Burns and brothers, oregon and millican, oregon and new princeton and crane oregon and crystal crane hot springs

Wednesday, June 15 marked the first day of my twelve day trip to Cheyenne, Denver, Western Kansas and back to Oregon. Because rental cars were cheap and I hadn't driven through the West much in the past five years, I was very much looking forward to this trip. I have always preferred travel by driving to flying; I like to see the landscape change mile by mile; I like trying to get a "feel" of each town I enter; I like discovering interesting things that are not in the AAA Book or in the typical tourist guides. In short, I travel the same way I study the dictionary. I slowly put together little shards of knowledge to form a unique and, I hope, enticing view of things.

Brothers--As Far East of Bend as Sisters is West

In traveling from Salem to Boise I decided not only to avoid the interstates, but I also took side trips off the back roads. I took Oregon 20 over the Santiam Pass, where the traces of the Basket Fire of a few years ago were still everywhere present, and then continued through Bend and on towards Burns. I stopped for several minutes at a rest stop in Brothers, about 30 or so miles East of Bend. The readerboards were uncommonly helpful in describing the history of an area which most would consider had little or no history. Several towns, some of which are only commemorated today through geographical features (such as Hampton Buttes), grew up between Bend and Burns not far away from present-day Oregon 20 in the decade from 1910-1920. Whitaker was founded in 1911, Millican in 1913, Brothers in 1913 and Hampton in 1917. The years just before World War I were times of great optimism in Oregon and throughout the nation as the progressive spirit not only pervaded politics and religion but also agriculture. Enterprising settlers would make the Eastern Oregon desert bloom through hard work and application of "modern" agricultural techniques. As many as 60 homesteaders set up in Millican, for example, by 1920.

Yet, it didn't work. A traveler along the highway in 1930 could say that there were about 70 or 80 cottages between Bend and Burns but fewer than 20 seemed occupied; a few decades later almost all these had fallen down. In 1940 even Ripley got into the act, and his Believe it or Not pointed to Millican, OR as the smallest town in America--with one resident, William Rahn. A quotation from a contemporary said it best: "It usually took about five years for a man to arrive, build a house, fence some land, plow it, put in a crop, wait in vain for harvest, lose his money, geet tired of jackrabbit stew, and leave." Instead of rewarding settler's toil, the unforgiving soil and rain-free climate sapped every ounce out of them. "The land seemed to have absorbed everything and given nothing in return. It just lies there silently waiting--waiting for water--water for irrigation which has never come." What began with brimming optimism ended with coruscating failure soon after it began.

That this happened should really have been no surprise to the 20th century settlers, since 19th-early 20th century settlers couldn't make a go of life in this area either. Just north of Oregon 20 was the Meek Cutoff, through the Maury Mountains, discovered when some Oregon Trail pioneers from 1845 decided to seek a less dangerous route than either the Falls of the Columbia or the treacherous route near Mount Hood to the fertile Willamette Valley. This effort also led to failure. So towns, or at least settlements, were set up in those mountains-- Crook and Prize in 1886, Held and Barnes in 1909, for example--but never amounted to anything. It seemed that nature was going to have the last word in the 130 miles between Bend and Burns, and that still remains the case to a very large extent.

From Burns to Burns Junction

The "natural" way to go to Boise from Burns is to continue east on Oregon 20 through Vale and Ontario and then meet I-84 and speed into Boise, about 50 miles to the East. But I wanted to do it differently, and so I headed south along Route 78 from Burns to the rather nameless villages/post office stops of Crane, Princeton (also called New Princeton), Burns Junction, where I picked up 95 and headed to Rome Station and on to the border town of Jordan Valley, the "Basque" capital of Oregon. Route 78 is also called the East Steens scenic loop because it goes along the "backside" of those most dramatic mountains in Central Oregon, the Steens Mountains, which can be reached most directly by going south on route 205 from Burns. Looking Eastward from the Steens (off of 205), with a 2500-3000 foot drop to the desert below, provides one of the most arresting vistas in the Northwest. The East Steens highway (78) went too far "East" of the Steens to afford dramatic views of them. Nevertheless, Oregon 78 is also the gateway to the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, one of the relatively undiscovered jewels of the State of Oregon.

Oregon 78 from Burns to Burns Junction is about 1/3 of the length of the "Winnemucca-Burns" highway (there is also a Winnemucca-Boise Highway), and I, for one, will argue that this 95 miles is the "Loneliest Higway in America." I put the words in quotation marks because I recall about a decade ago driving along US 50 through Central Nevada--known as the "Loneliest Highway in America." But everyone, it seems, had read the same promotional brochure about US 50 being the loneliest highway because I recall it was quite crowded. However, I could go 8 -10 miles without meeting another vehicle along Oregon 78. And, as luck would have it, it is also the smoothest of all the roads. The 27 miles from Burns to Crane, for example, was a driver's dream; the miles glided by as smoothly as silk.

And then, there were the small memorable features. Crane has very little to offer; the village isn't even on the highway and doesn't have much of a magnet out for passing cars. However, on the highway is "Crystal Crane Hot Springs," boasting of pools and "private hot tubs" and other recreational opportunites for passersby or planners of lazy afternoons. Then, as one passes "New Princeton" (I don't know where the old one is), all one sees is an American flag sticking out of a little shack, as if the USA had claimed ground in some forbidding clime or far-off land. Well, it was a US Post Office, and they had to show the colors. And, last but not least--the road rose up to more than 5,000 feet in elevation as I raced south. We truly were in the high desert, with the Steens over to the West and a ridge of hills, honeycombed with lava beds, to the East. And, right in the middle of it all, where high desert stretched miles in each direction, I entered Mountain time. No distinctive geographical feature, such as the Blue Mountains or a state border, to separate time zones here. And, I will be in Mountain Time for next several days, even as I enter into Western Kansas. That is one thing, nearly the only thing, that Oregon and Kansas share; the same time zone in the narrowest band of Eastern (OR) and Western (KS) counties.

The fun is just beginning.

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