The Deschutes Railroad War is A Race for Oregon’s Natural Resources

The Deschutes River Railroad War in the early 1900s shaped the future of Central Oregon. Without railroad tycoons James J. Hill’s and Edward Harriman’s animosity towards each other, the area would look different than today. The battle royale played out along the steep river banks of the Deschutes and in the courtrooms of Portland.

On paper, Central Oregon was considered a high desert. However,  the landscape held an important commodity—water was a necessity to irrigate the parched land. It also held another important commodity. In 1905, Israel C. Russell with the U.S. Geological Survey issued a report, Geology and Water Resources of Central Oregon, extolling the natural resources in the area: “The yellow pine forests [in the] central part of Oregon are not only extensive, but contain magnificent, well-grown trees, which will be of great commercial value when railroads shall have been built.”

The possibilities of getting a railroad into Central Oregon seemed bleak in the early 1900s. In his book, In the Oregon Country, George Palmer Putnam described the area as a “railless land, the largest territory in the United States without transportation.” At the time, Putnam had yet to purchase The Bend Bulletin or become Bend’s mayor. Nonetheless, he was a booster who believed that the area’s farm and timber products were worthless without a way to market. As he put it bluntly, “In Central Oregon the railroad question was one of life and death.”

That changed in 1909 when Hill and Harriman decided to build two separate tracks up the Deschutes River.

Two Men and Two Railroads

Although Hill and Harriman interacted professionally during their business dealings, privately, they despised each other. In 1901, Harriman tried to corner the market of Northern Pacific to gain voting power in the company controlled by Hill. The take-over failed and ended in a near stock market crash. “Hill and Harriman were interested in connecting with the Central Pacific route which had reached Klamath Falls by that point,” said Paul Claeyssens, owner of Heritage Stewardship Group in Bend. “They wanted to open the markets from the east side of the Cascades to California.” 

Russell’s report about Central Oregon must have whetted Hill’s and Harriman’s appetites. Whoever won the “war” would see a hefty return on investment. Hill got standing ovations when he visited Portland’s Lewis & Clark Exposition in October 1905. He had just announced plans for the construction of the North Bank railroad along the Columbia River. He would finish the line in February 1908 as a stepping-off point towards Central Oregon.

Harriman incorporated the Des Chutes Railroad in 1906 with the expressed purpose of building a line into Central Oregon. Two years later, Harriman was far from ready to start construction. For many Central Oregonians, the issue could be summoned up as; “Harriman promises. Hill builds.” Finally, by mid-1909, Hill and Harriman, egged on by each other, started construction.

The Race Was On

The most efficient way into Oregon’s interior went up the Deschutes River from The Dalles, where both Hill and Harriman had existing tracks. Hill’s engineer and president of the Oregon Trunk Railway, John F. Stevens contracted the Porter Brothers to build on the west side of the Deschutes River while J.P. O’Brien contracted the Twohy Brothers to lay Harriman’s tracks on the east side. Perhaps influenced by Hill and Harriman’s feuding, the work conditions almost immediately became hostile. “The blame for the infighting lays mostly with the supervisors who created an atmosphere of conflict,” said Leon Speroff, the author of The Deschutes River Railroad War.

Delay Tactics 

The construction camps were small, semi-permanent tent cities along the riverbanks. The work was backbreaking. Evening entertainment, fueled by plenty of moonshine, included taking potshots at the opposing crews or performing brazen raids across the river to steal black powder or simply blow it up to delay construction. Revenge operations saw crews stampeding each other’s beef cattle. “There’s no evidence that the competition accelerated to the point where they were actually killing each other,” said Speroff. “They were just trying to scare people.”

One of the more ambitious schemes was an attempt by Steven’s crews to block access to the Twohy brothers’ water supply. The wagon road went through a nearby 320-acre property. Stevens allegedly bought the property, put up “No Trespassing” signs, and posted armed guards.

In September 1909, when the local sheriff arrived to solve the dispute, fighting broke out between Porter’s and Twohy’s work crews. During the melee, the sheriff and his deputies were ejected, and their horses were sent running into the high desert. The dispute had to be resolved in court.

Reaching the End

Throughout the project, Hill and Harriman’s representatives fought ongoing battles in Portland’s courtrooms. “You get the impression that much of the ‘war’ played out in the courtrooms. Ultimately, Stevens and his group had better lawyers,” said Speroff. After the death of Harriman on September 9, 1909, Hill and Robert Lovett, Harriman’s successor, decided to play nice.

The Harris track-laying machine reached Bend on September 30, 1911. The finished line included 151.5 miles of tracks, seven tunnels, and ten steel bridges—including the Crooked River High Bridge and Hill’s Columbia River Bridge. In the end, Bend was the real winner of the railroad war. 

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Two dollars was all it took to create one of the most enduring legacies in Bend’s ski history. Paul Hosmer, the newsletter editor for Brooks-Scanlon Lumber Company, claimed the cash prize after suggesting the winning name—Skyliners. Founded in 1927, the club and its name still carry weight in the community.

