Gathering the Stories.

The River They Saw

2011-06-15T16:50:00.000-07:00

A Wonderful Photo history of the Gorge.

2011-03-27T20:47:00.000-07:00

:The Story of Priest Point, A Tulalip Story:

2011-02-04T20:19:00.000-08:00

The Story of Priest Point.

2011-01-24T08:56:00.000-08:00

Dog Creek Falls, Cook, WA.

Grass Man: David Douglas meets Chief Cockqua.

2011-01-20T01:35:00.000-08:00

David Douglas

David Douglas was sturdy Scotsman and a remarkable person. Before he was out of his 20's, he had traveled from his native land to the wilderness of the Pacific Northwest, where he made the botanical explorartions that were to make him famous. It was he who gave his name to the Douglas Fir Tree.

Douglas arrived by ship to Fort George (Astoria, OR.) in 1823. He had been commissioned as a collector for the Royal Horticulture Society to collect any plants unknown to the British Isles. The Gardens of Britain are filled with plants, trees and shrubs introduced from America by Douglas.

Douglas thought nothing of covering up to 50 miles a day on foot through the Wilderness with a 50 pound pack on his back and gun in his hand.

At Fort George, 12 miles upstream, Douglas was a little awed by his first glimpse of the man who was to be his host for the next year, Dr. John McLoughlin, chief factor of the Hudson's Bay Co., was a vigorous giant, standing six foot four, with a regal bearing, arrogant dark eyes, and a great shock of prematurely white hair. Douglas joined McLoughlin in coming from Fort George up to Fort Vancouver. McLoughlin's plans called for a fort 750 feet square and 20 feet high, enclosing numerous log buildings.

Douglas made several trips upstream to the Cascades of the Columbia. Douglas hoped to gather a shipment of plants back with the 'William & Ann' when she sailed in October. He adapted quickly to the new and rugged life, sleeping at night on a bed of pine or fir boughs or under brush, carrying only a little tea in a tin and depending solely on his rifle for food.

One evening about dark while returning down river. Douglas spotted a a column of smoke rising in the forest near the river bank. Thinking it was a camp of voyageurs, or Canadian boatmen, he landed to join them. He failed to realize his mistake, until he found himself surrounded with more than a hundred braves; he had stumbled on a large Indian encampment.

Fortunately, for Douglas, had met their leader, Chief Cockqua, at Fort Vancouver and the Chief invited him to join their feast. They were eating Sturgeon, a fish weighing five hundred punds, which the had cut up and were roasting in the fires. Between sign language and the few English words that Cockqua knew, Douglas was able to carry on a conversation of sorts, but though the chief appeared friendly, the others watched Douglas suspiciously.

He learned that Cockqua's braves were preparing for war with the tribe across the river and after the feast almost 300 warriors began to dance around the camp fires, leaping and goading themselves into a frenzy with their keening Death Songs. As the excitement mounted, from time to time a brave would dash intio the light of the Chief's fire and shake his weapons threateningly in Douglas' face. As Cockqua sat impassively studying his visitor.

Finally, when many of the braves had dropped with exhaustion, Cockqua announced that it was time to retire and that if Douglas was afraid he could spend the night in his tent. Douglas suspected this was a test also and knowing the Chief's tent would be full of fleas, he refused. With a nod of satisfaction Cockqua motioned to one of the Indians to throw Douglas a skin blanket.

Douglas was aware of the people watching him as he went about his preparations for the night. He built a bough shelter, lit a small fire, then opening his vasculum he took out a number of plant specimens and with great ceremony arranged them in a circle around his lodge as though they were a protective totem.

The people looked puzzled but seemed to understand. No one bothered him that night, but in the morning it was plain Cockqua was not yet ready to let Douglas leave. As a part of their preparations for battle, the Braves staged an archery contest. When one Brave had distinguished himself above all the other, Cockqua motioned that he now wanted Douglas to compete with the Brave. A target was set upon a rock and Douglas hit it with the first shot from his gun. Unimpressed, the grinning Brave did the same with his arrow. Next a target was suspended by a thong from a limb. Douglas hit this too and so did the Brave.

Just then a Hawk flew overhead. Douglas raised his gun to his shoulder, there was a burst of feathers and the Hawk dropped to the ground. Beside him, the Brave grunted as though he had been kicked.

