Scotts Mills Falls

Next up we're checking out Scotts Mills Falls, in the small city of Scotts Mills, pop. 419 (2020), located about halfway between Molalla and Silverton and a couple of miles east of Highway 213, the most direct line between the two, if that makes any sense. It's also about five miles (as the crow flies) west of Wilhoit Springs, a once-famous place we visited in a recent post, and six from the epicenter of the 1993 Scotts Mills earthquake. Which is one and only thing the town is semi-famous for here in faraway Portland.

The town's little downtown area is bordered to the east by Butte Creek, a large tributary of the Pudding River (no, really, that's what it's called), which meanders around and eventually joins the Willamette somewhere around Canby. The waterfall is right in town... ok, looking closely at Google Maps it looks like the city limit kind of zigzags through the falls, running right along the brink of the falls for a bit and swerving to avoid most of the decrepit low dam just upstream of it, as well as the Marion County park centered on the falls and the old mill pond. Maybe this is to dodge liability for various things, like the occasional drownings here (like one in 2021 a few weeks before I took these photos), or in case the dam collapses before the proposed dam removal finally happens. (As of February 2025 the removal is on hold due to handwringing at the county level.)

I should pause here briefly to note that there's also a Scotts Mills City Park, a few blocks further downstream along the creek, and visitors seem to endlessly confuse the two. A recent one-star Google review complained about the park being overwhelmed with drugs and crime and drinking and illegal overnight camping, which quickly got an indignant reply from an anonymous city staffer, who said the reviewer must be thinking of the nearby county park, which is not the city's problem, and the reviewer should contact the Marion County sheriff's office in case of trouble way out there (a few blocks away).

And if you're more interested in visiting waterfalls than city parks, there are a couple of others further up Butte Creek, namely Upper and Lower Butte Creek Falls. And this the part where I awkwardly point out that I've been there and have photos of both waterfalls and I have no frickin' idea when I might finish the draft posts about them.

If you go browsing around the waterfall maps attached to those pages, you might notice there's one called Bear Creek Falls in the general vicinity. I haven't been to that one, but I gather it's a bit underwhelming, and (more importantly) it has one fairly ominous-sounding one-star Google review: "Stay away would rather not have new people around". I am probably not alone in noticing that people in deep rural parts of the state seem to be a lot more hostile since the pandemic. I could be wrong here, but as I understand it, city folks and other outsiders were never exactly welcome out in the woods, but at least they were a good traditional source of meat for your family, and no pesky bag limit, either. But then COVID came along, and now the odds are pretty good you might chow down on some vaccinated folks this way and get a belly full of those gosh-dang confernal 5G nanobots for your trouble. It's not hard to see why the locals would be feeling a bit ornery after dealing with all that.

Anyway... the dam is obviously very old, but nobody seems to agree on its exact age. The county Soil & Water Conservation District says it was built by PGE for hydropower in 1917 and then abandoned in 1954 after it was damaged by a flood and judged not worth fixing. A 2019 article about the dam at OurTown Community News (a local news site) says it was built between 1860 and 1870. A 2020 Salem Statesman-Journal article says it's from the 1850s, and an article at SHINE on Salem (a history site about Marion County) notes that a mill was built here in 1846, and the dam was already in place at that point.

So who knows, really. Maybe the dam has always been there. Maybe Bigfoot built it for hydropower, countless millennia ago, back before the Ice Age floods wiped away all other traces of their highly advanced society. Or maybe it's much older than that, even, and it was built by the sentient dinosaurs from that one Voyager episode, but way back in their medieval days, long before they escaped the coming asteroid and headed off to wander the galaxy. And what if the dam was built to imprison some kind of ancient evil deep beneath the mill pond for the last 65 million years, and demolishing the dam would unleash a new plague of zombo-raptors against our unprepared world. And what if the present-day locals know all about this somehow, maybe through some kind of hidden device that still transmits occasional warning dreams of that ancient lost age. Although of course you can't say that in front of the county commissioners, or the state salmon regulators, or any of the other outsiders, people who would just laugh at you, people who have never dozed off after a picnic near the dam on a lazy afternoon and then had The Dream. I mean, I'm just speculating here, but it would certainly explain all the local opposition to removing the dam.

