Oregon it's a land of surprisg contrasts.
In the West, a primeval landscape
at the edge of the world.
To the East, miles of high altitude desert
too desolate for life to thrive.
But everywhere, evidence of a rich volcanic past
a lava flow where Apollo 11 astronauts trained
to walk on the moon,
a vast crater with the deepest lake in North America,
and painted hills that hold the fossils
of amazing ancient creatures.
Oregon has always been known
for the hopeful spirit of its pioneers
and the success of its entrepreneurs.
It was here where a College Athlete and his coach
turned a simple idea for a running shoe
into the best known sportswear brand of all time,
and where a where a young winemaker surprised the world
by growing award winning Oregon grapes.
It's a place where adrenaline junkies take to the air
on one of the greatest rivers in the West.
Even the energy here is alternative.
So proud is this state of its innovative spirit,
it coined the motto "she flies with her own wings."
This is Oregon.
Subtitles Captions by Smithsonian Channel Sync & Corrected by iscol
Our journey across Oregon begins in a place
that defies a simple description
the City of Portland can't be easily pinned down.
Individuality, eccentricity and being different deliberately
a unique mix that's intrinsically "Made in Oregon."
It's a place with a non conformist streak.
The birthplace of the Simpsons' creator, Matt groening,
and the childhood home of grunge rocker Courtney love.
Here, pubs don't just serve beer, they're likely to brew it.
It's the unofficial capital of the craft beer craze,
and home to more tattoo shops per capita than any other city.
But only from the air is it possible to discover.
How Portland truly turns things upside down.
Gardens grow on 27 acres of rooftop.
They're surprising but sensible, capturing rainfall
that would otherwise be wasted as runoff,
reducing pollution and saving energy.
Reinventing green spaces is just one way
oregonians think outside the box
and keep alive the adventurous spirit
of the state's original pioneers.
To understand how one of America's quirkiest cities
got this way
requires traveling back in time,
starting at one of Oregon's wildest places.
At the center of this state is an unusual gathering place
in the foothills of the ochoco mountains
one that seems to breathe the air
of Oregon's pioneering spirit.
The appropriately named crooked river
twists and turns through steep slopes
to the towering spires of Smith rock.
This castle of craggy peaks
dates back to a catastrophic eruption
nearly 20 million years ago.
Hot ash, lava, and chunks of rock surged
like an ancient oil gusher, eventually cooling in place,
and over time weathering into great stone pinnacles.
In some cultures, places like this attract mystics.
In Oregon, it's a haven for adventurers.
Welcome to one of the hottest spots for sport climbing
in north America, challenging the best in the world
to find new routes up its most demanding surfaces.
The toughest one of all is a 300 foot high pillar
that looms above the valley.
It's called Monkey Face.
For these hard core sport climbers,
it isn't just about reaching the top, it's about finding
the toughest possible route up and down the peak
scaling near vertical walls,
suspending from a single rope,
and rappelling into the abyss.
The ultimate achievement to be the first to take on
a newer, harder route
and earn the privilege of naming it.
In 1992, Monkey Face became an international icon
when French climber Jean baptiste tribout
made the first ascent up the overhanging east wall.
It instantly eclipsed even the toughest climbs
in North America.
He named the route "Just Do It."
Once climbers reach the top of Smith rock,
many take a moment to savor the view
of one of America's most remarkable landscapes.
More than two centuries ago, a couple of adventurers
were taking in their first views of this territory.
In 1805, Lewis and Clark traveled down the Columbia river
and finally laid eyes on the pacificcean.
It was November, and with winter coming on,
they started building a camp here in a stand of evergreens,
naming it fort clatsop,
after one of the local native American tribes.
William Clark set off with a party
down the coast to search for provisions.
In the fall, this coast is now a popular place
to spot gray whales on their annual migration
between the Bering sea and Mexico.
A little further on, Clark clambered up the steep bluffs
of tillamook head, which he described in his journal
as "the steepest, worst, and highest Mountain
I ever ascended."
He also came upon the skeleton of a blue whale
that he and his party measured to be over 100 feet long.
And the explorers were able to procure
300 pounds of whale blubber
from members of the tillamook tribe.