Cockqua smiled enigmatically, refusing to show whether or not he was impressed. He seized a high-crowned hat from one of the people and threw it into the air as though daring Douglas to repeat the feat. Douglas' shot ripped away the entire crown of the hat. Cockqua picked up the hat, stared at it in amazement, then shoved it down over the owners head so far that his entire head came through. The People seemed to find this very amusing.

' The Grass Man is a Great Chief. The Grass Man is a Medicine Man like the Great White Eagle," Cockqua told everyone.

The People did not attempt to detain Douglas further and soon the title, Grass Man, had spread everywhere along the River. Just as the practical Natives could see no reason for McLoughlin to measure the River, they could see no reason for a man to collect plants he could not eat or smoke, so they concluded that this also had something to do with magical powers.

-Retold by Jim Atwell

Old Man Rattlesnake Saves the Salmon: A Metaphor for the Present Moment?

2011-01-09T12:48:00.000-08:00

A Yakima Legend

This story is about when the people ignored the directions of the Creator about caring for the salmon, the salmon disappeared. All of their attempts to bring the salmon back failed until Snake used his powers to revive the salmon. The people were not fooled by Coyote's pretentious effort to revive the salmon.

The Creator taught the people how to care for this food which was created especially for them. He said, "Do not neglect this food. Be careful that you do not break the rules in taking care of this salmon. Do not take more than you need". He told them if they observed these rules, the salmon would multiply several times over as long as they lived.
At first the people diligently obeyed the rules, and they lived happily without problems. All along the river there were different bands of people living in their fishing villages, busy catching and drying their supply of salmon.

But one day something strange happened. The people became careless and they neglected to follow the instructions made by the Creator. They became greedy. They did not take care of the salmon. They let them go to waste when they caught more than they needed for their families. They would not listen to the advice from those who were trying to follow the rules. Suddenly the salmon disappeared.
When the salmon were no longer coming up the stream for the people to catch everybody frantically searched the rivers, but all in vain.
There was not one salmon left to be found. Soon they became hungry, their little children were crying and the old people were forced to beg for food.

One day, while they were searching the river, they found a dead salmon lying on the bank of the river. They stared down at it in disbelief when they realized what had happened. They began to cry out in shame and lament their mistakes, "If we are given one more chance, we will do better. If only we could awaken this salmon, the other salmon might come up the stream."
The people called a council and they talked about how they could give life back to the salmon. In legendary times those with supernatural powers could revive a lifeless creature by stepping over it five times. The people tried to use their own spiritual powers to revive the salmon. One by one they each stepped over the salmon five times, but to no avail.

There was a recluse named Old Man Rattlesnake. He never went anywhere always staying off by himself. He was very ancient and all the people called him "Grandfather". Somebody said, "let's ask Grandfather to help us! He is a powerful man. Let him revive the salmon!." A messenger was sent. "Oh Grandfather, would you come and help us revive the salmon. Everybody has failed." Old Man Rattlesnake listened and said, "What makes you think I am capable of reviving this lone salmon after everyone else has failed? I am an old man, how do you expect an old man like me to possess powers to do the impossible!". The messenger was sad. "You are our last hope. Please help us, Grandfather". Finally Old Man Rattlesnake agreed, "I will do my best". He was so old it was very painful for him to move fast. He moved ever so slowly and it seemed like such a long way for one so old.

While Grandfather was on his way, Coyote tried desperately, using all his wily skills to convince the people he possessed supernatural powers. He was thinking to himself, "If I revive this salmon I will be a very famous person." He stepped over it four times, and just as he was stepping over the fifth time, he pushed the salmon with the tip of his toe to make it appear as though it moved. He announced loudly, "Oh, look, my people, I made the salmon come to life. Did you see it move?" But the people were wise to the ways of Coyote and they paid him no attention.
Finally, Old Man Rattlesnake arrived. Painfully he crawled over the salmon four times. The fifth time something magical happened! Grandfather disappeared into the salmon and the salmon woke up and came back to life and the salmon came back to the rivers. The people learned their lesson well and took care to protect their salmon from then on.
Today when you catch a salmon, and you are preparing it for eating or preserving, if you break the spine you will find a white membrane inside. That is old Man Rattlesnake who gave life back to the salmon.
We did not know all this by ourselves; we were told it by our fathers and grandfathers, who learned it from their fathers and grandfathers. No one knows when the Great Chief Above will overturn the mountains.
But we do know this: the spirits will return only to the remains of people who in life kept the beliefs of their grandfathers. Only their bones will be preserved under the mountains.

journey home

2011-01-06T22:51:00.000-08:00

Journey Home

A place of neither time or space-

Where you hear the teenagers song

& smell them getting pregnant-

Around the alley on Poke St.-

Next to the local pawn shop.