Naturally the city's history page mentions none of that but does relate a curious detail about the town's early days. Starting in 1888, the Oregon Land Development Co. promoted the town as a Quaker-friendly town and persuaded people to move there on that basis, and promised various modern urban amenities that never panned out. The company eventually went under in 1902, bringing financial ruin to a lot of residents. Maybe I'm just a cynic in assuming it was a scam the entire time. Fourteen years is an exceptionally long time to wait for a log con to pan out. On the other hand, if you set out planning to swindle an entire town out of their life savings, it's always safer to swindle a bunch of pacifists.

More history and related news from across the greater Scotts Mills metro area:

• The very first mention of the town in the Oregonian was back in 1877, in connection with a homicide case. In which a witness testified that he had never even heard of Scott's Mills.
  
• On a brighter note, here's a March 1893 blurb on the then-flourishing Quaker colony. We're told they were trying their hand at growing grapes. They were about a century ahead of their time, I guess.
  
• The SHINE page up above mentions that the town's boom times in the early 20th century were due to three pillars of the economy: The mills, obviously, along with prune growing, and "mining speculation". And yes, as a matter of fact I do have a bunch of old news links about what that means, exactly:
  
• July 1907, the Journal breathlessly reported that coal had been discovered somewhere near Scotts Mills, it was of the very finest quality, and the recently-formed Diamond Coal Company would have it on the Portland market soon, undercutting the other available options.
  
• the next month, news came that a branch rail line was coming soon, and this line would haul Scotts Mills coal to market and bring general commerce and progress and whatnot to town, though the actual mining would have to wait for a bit until they could find enough skilled miners, apparently.
  
• in the middle of coal fever, August 1908 saw a failed scam attempt that ended up in court. Seems that one D.C. Forbes tried to interest a couple of local businessmen in his amazing new gold-finding widget, after salting the mine in question with just enough gold to make it demo well. After a couple of days employing the device at the mine, Forbes feigned illness and left. Normally this is the point where a professional swindler would skip town with his jackpot, grow a luxurious handlebar mustache (or shave it off if he currently sports one), and then resurface in Colorado as "A.G. Williamson", inventor of a miracle gold-finding gadget. But Forbes screwed it up: The local marks were at least a little skeptical and only agreed to lease the device for 30 days to test it out properly, saying they'd buy it if they were satisfied at that point. (Note to scammers: Never agree to this, especially if your device doesn't work.) Which meant Forbes had to stick around another 30 days without their money, and somehow string the marks along and keep them thinking the device was working the whole time. Seeding the mine with a month's gold production would've been prohibitively expensive, so I'm not sure how he intended to pull this off. In any event, the unsatisfied customers declined to buy the gizmo. (Note to scammers: This would have been another good point to slink away emptyhanded and try again elsewhere, if you haven't already.) Ah, but Forbes was a very persistent man, and decided to sue his escaped prey, asking the court to make them pay up. He also accused the pair of seeding the mine themselves in order to sell it or attract unwary investors, although he had no actual evidence they had tried doing so.
• Court case had been filed a few days earlier. An article on August 26th covers the claims of the Hydraulic Gravity Separator Co. against the pair

• August 28th longer article summarizing (and snarking about) the case:

  Peculiarly enough the public’s only interest in this mining venture is one of morbid curiosity. The public has no equity in the company’s lands or bonanzas. It is one of the very few cases on record where everybody gets hurt except the dear old public.
  
  ...
  
  Stripping these papers of their superfluous verbiage, the public is able to get an excellent idea of the modus operandi in mining bonanzas of a certain class.