They'd been eating dried elk for weeks, and Clark wrote,
"thank Providence for directing the whale to us."
Today, the bones of another skeleton lie on this shore,
a victim of the perilous seas off Oregon's coast.
This is the steel hull of the Peter iredale,
a four masted vessel from england that remains wedged
in the breakers just as it first did that windy day in 1906.
Wrenched by wind and current, she ran aground,
hitting so hard, three of her masts snapped upon impact.
All aboard were rescued,
and in thanks, the captain bid his ship farewell, saying,
"may God bless you and may your bones bleach in these sands."
Which they have,
and still attract curious beachcombers today.
Before the era of GPS and radar,
fishermen sailing along this stretch of coast
could find their way through the fog
by listening for the birds on haystack rock.
This 235 foot plug of lava
is the third tallest intertidal rock formation in the world,
and a year round nesting spot for seabirds.
It's hard to imagine that the cries of birds
could save ships from calamity,
but evidence of just how dangerous these waters can be
lies further north.
The 17 mile wide entrance to the Columbia river
is an area known as the graveyard of the pacific.
Its waters look calm, but beneath their surface,
powerful river currents clash
with fierce incoming ocean swells,
causing underwater sandbars to shift unpredictably
and treacherous conditions that can deceive
even the most experienced captains.
Over the years, 2,000 ships have gone down here,
bringing with them 700 lives.
It's why this area is home
to the largest U.S. coast guard fleet on the northwest coast.
But surging currents haven't been the only threat
lurking beneath these waters.
Just before midnight on June 21, 1942,
a Japanese submarine just 8 Miles offshore
fired 17 shells at American soil
before quickly disappearing back into the sea.
Those shells landed here at fort Stevens.
It was the only attack against a military installation
on the U.S. mainland during world war ii.
Today's visitors explore the batteries
where fort Stevens' soldiers scrambled in the dark
to their posts, ready to repulse the Japanese attack.
But before they could,
officers deemed the sub too far out of range.
Fort Stevens was decommissioned in 1947,
but still stands guard at the mouth of the Columbia
the gateway for ships headed to Portland.
10 Miles upriver, they pass under the astoria megler bridge.
Stretching more than four Miles,
it's the largest continuous truss bridge in America.
Designed to exploit the remarkable stability
of triangles of bolted steel, it was an engineering marvel
when it finally opened for traffic in 1966.
This is the very northwest corner of Oregon.
The town of astoria is perched on its edge.
It's now home to 10,000,
but astoria began as a small fur trading post,
and not long after Lewis and Clark's arrival
became the first European settlement in the northwest.
When they first arrived at the pacific in 1805,
Lewis and Clark carved their initials in a tree.
That tree is gone, but astoria is known today
for another set of carvings.
The astoria column, erected in 1926,
celebrates the westward expansion
of Oregon's early settlers,
their first contact with native Americans,
and key events in the journey of Lewis and Clark.
As these carvings illustrate,
many more followed in their footsteps,
including the Oregon trail pioneers.
In the early to mid 19th century,
more than 10,000 people arrived into the territory
via the Oregon trail.
This overland route brought pioneers
into eastern Oregon at today's Idaho border
and through the state's eastern desert on their journey west.
One of the pioneers who made the hard slog
through Oregon's dry scrubland was a woman named Amelia Knight.
Amelia, her husband, and seven children
had already traveled 1,250 Miles from Iowa.
On August 12, 1853, she made an entry into her diary:
"We were traveling slowly
when our oxen dropped dead in the yoke.
I could hardly help shedding tears.
This poor ox who had helped us all along thus far,
and had given us his very last step."
But the Knight family pressed on, driven by a belief
that a better life was just ahead.
Soon after crossing into the territory,
the Oregon trail swung north through scrub, woodland,
and then followed the Columbia river west.
This detour north was critical.
Going straight, through central Oregon, would have meant
confronting some of the most unusual and inhospitable terrain
in America.
Imagine trying to drive a covered wagon over this.
Encountering the painted hills in north central Oregon
can make one feel like they've been transported to Mars.