A place where the cats eat the meat

of last night's decadence-

Morality of a scavenger

Feasting on forgotten values

in man's wasteful church.

A place where the homeless eat metaphors

of others good intent-

Around burning barrels the dance

the dance of lost dreams

to the drums of empty bottles & schizophrenia.

A place where wet pavement smokes dry ice

steaming like a dragon in Chinatown-

On side streets that are paved but never plowed

stands castrated angels in the mist of cold smokey air-

Grounded til the fog clears.

A place where shadows play hide-n-seek with the eyes

then are lost forever behind concrete.

& underneath the skyscraper canopy

that blocks out the sun-

You can see the yuppie in his Lexus car.

A place where the bombs of absurdity

explode in the ears of scabbed medicine men,.

In a land converted to asphalt (distant from ancestors)-

& medicine bags that carry rigs

to ride a black tarred hi-way to nowhere-

but somewhere I remember.

I remember the smell of rain after a storm-

I remember the winds that would howl-

and I always knew I would end up here somehow

with hope on my tongue

and years on my feet-

I make the Journey complete.

Justin 'Si~" Matta

reprint from a book called Journey Home that I did with my Aunt Teri Deras (my second mom! and teacher) in 1997. We are going to be reissuing that book in the future.. I will keep you all posted.

Cowlitz Cousin picking Huckleberries. 1910

Coyote and the Columbia.

2011-01-04T09:10:00.001-08:00

Coyote and the Columbia

From the Sahaptin/Salishan Tribes

retold by

S. E. Schlosser

Gregg Caudell photo

One day, Coyote was walking along. The sun was shining brightly, and Coyote felt very hot.

"I would like a cloud," Coyote said.

So a cloud came and made some shade for Coyote. Coyote was not satisfied.

"I would like more clouds," he said. More clouds came along, and the sky began to look very stormy. But Coyote was still hot.

"How about some rain," said Coyote. The clouds began to sprinkle rain on Coyote.

"More rain," Coyote demanded. The rain became a downpour.

"I would like a creek to put my feet in," said Coyote. So a creek sprang up beside him, and Coyote walked in it to cool off his feet.

"It should be deeper," said Coyote.

The creek became a huge, swirling river. Coyote was swept over and over by the water. Finally, nearly drowned, Coyote was thrown up on the bank far away. When he woke up, the buzzards were watching him, trying to decide if he was dead.

"I'm not dead," Coyote told them, and they flew away.

That is how the Columbia River began

First Salmon.

2010-12-30T01:01:00.000-08:00

photo by Robert Harjuceder during the Cowlitz First Salmon Ceremony 6/6/10

First-salmon ceremony

Salmon leave their freshwater spawning and rearing habitat as juveniles and go to the ocean, where they grow and spend their adult lives, and then return to the freshwater habitat of their origin generally three to five years later to spawn and die. Columbia River Indian tribes understood this life cycle very well. They understood the unique life histories of the salmon species that inhabited the river basin, Chinook, coho, sockeye, chum and pink, and also steelhead and sea-run cutthroat trout. Salmon were an important food for Indians; they knew when the adult salmon would return each year.
In the tribes’ religious beliefs, salmon were a gift from the benevolent salmon king. The tribes believed salmon were immortal and that in the ocean they took on human form, lived in separate houses according to their species, and that every year the salmon king would order the people to clothe themselves in fish skins and go up the river as a present to the Indians. This also perpetuated their races. In honor of the gift, Indians treated the annual arrival of the salmon, in the spring, with great reverence and ceremony.