  Apparently Mr. Swift (one of the two local investors) was very eager to start touting mining stock, even though the very existence of any actual gold here was currently being argued in court. Which is another hint that their operation was not exactly above board either.

• A January 1909 item recounts the competing claims in the case.
• A ruling came the next day, essentially tossing everyone out of the courtroom emptyhanded. First, no persuasive evidence had been introduced that anyone had seeded the mine, so the mine's proprietors couldn't collect on that count. And as for the 30 day try-before-u-buy arrangement, Forbes and his firm had never actually gotten this in writing.
• Two years later in June 1909, the Oregonian finally caught wind of the still-imminent coal mine, and reported breathlessly about it. That's the last we hear of the coal scheme in the paper.
• A related gold-mining case was still ongoing in December 1911, however. This time one of the three partners in the Hydraulic Gravity Separator Co. was suing the other two. The judge became fed up with all parties to the dispute and dismissed the case, declaring "he was not sitting in equity for the purpose of dividing spoils among thieves". He then declared that one of the defendants in this civil case really ought to be indicted for forgery and imprisoned, and personally walked over to the DA's office to persuade him to do so. Though I couldn't find any news on how that followup case had gone.
• However there were a few appearances of a Portland-based Diamond Coal Co. in the news in the 1920s and 1930s, but it's not clear whether it was the same company. If so, they got a new delivery truck in 1920, and experienced several failed burglaries starting in 1929.
• A 1948 article related the story of Ted Mandrones, who had been quietly mining coal in the Wilhoit Springs area as a virtual one-man operation for much of the last decade, trying to convince skeptics and find investors for his operation.
• Er, meanwhile, the fish ladder here dates back all the way to 1924, or at least that was the date on the first one, which may or may not be the current one.
• A 1932 Journal article notes Scotts Mills was on the road to Moss Lake, where (we're told) aquatic plants grew in such a thick, dense layer that you could walk on it, and reportedly it could even sustain the weight of an adult bear. This layer was supported in part by swamp gas, such that a lit match would burn briefly like you were lighting a gas stove. Which seems like an unwise thing to do while standing on this aquatic plant layer, unless maybe a bear is chasing you. Google has a location for this natural wonder here, but the only visible lake on the map is here, about a mile to the SE of where Google thinks it is. It seems to fit the description -- steep sides around the lake, floating biomass seemingly on the surface, in the upper Butte Creek watershed, with a nearby road named "Moss Lane" just off Crooked Finger Road. Looks like it's had a few nearby clearcuts in recent decades, and the lake is only maybe 1/4 covered now, versus nearly entirely so in 1932.
• 1967, Clackamas County was given three acres of land constituting 1000' of frontage along Butte Creek, about four miles upstream from Scotts Mills, to be known as the "Fryberger Wayside". Which I don't see any record of on the interwebs, but that wouldn't be the first chunk of Clackamas-owned parkland they've forgotten or lost track of. Can think of a couple along the Sandy River off the top of my head that don't appear on their official list.
• 1988 story, the park was closed temporarily by the county sheriff due to fights between hispanic and anglo residents. The paper interviewed several people with Anglo names relating a variety of lurid incidents they had either seen or heard local rumors about, like people going to the park to wash laundry in the creek. In nearby Silverton the city council had recently voted to deport the town's non-citizen hispanic population, estimated at several hundred people, only to find out there was currently a federal moratorium in place on deporting agricultural workers.
• 2004 Foster Church column, just sort of wandering around Molalla and surrounding towns in the dead of winter, chatting up the locals. He did stop in Scotts Mills for a bit but look at the falls for a bit.

