of the riverboat landing has been turned into a boat ramp, a logical and common site that I have seen today. Looking back up to town is a peaceful view and the park, bathed in sunlight, almost makes me want to move here today.

I head south again, and turn off onto Buena Vista Road. I am searching for Hopville. Hopville is mentioned in none of my books but does exist on one of my maps. I find a collection of houses (and a dog who chases the car). It must be the place. Continuing on I head to Buena Vista.

Buena Vista was another town from the past. A riverboat landing here served a prosperous pottery industry. It may seem like a poor thing to brag about but the business was so successful that Buena Vista manufactured most of the sewer lines for Portland and many other Oregon cities. Portland's sewer system is only just being replaced, over 100 years later. All of that is gone now but the landing remains and now supports yet another little ferryboat operation onto which I board. The ferry crosses the river just upstream of Wells Island. On the west side, the water races across a rocky shoal and you get some idea of how fast the river runs. On this boat the 911 easily clears the grade going both on and off.

Once on the other side I check my watch and notice I have been exploring for about six hours so a quick hop east and I hook up with I-5 for the hour it will take me to get back home. Gosh I love this place. There is so much to see and it almost all has a story to go along with it. I know for a fact that there are more roads than I can travel and, for me, that is good news.