In fact, this scenic marvel is an extraordinary record
of the past 40 million years
a logbook of changes in climate, plant and animal life.
It's the story of Oregon's ancient past
told in colored soils...
Red from the residue of wet primeval forests
of sequoia and oak,
yellow from a time when the climate turned dry.
And everything preserved in a dusting of volcanic ash,
tens of millions of years old,
that's kept these hills free of vegetation for all to see.
Prehistoric beasts once walked here, too
three toed horses, pigs the size of bison,
and rhinos.
Volcanic activity has dramatically changed
the face of Oregon.
Molten magma has built many of its mountains,
and fresh lava flows blanket hundreds of square Miles.
Vast stretches of this state remain remote
and practically uninhabitable.
But to some, that's also been Oregon's appeal.
Today, the town of antelope is home to a Christian youth camp.
But in the early 1980s, a guru from India
named bhagwan shree rajneesh
tried to take over the town.
His 64,000 acre ranch, called rajneeshpuram,
was the center of operations for his thousands of followers,
known as rajneeshees.
They cleared 3,000 acres of land on the ranch
to grow their own food
and built a 10 megawatt power station.
Joining the commune meant donating everything you owned,
including your bank account.
Perhaps that is what allowed rajneesh
to have his own fleet of rolls royces.
It's also been reported that the group amassed so many weapons,
they had more firepower than all the Oregon state police
east of the cascades.
But in 1985, one of the community's leaders
tried to rig the county election with an outrageous attack
planting salmonella in salad bars
at ten local restaurants.
It was the first act of bioterrorism in the U.S.
One year later, the dream was over,
and rajneeshpurum lay abandoned.
Throughout its history, Oregon has lured many
seeking alternative ways of life
from hardscrabble pioneers to sport climbers,
scaling its volcanic peaks.
But these days, it's also home to alternative energy
and a fast growing forest of giant machines
that run on the wind.
It looks like a garden of giantinwheels
sprouting across the landscape,
dominating the horizon above the wheat farms
of Oregon's wasco county.
This is the heart of Oregon's wind energy industry.
The pylons tower 65 feet in the air.
The arc of their blades spans more than 200 feet.
Each of these turbines generates up to 2.4 megawatts,
enough to power 420 homes.
Wind power currently provides more than 6%
of Oregon's total electricity supply.
The wind is free, but the turbine technology isn't.
Towers, rotors and blades are built internationally
and then shipped to Oregon.
The state now has nearly 1,200 wind turbines
on more than a dozen wind farms.
As these towers multiply, so do their critics
incessant noise, ruined vistas, threats to birds.
The complaints are mounting, but there's no question
that wind is providing an important alternative
to Oregon's traditional sources of electricity.
And the demand for power is increasing in the state,
especially from Oregon's recently developing
digital economy.
You'd never know by looking at them,
but these unmarked buildings are the true heart of the Internet.
When you Google Justin beiber, lady gaga, or Tsunami Japan,
chances are your search is routed through this facility,
along with millions of other search requests and emails.
It's known as the Google server farm,
and its location here near the Columbia river is no accident.
The server farm's cooling towers
require as much as 100 megawatts,
enough to power more than 40 million iPads.
And it's the nearby dalles hydroelectric station,
with its half mile long powerhouse, that supplies Google
with a steady source of cheap, renewable power.
The basic technology of hydropower has been around
since ancient times
back up water behind a dam,
then funnel the pressurized stream past a spinning turbine.
The promise of the Columbia as a source of renewable power
has transformed this mighty river.
The dalles dam is one of many hydroelectric projects here.
Completed in 1938, the bonneville dam was the first.
Since then, 14 more hydroelectric projects
have been built on the Columbia.
But their power has come with a price.
The dams made life for Oregon's salmon next to impossible.
They've also flooded and destroyed
traditional native American fishing grounds.
One of these was a legendary series of waterfalls
native Americans called "celilo."
The falls are gone, and so are the fish drying huts
that once lined the river.
But the rise of a new tribal longhouse
marks a revival of one celilo village.
Built with help from the army corps of engineers,
it's a place where members of Columbia basin
native American tribes gather.