Waespe Falls

Next up we're visiting Waespe Falls, one of the tall seasonal waterfalls between Multnomah Falls and Oneonta Creek. This is a short distance east from Nesika Falls, its equally obscure neighbor just down the road. Of the two, this one has probably been glimpsed by more people; if you start at the Oneonta trailhead and follow the trail uphill a short distance to the junction with Gorge Trail #400. Just west of there the 400 crosses a small stream. If the creek is flowing, look uphill from there. It's a steep talus slope mixed with trees and vegetation, and includes a bit of old stone wall that -- I think -- was built as a rockslide barrier and isn't part of an abandoned road or trail. Beyond that and higher up, the steep slope becomes a high basalt cliff, and the falls are where the nearby creek tumbles off that cliff. Alternately if the creek is flowing and the forest isn't too overgrown it may be visible on Street View, like here for example.

Like Nesika, the name is of fairly recent origin and either originated or was popularized on the OregonHikers forums. In particular, the oldest references to it by name -- any name -- that I've seen anywhere on the interwebs are a pair of 2011 OregonHikers threads. Which were followed by later ones in 2013 and 2022, and most of these involved someone bushwhacking up to the falls by following the creek straight uphill. Some people reported that the climb was "easy", while others found it impossible, mostly due to all the loose rocks they had to struggle through. One of the posters who made it to the base posted some photos to SmugMug like this one. And those links along with the Northwest Waterfall Survey page linked up above are about the only information there is about it online.

The name is also not official, or really recognized much beyond the Northwest hiking and waterfall hunting corners of the internet. It's derived from Waespe Point, a prominent rock formation next door to the falls. And the point was named in 1983 to honor the late Henry Waespe, a prominent local citizen and president of the Trails Club in the 1950s. I have no idea how to pronounce that name properly, but I think the name of the falls should be pronounced "wispy" even if he didn't say it that way himself, because it just sort of fits that way.

As with Nesika Falls, Waespe Falls is rather tall (when it hasn't run dry for the year), and there are no published numbers on exactly how tall. So let's go back to Oregon's official state LIDAR map and see if we can figure that out. On the state LIDAR map, with both the "Bare Earth Lidar Hillshade" and "Bare Earth Slope (degrees)" enabled, pick two points on the creek that are as close to what appears to be the top and bottom of the falls, without actually being part of any vertical drop. The lowest-slope points you can find on either end, so ideally the top is just before the stream abruptly falls off a cliff, and the bottom point is anywhere on the perfectly flat and calm pool the falls drop into. If you don't try to do this, your results may vary widely depending on exactly which pixel you clicked on this time and exactly how the map converts that into six decimal places of latitude and longitude. I like to try this a couple of times to see whether the numbers are anything close to reproducible. In any case it might be useful to think of this as giving an upper bound, like you probably won't come in short of the actual height unless you're doing it all wrong. So, bearing that in mind, and note that I'm counting what looks like three adjacent tiers together as one big waterfall (and using these top and bottom points), it seems to be around 425' high, roughly the same height as Nesika.

Since I was in the area, so to speak, I did the same thing with a couple of other intermittent streams in the short distance between Waespe Falls and Oneonta Gorge. The first one east of Waespe comes to "just" 240' and may disappear into a talus slope after that. (top, bottom), while the next-east one from there seems to come to around 650' in 4 distinct tiers (top, bottom), and a third immediately east of that (top, bottom) comes in at around 385' in 3 tiers, and it also seems to sink into the ground below the drop. So none of these are going to be very substantial and I don't recall ever seeing any of them flowing in person, either close up or from a distance. I suspect they go beyond "seasonal" into "ephemeral" territory and only flow during and maybe right after a big rainstorm and are otherwise dry year-round. I tend to draw a line there as for what's included in this ongoing project, for the very practical reason that if something only flows during a big storm, it means you have to do a lot of hiking during big storms. And in this part of the world, doing that means spending a lot of additional time being cold and miserable, which I am generally opposed to.

Meanwhile to the west of Waespe, between it and Nesika Falls, is the big talus slope that's home to the "Fire Escape Trail", which we already covered in the Nesika post.