The founding of Skyliners harkens back to the late twenties. “Friluftsliv,” or outdoor living, was one of the cornerstones of Skyliners’ mission. The founders of the ski club were new arrivals to the U.S.; Norwegians Kris Kostol, Nels Skjersaa and Nils Wulfsberg, and the lone Swede, Emil Nordeen, were brought up in societies which valued the outdoor lifestyle.

The ski club grew out of a rescue mission in the Three Sisters mountain range after a devastating Labor Day snowstorm stranded two young mountain climbers in the area. The four Scandinavians joined other rescue organizations and made several high-profile climbs on the North and Middle Sister in blinding snowstorms in search of the lost youths.

During the cold nights at the Frog Lake staging area, the mountaineers retreated to campfires. They discussed how to create rescue organizations with skilled outdoor enthusiasts. Energized, Wulfsberg, Kostol, Skjersaa and Nordeen returned to Bend with an idea.

Wulfsberg was a recent Oslo University graduate, whereas his colleagues Kostol, Skjersaa and Nordeen had basic educations, albeit a lot of street smarts. As one of Wulfsberg’s friends described his impact, “He flashed through Bend like a meteorite and influenced the town.”

Beyond the rescue part of the club’s mission, Wulfsberg realized a ski club would extend the tourist season into winter and bring money into the local economy.

Eloquently (and prophetically) describing his vision, Wulfsberg said, “If Bend becomes a center for winter sports, with annual ski carnivals, with contests attracting attention over all Oregon and neighboring states, with winter resorts in the close neighborhood, it will mean that the name of Bend will be brought before large crowds on the days of contests and before tourists throughout the winter.”

It was sweet music to the members of the Bend Chamber of Commerce, and they willingly signed on to the idea.

In line with the Scandinavian tradition of using winter sports to promote healthy living, Wulfsberg continued, “Nothing is more invigorating than fresh, cold winter air—air which brings the blood into circulation, stimulating energy, courage and initiative.”

By December 1927, the club had a name. It was time to build a winter headquarters. The club decided on a spot on the Old McKenzie Pass, eight miles from Sisters, just east of the current snow gate.

The Skyliners became a force to be reckoned within the up-and-coming Pacific Northwest ski community. Nordeen won the famed Klamath race, a 42-mile cross-country race from Fort Klamath to Crater Lake and back; Skjersaa was named on the all-American cross-country ski team when the National Ski Association published its ranking for 1931; and Kostol became a sought-after ski official. Unfortunately, Wulfsberg died shortly after leaving Bend in 1928.

At the end of January 1930, Skyliners announced plans to hold a ski tournament at their McKenzie Pass headquarters, the first such event in Central Oregon. The day of the carnival, 2,000 spectators crowded the winter playground. Skyliners had held up their end of the bargain with area merchants.

But Skyliners was much more than just a ski club. It ended up being an important social gathering place for the mill workers—a place to blow off steam after a Monday through Saturday work week at the Brooks-Scanlon or Shevlin-Hixon mills. In the socially stratified Bend, Skyliners was an outlier. The club was decidedly a social leveler. Mill workers, mill officials, and Bend businessmen could be seen skiing and ski jumping together.

In the 1930s and 1940s, Skyliners athletes competed against skiing greats such as Ole Tverdahl, Henry Sotvedt and Leif Flak of the Seattle Ski Club; Hjalmar Hvam and John Elvrum of Cascade Ski Club in Portland; and Nordahl Kahldahl, Tom Mobraaten and Hermod Bakke of Leavenworth Ski Club. The Central Oregon ski club held their own against the big city athletes.

After the McKenzie Pass headquarters proved too limited for the club, the Skyliners built a new winter sports complex at Tumalo Creek, inaugurated in early 1938. It offered all the amenities needed for large competitions and featured classic Nordic skiing facilities—two large ski jumps as well as expansive cross-country trails. Adapting to changing trends, Skyliners included areas for both downhill and slalom.

The ski club weathered the Great Depression. Ahead of its ten-year anniversary and the first competition at Skyliners’ new playground, Nordeen wrote a letter to the editor of The Bend Bulletin, published in December 1937.

“Ten years have now elapsed since the cornerstones were laid. The club often seemed on a none too solid foundation. It teetered and swayed dangerously; an impending crash often loomed in the background. But now the Skyliners playground is about to be completed.”

By then, the founding members had largely stopped racing and a new cadre of skiers and ski jumpers took their place. Olaf Skjersaa, Bert Hagen, Sam and Phil Peoples, Tom Larson, Cliff Blann and Gene Gillis carried on the tradition of Skyliners.

World War II put the ski club on hiatus when the younger generation was called into service. When Bill Healy decided to build a new ski area in 1958, the members of the Skyliners knew the best place around—Bachelor Butte, a place which we now know as Mount Bachelor. Skyliners made their final move.

Under the tutelage of Head Ski Coach Frank Cammack, the club developed a new generation of skiers. Kiki Cutter, Karen Skjersaa, Sherry Blann, Mark Ford and Mike Lafferty competed at national and international tournaments.