When Lewis and Clark journeyed down the river in 1805,
they estimated there could be
as many as 10,000 native Americans here,
twice the population of Washington, D.C., at the time.
Historians think this region held some
of the highest concentrations of native Americans
on the continent,
and much of their economic and social life
centered on Columbia river salmon.
Just like the state's early pioneers,
salmon are another of Oregon's tenacious travelers.
From their birth on the Columbia, they head downstream
to the pacific, where they spend four to five years.
Then, their natural instinct is to return upstream
to lay eggs in the place they were born.
But these dams make that journey difficult.
To try and mitigate the dam's effect,
fish ladders were built
so that salmon could leap from pool to pool,
and find their way up and over a dam
to reach their spawning grounds.
Some of the ladders have exhausted and killed more fish
than they've conveyed.
But a million salmon still manage
to make it upstream each year.
Once, hydropower on the Columbia was hailed
as a great source of renewable energy.
But recently, critics have charged
that this once mighty river has become
merely a series of reservoirs between dams.
Despite the dams and loss of traditional fishing spots,
salmon continue to be of great economic and cultural importance
to the Columbia basin tribes.
This morning, fishers are pulling up their long gillnets,
which have filled with hundreds of chinook salmon overnight.
The roots of their expertise are in the fishing practices
that were established long before Europeans arrived.
Traditionally, men have worked the gillnet lines.
But these days, men with no sons
often teach their daughters to fish.
Native Americans have the exclusive
commercial fishing rights on this stretch of river.
And not all the salmon they catch are equal.
Coho, sockeye, chum are all salmon,
but the best is chinook, or king salmon.
It's prized for its size and firm, red flesh,
and it's also the Oregon state fish.
There's no better place to view this majestic river
than from here...
Vista point.
One engineer called it
"an observatory from which the Columbia could be viewed
in silent communion with the infinite."
Vista point was built in 1916,
as part of the Columbia river highway project
the first planned scenic highway in the United States.
It travels for 40 Miles along the river,
hugging every twist and turn.
When it opened in 1916,
the illustrated London news called it "the king of roads."
The high walls that tower above this highway
help funnel powerful winds through the gorge.
And it's these winds that are luring kite surfers
to the Columbia river from around the world
to catch its waves.
Regular surfers rely on the power of waves.
But these adrenaline junkies are tethered to kites
and fly with the wind.
A kite surfer's speed and direction
all depend on how he or she controls the kite.
In strong winds like these, it can be a dangerously fast sport,
especially if the surfer doesn't know how to turn the kite
against the wind to slow down.
It's taken millions of years and giant geological events
to create the conditions that make the Columbia river
perfect for this sport.
Starting 17 million years ago, a series of lava flows
pushed through here, cooling to form layers of basalt.
Much later, the Columbia river started to carve its way
through those layers, creating walls hundreds of feet high.
From these rock walls, 77 waterfalls cascade
into the gorge on the Oregon side alone.
But the granddaddy of them all is multnomah falls.
It drops a total of 620 feet.
It's the perfect place to witness
Oregon's geological history.
Five different lava flows are exposed
in the face of the falls.
Many visitors travel the Columbia river highway
just to catch a glimpse of this amazing site.
Volcanic events may have helped create this gorge,
but during the last ice age,
it was inundated by a series of unimaginable torrents
the mother of all gushers, known as the missoula floods.
A massive glacial lake in Montana
broke through a dam of ice,
and sent a wall of water in biblical proportions
down the Columbia river.
Geologists think it filled the entire gorge to overflowing,
and it kept going.
Toward the end of its 1,000 mile journey,
the wall of water spread out into the Willamette valley,
dumping not only water,
but tens of millions of tons of rich sediment.
Farmers working these Oregon fields today
are actually plowing Montana soil.
Reports of this fertile land lured settlers
as far back as the early 19th century.
But for many, getting here meant having to cross on foot
one of the greatest Mountain ranges in America.
Rising high above Oregon's Western valleys
are the cascade mountains
jagged monuments to the power of molten lava.
They're part of a stunning range of peaks
that extends from Canada to California.
Many are easily recognized from afar.
Among them, the three sisters.
And the sharpest peak of them all mount thielsen.