Also (going by the very terse directions) the falls might become an ice climbing spot known (as of 2019) as Unfinished Business; Northwest Oregon Rock (published that year) noted it was about 200' high and up to that point nobody had climbed it past the first 80 feet or so. We haven't had a lot of extended cold snaps since 2019 around here, so that matter may still be unfinished, as far as I know. I can tell you it won't be me who climbs it; I only bought the book because it's kind of a whole alternate geography overlaid on a part of the world I know reasonably well, and because it turns out that some of the best ice climbing spots in the Gorge double as very photogenic (yet very obscure) seasonal waterfalls when they aren't frozen.

I checked the Oregonian database to see if anyone mentioned seeing a waterfall near the Oneonta trailhead before the internet. I don't think I found anything like that, but somehow came away with a bunch of links anyway. As usual, this is the part of the post where it helps to have a Multnomah County library card so that the links below actually take you somewhere useful.

(If I wanted to go off on a very long tangent here, and thought anyone might be interested enough to read it, or I was interested enough to write it anyway, Waespe's family was socially prominent enough that you could assemble a whole biography of him just from newspaper articles. From birth announcement to obit, with society weddings and business and philanthropic stuff in between, and leading a lot of Trails Club hikes over the years. But that would be quite a long tangent and if you're really that curious you're welcome to get out your Multnomah County library card and go write that book (or at least a Wikipedia bio, or something).)

• An October 1934 story on the shiny new Horsetail-Oneonta Loop, just completed by WPA workers. The author describes both creeks in great detail, including a number of side trails that are either lost or abandoned now, like one to what it called "Pathfinder falls", a pair of waterfalls between Triple Falls and the first trail bridge on Oneonta Creek (there's a second bridge above Triple Falls, and maybe more further up.) One of those would have to be Upper Oneonta Falls (or Middle depending on whose naming scheme you use), but I have no idea what the other one would be. The article doesn't mention anything Waespe-like, but at the end he does say there are a lot more sights and side trails beyond those he just told us about.
• A 1939 story about good picnic spots in the Gorge. Says people overlook the trailhead and just think of the Oneonta Gorge itself, which is basically still true, even though it's been closed since 2017 due to the fire. The trailhead itself isn't very photogenic on its own.
• A 1953 story concerning a timber swap between the Forest Service and a timber company that preserved some land along Oneonta Creek, trading for land of equal value somewhere outside the Gorge. A little mixing business with philanthropy: You get positive headlines, and the equal value swap gets you more land and trees. The article suggests the swap would make possible an alarming idea that was making the rounds at the time:
  
  

  Its becoming a part of the public preserve will make more feasible a road up the Oneonta trail, which would cross the Oneonta near a triple falls and approach the upper Horsetail falls before descending again at Ainsworth state park on the old Columbia highway.

