An Expedition to the 'Niagara of the North'
A rugged traveler describes a treacherous 1874 journey by canoe and foot to witness the majesty of Snoqualmie Falls.
The story, cleaned up
A cleaned-up reading of the newspaper page: spelling and layout repaired, one story lifted off a crowded page. It follows the original closely but it is not a transcription. The original page is below; read it if a detail matters.
Called by many the 'Niagara of the North,' these falls have a height of 270 feet, and their spray rises from 20 to 150 feet in height. Having heard their beauty described in the most glowing language by those who have ventured there, I resolved to test the accuracy of the description. I decided on a water route for the journey as it promised the greatest amount of novelty and adventure. Taking leave of Seattle on the steamer that arrives there weekly, I reached Snohomish in the afternoon. Here I engaged two Indians and a canoe to take me to the falls. Our journey required the most careful attention of the boatmen. We often passed between high cliffs where the waters swirled in a seething mass of foam. After the first day, we met no signs of human habitation; the only indications of life about us were the wildcat and panther. By noon of the third day, we came to the 'rapids—a boisterous, rushing, dashing series of cascades that extended over a distance of seven miles. After making herculean efforts, we managed to crawl over them in eight hours. Finally, we arrived within hearing of the deep roar of the falls, which were two miles distant. The roar of the water falling through the silent, dark, and gloomy forest seemed startling. I asked my swarthy guides to move some distance into the woods and chant the death-song of their tribe that I might make a comparison of melodies characterized by simplicity and primitiveness.
“The only indications of life about us were the wildcat and panther. This solitude seemed oppressive, for not a word was offered by the reddish yellow statues that mechanically plied their paddles from morning till night.”
While today's travelers reach Snoqualmie Falls via a quick drive on I-90, this account captures a time when the falls were a remote, nearly inaccessible wilderness landmark. It highlights the stark transition of the Pacific Northwest from a landscape navigated by Indigenous knowledge to one increasingly carved up for colonial industry and tourism.
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