Rising more than 9,000 feet,
it's been called the lightning rod of the cascades.
150 years ago, these mountains were the last great hurdle
for Oregon's early pioneers on their journey west.
One, Amelia Knight, described this leg of the trip
in her diary:
"We traveled over the worst road that was ever made,
winding round stumps, logs and fallen trees.
The handsomest timber in the world
must be here in these cascade mountains."
Logging prospectors agreed.
The massive conifers were unlike anything they'd seen back east.
The first logging operations in Oregon were set up
in the mid 19th century, but it wasn't until 1938
that the state surpassed its neighbor Washington
as the nation's top timber producer,
a position it holds to this day.
Ancient forests of Douglas Fir and Sitka Spruce
have been replaced by a patchwork of clear cuts.
Once harvested, the timber is hauled to mills for processing.
It wasn't timber that the Oregon trail pioneers were after.
Their promised land was a fertile river valley
called the Willamette.
It stretches from Portland, South to Eugene and beyond.
It lies between the cascades to the east,
and the Pacific Ocean to the West.
The Willamette is the most populated area of Oregon.
For centuries, its fertile land has been luring thousands
with the promise of prosperity.
On September 13, 1853, after traveling for five months
and 2,000 Miles, the Knight family finally found
a suitable spot for a farm.
Four days later, after Amelia Knight had given birth
to her eighth child,
her husband traded their team of oxen
for "a half acre planted with potatoes
and a small log cabin with no windows."
Farmers and ranchers continue to tap this fertile valley
with all kinds of new crops and creatures.
It seemed like a long shot in 1990 when the Campbell family
decided to experiment with raising
South American Alpaca here.
But today, their ranch, called "Alpacas of Oregon,"
is one of ten of its kind in the area.
One reason alpacas are preferred by today's eco ranchers
is that they're highly resistant to disease,
eat a tenth of what a horse does, and each year,
a single alpaca produces $400 worth of high quality fleece.
They're the perfect renewable resource.
Nearby, another imported species is thriving.
These are the dundee hills, home to rich, red soils
that have proved to be invaluable to winemakers.
The rich flavor and complexity of Willamette grapes
is due to a distinctive mix of slope, soil and climate
that impart a sense of place deep within the wine.
In 1965, when pioneering young winemaker David Lett
came to the dundee hills from California
with 3,000 starter vines,
many were convinced he was crazy.
They thought Oregon's cool, wet winters
and warm, dry summers wouldn't work for wine.
But when his Pinot wines took top honors in France in 1979,
connoisseurs were forced to admit
that Oregon was a superior setting for growing wine.
And it's led to an explosion in the number of vineyards here,
from just five in the 1960s to more than 300 today.
This vineyard covers more than 1,000 acres,
growing certified organic grapes.
Clearly, wine does just fine in Oregon.
But not all industries here are so popular.
This giant pulp mill lies near the banks
of the Willamette river.
Huge amounts of fresh water and chemicals are needed
to turn wood chips into paper.
But toxic waste from plants like this one
has been seeping back into the river
and causing genetic defects in salmon and other fish.
The Willamette valley has been
Oregon's industrial and agricultural heartland
ever since it was settled.
It's also home to the University of Oregon,
which began offering classes near the city of Eugene in 1872.
Locals call it the U of O.
Its cheer is "go ducks," after its beloved web footed mascot.
One of the U of O's claims to fame can be found across Campus
at the omega fraternity, which was featured
in the National Lampoon movie animal house.
Sadly, there are no longer toga parties at delta house
it was torn down in 1986.
But the Campus still enjoys a reputation for a liberal,
question authority approach to higher education.
The Campus is also home to hayward field,
nicknamed "Track Town, USA."
It's produced many olympic track and field stars,
including Oregon's own remarkable Steve Prefontaine,
who set 15 American records.
And it was at Hayward in 1964
that a talented College runner and his coach
had the idea that launched
the most successful sportswear company of all time.
Nike founders Bill Bowerman and Phil Knight
started with an order for 300 shoes
that they sold from the trunk of a Plymouth Valiant.
The Swoosh and the Air Jordans came later.