• A 1970Leverett Richards article on the Horsetail-Oneonta loop, which he refers to as a "granny trail". Mentions that the trail forks near the end and you should take the right fork to get down to the highway. Doesn't say where the other fork goes, assume it's some predecessor of Trail 400 but it seems a bit early for that.
• In a sign that the 1970s really were an extremely long time ago, a 1971 story about Multnomah County sheriffs deputies setting up a sting to catch car prowlers. Now they just sort of accept that nothing can be done about it, any more than you can affect the weather, and it's probably your fault anyway for having objects (valuable or otherwise) in your car, and really for going outside in the first place when you should be in church or cowering at home watching Fox News.
• November 1979 Roberta Lowe article in the Oregon Journal, laying out a hike starting at the deeply obscure Exit 35 trailhead and ending at the Oneonta trailhead, these points chosen because Trail 400 on either side of those was still unfinished. For people looking for an advanced challenge, this article -- in a major urban daily newspaper -- explains how to find the 'infamous' Mystery Trail, which (almost) nobody on the internet will even give you directions to now because someone might try it and get hurt. You can be sure it's dangerous when even she says not to go beyond the first 3/10 mile on it, though she also insists that initial segment is a "fun side trip". I should note that present-day conventional wisdom holds that this is a down-only trail and taking it uphill would be an ridiculous idea. On the other hand, the newspaper archives show Mazamas hikes doing exactly that on a semi-regular basis back in the 1930s and 1940s, and the instructions don't say anything about bringing a can of spinach to chug for energy, so who knows.
• March 1980, Lowe on the nearly complete Ak-Wanee Trail, an old name for the Multnomah-Oneonta segment of Trail 400. Mentions the Elevator Shaft branch and the abandoned spur trail to Nesika Falls, but nothing about another seasonal falls near the Oneonta trailhead. Does mention the unnamed 'turnout' for the 400 down from Nesika Falls at least
• July 1982, some killjoy editor must have pestered Roberta Lowe to cover some hikes for mere mortals for a change. Her idea of this was setting up a car shuttle and doing the Oneonta Trail as a "lazy, downhill trip" from the top of Larch Mountain. Which, yes, is downhill. For 8 miles. And to spice up the trip without making the hike itself harder, she notes that you can shave 8.5 miles off the car shuttling part of the trip by taking Palmer Mill Road (a steep, narrow gravel road, at times with a sheer dropoff into Bridal Veil Creek) instead of driving all the way west to the ordinary Larch Mtn. Rd. junction west of the Vista House. You can still do the lower part of that to where Palmer is closed to vehicle traffic and then follow Brower Rd. up instead, which saves miles but not as many. Energy crisis was barely in the rear view mirror then, and we have high gas prices and inflation again now, so I'm not telling you not to do this; just saying it's not exactly a luxurious driving experience, and your vehicle is probably larger (and wider) than the average car of 1982.
• It was back to business as usual in August, with a 9.6 mile loop along the Franklin Ridge Trail, and a 10 mile loop that includes a trip up the unofficial and rather steep Rock of Ages Trail. Because when your newspaper is going out of business in another week or two, you might as well swing for the fences.
• Within a couple of years the Oregonian decided the Lowes were ok; here's a 1987 piece on the long-abandonded but newly reopened Bell Creek trail. Bell Creek is an Oneonta Creek tributary that begins on the upper reaches of Larch Mountain, and is remote enough -- and/or lucky enough -- to be home to a grove of genuine old growth trees.

Dog Creek Falls

Next up we're visiting Dog Creek Falls, on the Washington side of the Columbia Gorge. It's a little turnout off SR14, east of the famous Dog Mountain. I was in the area looking for something else, and saw a sign labeled "Dog Creek Falls". That name didn't ring a bell to me so I figured I should at least stop and have a look. A very short trail leads to the base of what is, frankly, a fairly average waterfall, and no marked trails -- or any unmarked-but-obvious ones -- continue on from there. So I took a few photos and continued on my merry way.

It turns out that the part you can easily see from the base doesn't even scratch the surface of what's up there, including at least one more waterfall, about 70' high. But I gather the trip is difficult and highly technical and generally involves starting at the top and descending with ropes and lots of expensive spiky bits, and (long story short) that's why I have exactly zero photos of what's up there, and a short list of links and whatnot.

• A short video of Dog Creek above the falls
• old Canyoneering Northwest page (via the Wayback Machine)
• RopeWiki pages about the upper and lower segments of the creek
• Zach Forsyth's Waterfalls of the Columbia Gorge (2018) relates a story of local law enforcement busting an illegal weed grow somewhere high up in the Dog Creek watershed back in August 2007, and then realizing they'd bitten off more than they could handle when it was time to go home. They ended up spending the night up there and were rescued the next day by local search and rescue teams.
• The one and only historical news item I have for Dog Creek Falls comes from July 1987: The Forest Service had recently bought the land around the falls from the Trust for Public Land and wanted public input on what to do with the place.
• Has been the subject of OregonHikers forum threads now and then. Four from 2009 (which in retrospect was the heyday of the site), and one each from 2010, 2011, and 2018 [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]