Skyliners finally merged with Mount Bachelor Ski Education Foundation in 1986. But the club left an indelible mark on skiing in Central Oregon. The annual Skyliners Ski Swap introduces the name to future skiers and the Great Nordeen Ski Race in early January or February, depending on the snowpack, took its name from one of the founders of the ski club.

And don’t be surprised if you meet a skier who proudly announces he or she is a former member of Skyliners. There are still plenty of them around in Bend.

 

The life and times of the storyteller, naturalist and namesake of Hosmer Lake, Paul Hosmer.

Paul Hosmer was a master of words. More than anyone else, he took the pulse of Bend’s millworkers and painted their tough world in vivid details. He was their champion.

Hosmer was an enigma. He was the scribe of the community but left a few cookie crumbs behind to explain his upbringing and life before moving to Bend, according to his son Jim Hosmer. Born in 1887 in St. Paul, Minnesota, Hosmer shared a glimpse of his formative years in a 1924 article in the 4L Magazine (The Loyal Legions of Loggers and Lumbermen). Hosmer told readers, “Received my diploma in football, baseball, basketball and spelling. Took a postgraduate course in boxing and had intentions of becoming lightweight champ.”

The spelling diploma presumably led him to newspapers “in half a dozen cities” before Hosmer ended up in Bend in 1915 working for the Shevlin-Hixon Lumber Company.

World War I put a hold on Hosmer’s career. Together with his good friend, Frank Prince, he enlisted in the 20th Engineers (Forest) Regiment. The outfit was designed to set up sawmills in France to provide building materials for the Allied forces. The two friends arrived in Europe in August 1918. Hosmer became a war stenographer, stationed away from the front lines. “After the armistice, I traveled around France playing banjo in a dance orchestra and made enough money to get into the crap games every night,” Hosmer wrote.

In the early ’20s after returning to Bend, Hosmer left the Shevlin-Hixon company and “moved across the river” to work for Brooks-Scanlon.  One of his first jobs was to dream up the company newsletter that would define his life, Pine Echoes. Based on personal experiences, Hosmer told the stories of the workers at the mill and timber-fallers at the mill camps.

Hosmer’s articles also found their way into magazines such as the Saturday Evening Post and Oregon Motorist. In the 1930s, he shopped a story about Bend’s “Klondike Kate” Rockwell to the big Hollywood studios. Nothing came about, and the yarn eventually dreamed up by Tinseltown screenwriters for the 1943 film Klondike Kate had little to do with either “Aunt” Kate’s life or Hosmer’s script.

The lack of Hollywood success didn’t slow Hosmer, who remained a prolific writer and photographer throughout his years. It was Hosmer’s antics as much as his stories and images that imbued him with local celebrity status. Hosmer and his friend Prince were inseparable. Hosmer’s son Jim called them “the two roustabouts.”

“Frank had a lot of money, and dad had a lot of time and ideas, so they paired up and had all these escapades,” said Jim.

Like the time they lit a smoke bomb during a meeting at the Percy A. Stevens post of the American Legion and managed to keep the stunt a secret for several days. They were eventually hauled in front of the high court of the legion. The crowded hall was in full laughter throughout the proceedings. Although their defense strategy was built on an “insanity” plea of “temporary pyromania,” Hosmer and Prince were declared “guilty” of the crime and fined nominally for the prank.

Today, it’s hard to imagine just how isolated Bend was 100 years ago. Most of the culture was either homegrown or imported from family traditions. The mills attracted a large contingent of Scandinavian workers who had worked their way west in pursuit of timber jobs. Bend’s massive sawmills and the region’s extensive timber stock were a siren song for first and second-generation mill workers who came to Oregon from Minnesota and Wisconsin. (Both of Bend’s mills were owned by Minnesota-based companies.) Workers who came to Bend left behind extensive relations in the Midwest and abroad, but they brought along their passion for outdoor living—skiing during the winter and hiking and mountaineering all summer long. Eventually, they founded Bend’s ski club in 1927.

Hosmer came up with the name for the club, Skyliners. He also became the president of the club in 1929 and 1930. When Skyliners celebrated its ten-year anniversary in 1937, one of the founders, legendary cross-country skier Emil Nordeen, wrote that Hosmer was the “faithful pilot, without whose tireless effort the Skyliners’ dream could never have materialized.”

An amateur naturalist, Hosmer lived close to the outdoors throughout his life.

“His idea of having a good time was to walk into the woods with his canoe and paddles and go canoeing,” said Jim. In many ways, it is fitting he is the namesake of Hosmer Lake. Known previously as Mud Lake, it was renamed for him in 1962.

Hosmer retired from Brooks-Scanlon in 1961 after forty-one years as the editor of the Pine Echoes. He died a year later at the age of 74. One of the editorial writers for the Eugene Register-Guard, Bob Frazier, wrote, “the sage of the sagebrush country died last week.”

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Read more about our Central Oregon history here.