Nike shoes are now manufactured overseas,
but here at the company's headquarters in Beaverton,
they've been trying to produce better runners.
Top athletes have been invited to train here
and improve their skills in cutting edge labs
that can simulate high altitude conditions.
The Campus' 17 buildings
are named for sports legends the company has sponsored,
including Michael Jordan,
Lance Armstrong, Mia Hamm, and John Mcenroe.
The six acre lake in the middle is home to migratory ducks,
and that's appropriate, since Nike was started
by a couple of ducks from the University of Oregon.
When Oregon finally became a state in 1859,
the town of Salem, which lies in the heart of the Willamette,
was a logical choice for its capital.
Its state house was built in 1938,
reflecting the art deco style
similar to Rockefeller Center in New York City.
Rather than a traditional dome,
the architects, trowbridge and Livingston,
designed a rotunda 160 feet high.
It's been criticized as looking like a paint can
when it's noticed at all
underneath the crowning 22 foot gilded statue
representing the state's earliest settlers.
This anonymous Oregon pioneer holds an axe in one hand,
a tarp for shelter in the other, and he's alone.
Of course, most of the Oregon trail pioneers were not.
They included families like that of Amelia Knight,
and neighbors who banded together
to survive their harsh life in this new land.
Many today associate the Pacific Northwest with fog and rain.
But compared to other states, rainfall in Western Oregon
is just about average for the U.S.
However, the rain here often falls
more gently than elsewhere, and for longer periods,
which means that it can feel more rainy than it actually is.
The cascades help hold this moisture
in the Willamette valley,
which has been good for Oregon's farmers.
When white settlers arrived here,
native Americans had already started clearing it of trees
to make it easier to hunt animals for food.
But the settlers used the cleared land to plant wheat,
which is still grown in great volume today.
Heavy tractors have long since replaced the oxen and horses
used by 19th century farmers.
Most of the backbreaking jobs of growing wheat
are now mechanized, and the gains in yield remarkable.
In 1850, Oregon farms produced some 280,000 bushels of wheat.
150 years later, with machines doing the plowing, planting,
harvesting, and threshing,
the annual yield is over 50 million bushels
enough to make more than two billion loaves of bread.
And most of it is bound for Portland
and international markets beyond.
Portland harbor is the largest wheat export hub in the U.S.
The massive holds of an ocean going bulk carrier
can accommodate some 50,000 tons of soft white wheat,
just the kind Japan needs to make noodles and crackers.
Today, wheat produced all across the Western U.S.
Comes here to Portland to be shipped out
to the countries of the pacific rim.
To handle the enormous flow, a rapid handling grain elevator
was built along 40 acres of the port at terminal 5.
Grain is brought here by trains,
cleaned and funneled into loading spouts,
filling another ship with nearly two million bushels of wheat.
The port was first established here in 1850,
because this was the closest that sailing ships could get
to the farmlands of the Willamette.
In those days, this area was not much more
than a cluster of cabins.
Now, it's Portland, a vibrant city
of nearly 600,000 straddling the Willamette river.
It's nickname?
Bridgetown.
11 Bridges span the river, and without them,
Portland would not be what it is today.
In the 1880s, Portland, Oregon, 11 Bridges span the river, was a dided city.
Actually, it was still three separate towns.
On one side of the river was Portland itself,
and on the other side, the communities of albina
and east Portland.
Before Portland could compete with Seattle
as a regional power, it had to find a way to unite itself.
In 1887, a drawbridge was constructed at morrison street,
the first of Portland's Bridges.
A year later, the union pacific railroad
built the first steel bridge on the entire pacific coast.
The original bridge was replaced with this one in 1912.
It's a double Decker, double lift bridge
that can be raised to a height of 163 feet
for river traffic to pass underneath,
requiring counterweights totaling nine million pounds.
It carries cars and light rail above,
and trains, pedestrians and bikes below.
By the early 1900s, the advent of structural steel
enabled engineers to build longer, higher,
and lighter spans across rivers.
Thanks in part to that,
Portland became a single city united by Bridges.
Today, these Bridges are popular commuting routes
for many of the Portland Metro area's two million residents.
The city's downtown competes with any on the west coast,
and it's known as one of the greenest cities in America.