Kettle Falls

Every tribe or group of tribes that fished for salmon had a form of first-salmon ceremony. Lewis and Clark witnessed a first-salmon ceremony at Celilo Falls in the spring of 1806 on their return journey. Clark wrote in the journals for April 19, “There was great joy with the natives last night, in consequence of the arrival of the salmon. One of those fish was caught. This was a harbinger of good news to them.” Explorer David Thompson arrived at Kettle Falls in June 1811 a few days too late to witness the beginning of the first-salmon ceremony there, but he described the ritualistic fishing that still was going on. It was the local custom to allow fish to pass for a certain number of days once the run began. During this time a single fisher with a spear was allowed to take a limited number of salmon. Soon the salmon chief would open a general fishery, which was conducted with nets and baskets. Thompson wrote:

“The arrival of the Salmon throughout this River is hailed with Dances and many ceremonies which I was five days too late to see; and therefore cannot say what they are; but deep attention is paid by them to what they believe will keep the Salmon about them; for this purpose the Beach of the River is kept very clean, no part whatever of the Salmon is allowed to touch the River after it is brought on shore, the scales the bowels &c are all cleaned on the land a few yards from the River, for experience has taught them the delicate perceptions of this fish, even a Dog going in the edge of the water, the Salmon dash down the Current and any part of one of them being thrown into the water, they do not return until the next day, especially if blood has been washed; in spearing of them, if the fish is loose on the Spear and gets away, the fishing is done for that day. The spearing of the Salmon at the Fall was committed for [to] one Man for the public good, of course the supply was scant until the fish became sufficiently numerous to use the Seine Net. The third day we were here, the Spearman in going to the Fall with his Spear came close to the bleached skull of a Dog, this polluted his Spear; he returned to his shed, informed them of the accident, and to prevent the fish going away he must purify himself and his Spear, this was done by boiling the bark of the red Thorn, the steam of which on himself and the head of his spear began the process. When the heat had moderated, his face and hands and the spear were washed with it and by noon he was ready and proceeded to the Fall.”

blood colored moon (Solstice Lunar Eclipse)

2010-12-21T00:18:00.000-08:00

the night so long
and moon so dark.

to sit here upon
the faithful spark.

the seed now sprung.
there is no wrong.
and in silence now
the Moon grows
dark.

to turn so red
behind cloud so grey.

to dream what my ancestors may.
5oo years ago today.

they too sat weary boned
as the fires warmed their homes.

they looked to the sky with glee
and faithful pondering.

they dreamt of Coyote.
his eyes.
blood red.
shot across the sky.
like meteors.

and the Moon
turns red.
behind grey cloud.

now in the thinning Veils.

The Final Shroud.

blood colored moon (Solstice Lunar Eclipse) by Si

Streams.

2010-12-06T13:16:00.000-08:00

My Old Blood line to the Columbia River Gorge is Watlala/Cascade but in the stream of life there are many Tributaries, so that is just a splinter of my stream, and like the Salmon I return. At times dazed from the Journey and confused on which fork to take.... but knowing, All Directions Are Home!

With that peace spawned in my heart, Place takes on many meanings. I am Proud to be of this River (Wimahl (Columbia River)) ! I am Proud to know its Peoples! All My Relations!

Wind Mountain: A Holy Mountain

2010-11-22T14:36:00.000-08:00

The torn up sign on top of Wind Mountain telling of the Spirit Quest of my Ancestors. This sign, and the Mountain itself, have told me more about my Spiritual Heritage than my elders have. That is the main motivation behind Gathering the Stories.... its not just a gathering of human stories, it is Gathering the Stories of All My Relations in the Columbia River Gorge.
I believe that Wind Mountain should have the same restrictions as Tsagaglalal (She Who Watches, a petroglyph of great importance to the peoples of the Columbia River Gorge.) NO PUBLIC TRAFFIC WITHOUT A GUIDE to help save and perserve this last remaining testament to our Spiritual Heritage! It is Sacred!

A Single Tear for Tsagaglalal

2010-11-15T19:48:00.000-08:00

A Single Tear
for Tsagaglalal

I.
She who keeps on watching immortalized from a stone
window along the banks of the mighty Columbia.
She who has watched men walk on the backs of a million
Salmon & then fall in.
She who has seen the mighty river get fat & overflow
her banks behind pale dams.
She who has seen children grow under the glow of the moon
& the new glow of hanford.
She who has seen a people cry in silent tolling for the old ways
demolished beneath the feet of a civilization determined & arrogant.

She who has seen Coyote play many tricks in his sinister loving way.
She who has seen canoes morph to steam & barges
carrying hope up river.
She who has seen fires turn to street lamps.
She who has seen the battles of Pah-toe & Wy'east
& their long eerie silence.
She who has seen a river run red with blood of the lost.