That started in the 1970s,
when a coalition of young urban planners
diverted federal funds designated for a freeway
to build a light rail called Max
metropolitan area express.
Today, the Portland area's use of public transportation
is one of the highest in the nation.
And high above street level, rooftop gardens abound.
Some buildings are even powered by their own windmills.
But there's no green space in Portland quite like this one.
The international rose test garden
in the hills above downtown
is an experimental garden for growing hybrid varieties.
More than 400 types of roses are grown here.
It's the site of the annual rose festival,
an event that's earned Portland the nickname,
"the city of roses."
The garden is a legacy of georgiana Burton pittock,
whose love of roses led her to host an annual garden party
for her friends to show off their flowers.
Once a year, rose experts come here from around the world
to bestow the city's annual award for Portland's best rose.
Georgiana and her husband Henry pittock
lived just up the hill in this mansion.
Both were pioneers who came here via the Oregon trail.
When Henry pittock landed in Portland in 1852,
he was 17 years old and penniless.
50 years later, he was a wealthy businessman,
publisher of the oregonian newspaper,
and one of the city's greatest promoters.
Pittock was also an avid outdoorsman,
and was in the first party to climb
Oregon's highest and most iconic Mountain.
It lies 50 Miles from downtown Portland, but its presence
in the lives and minds of many oregonians is profound
mount hood.
This monolith looms over the Columbia river gorge
and all the rest of Oregon's cascade peaks.
After first setting eyes on the Mountain,
the naturalist John muir wrote,
"there stood mount hood in all the glory.
And so impressive that one was overawed,
as if suddenly brought before some superior being
newly arrived from the sky."
The Mountain was named for British admiral Samuel hood
in 1792.
But climbers didn't manage to conquer
its nearly vertical upper slopes to reach the summit
for another 50 years.
About 10,000 people attempt to climb mount hood each year.
130 have died trying.
The Mountain hasn't had a major eruption for close to 200 years,
and scientists say there's a slim chance
it will awaken over the next few decades.
Mount hood is just one of the 16 volcanic peaks
that lie in Oregon's cascades.
These peaks stretch South
from Oregon's northern border with Washington.
Five of these 16 mountains
remain potentially active volcanoes, including mount hood,
mount Jefferson, the three sisters,
and the newbury crater.
But Oregon's fifth and southernmost volcanic peak
isn't known for its towering heights,
but rather its awe inspiring depths.
This is crater lake.
For thousands of years, the region's native peoples
regarded this place with reverence,
suitable only for shaman and chiefs.
The Klamath Indians called it tum sum ne,
"Mountain with the top cut off," indicating a familiarity
with the catastrophic eruption that had taken place here.
In the mid 1800s, gold prospectors
and American explorers found their way here
and got a look over the crater's rim.
But it wasn't until the 1870s that the great sunken lake
made national news which changed the course of one man's life.
William steel was just 15 and living in Ohio
when he read about crater lake
in a newspaper in which his lunch was wrapped.
He later wrote of the hold the story had on him,
"and then and there I determined to go to Oregon
and to visit that lake and to go down to the water."
At first, the lake was believed to be bottomless,
and that its walls were too steep to climb down.
It's now known that the depth of the lake is 1,943 feet,
making it the deepest lake in America.
It sits in a volcanic basin created 7,700 years ago,
when the top of the mount mazama volcano
collapsed after erupting.
On August 15, 1885, William steel managed to get
a small canoe out on the lake, and named the cinder cone
that rises some 767 feet above the surface wizard island,
thinking it looked like a wizard's hat.
Steel made protecting the lake his life's work,
efforts that helped pave the way for president Theodore Roosevelt
to establish the site as a national park in 1902.
Steel was made the park's commissioner,
a position he held up until the day he died in 1932.
He's been known ever since as the father of crater lake.
Conservationists, adventurers, pioneers
these are the people who forged the Oregon story.
The native American tribes who fish its great river,
the hope filled settlers who crossed its peaks
to reach Willamette's fertile plains,
the hardworking farmers who still till its soil,
and the thrill seekers
who keep Oregon's spirit of adventure alive.