II.
(They say that one who has seen too much with no way to let it go
will more likely suffer from Post- Traumatic -Stress-Disorder which
manifests in different forms; from anxiety to unstoppable tears.)

She Who Watches weeps a single tear.

Copyright 1996
Justin 'Si~ Matta

The Legend of Tsagaglalal told by Ed Edmo

Taming the Beast or My First Train Hop in the Gorge. Part I

2010-11-14T17:11:00.000-08:00

The Columbia River Gorge is the only nearly sea level west-east passage through the Cascade mountains so there is immense train traffic back and forth 24/7. It was part of the locals landscape, just as much as wind and sawmills (not many anymore)... the lone train whistle through the summer night breeze echoing off the basalt cliffs of the gorge and running through its valleys (on still nights I could hear the train all the way at sweenys house {approx... 12 miles away}.)
I am interested immensely in hobo/tramp culture and I have captured many stories of life on the rails and every single time I mention I am from the Gorge, an old tramp grows silent and stares off into a distant memory and smiles, then while looking me straight in the eyes, says, 'you are from God's country!. Do you know how Lucky you are?'.... I do!
I thought of the train as my ticket out of this place... and sought to tame it...
Here is my story.

Taming the Beast or My First Train Hop in the Gorge. Part I

I was 15 and angry at the world.... angry young punk who could not wait to leave this small town in the dust and set foot into the world of the 'cultured' city that I read about in books. I would sneak off to portland via hitchhiking when possible but I had a really bad experience that left me afraid to continue (down with predators!) any further trips... but I still needed to get the h*** out of dodge!
One day as I was skateboarding down at the sternwheeler dock, it donned on me that the trains were running to portland and I may be able to ride one, fantasies of the bohemian writer hopping around from town to town writing his novel and working odd jobs flooded my isolated 15 year old head. For the next couple of days I kept a vigil at the tracks trying to learn the beasts behavior.... how small I felt in its stern shadows but just cocky enough to try and ride the untamed beast into the safety of the city again. I started to notice patterns to the beasts somewhat sporadic behavior... in particular for its perplexity to nap (train term-'siding') right outside of town (heading west along hi way 14 near Stevenson, WA.) at between 5:45-6:15 every night. As it napped I would crawl around its steel skinned labyrinth inspecting the best spots to mount my secret piggybacked attack. My heart would pound as I slithered my way around its mechanical limbs that could crush me in their talons with one single blow... the hair on the back of my neck would stand on end as the beast creaked and hissed and moaned.... dripping oil like blood on the tracks and smelling of diesel. I knew I had a chance if I could only muster the courage... it was not the fear of running away from home or the fear of being caught by the law... it was the fear that I would never return.

to be continued......

{This is a video I did in 2002 shortly after the untimely death of my Good friend, fellow traveler & Comrade Beth O'Brien. I remixed it this year with a new soundtrack by Birds From The Abyss (Finland) & myself.}

Hi-Yu Skookum Chuck. Jim Atwell's perspective.

2010-11-13T13:07:00.000-08:00

The following is the introduction to the book, Columbia Gorge History, by long time Gorge resident, Jim Atwell , who documented many of the settlers accounts of my people, Watlala. I find it ironic at times, that the very Culture that would destroy another would also document that change and, when it is all said and done, I guess I am grateful for that documentation.{I re-printed everything, including typos.}

Hi-Yu Skookum Chuck

Indian Chinook Jargon word for the Great Falls on the Columbia River.

The Great River of the West was one of the last great water ways to be discovered in America. As it ran through the Cascade Mountains it was squeezed into a narrow channel with a fall of thirty seven feet within a few miles. The Swift water flowed over and around mammoth boulders with great turbulence and disorder and the roar of this Mighty Strong Water could be heard miles away.

The Rapids or Cascades, both names were used, caused a barrier to all boat travel, the boats and their cargo had to be portaged around these cascades. The Indians used light canoes which they carried over the portage trail, but the first white men used larger boats to transport their much heavier supplies so found it much more difficult to get their equipment around the cascades.

Some of the early pioneers stayed here where they were needed, not because of generosity, but because it provided work with money to be made. Settlements grew at the portages and transportation over them improved. Steamboats came below and above the cascades so a crude railroad was built around the swift water.

This is some of the history of the early days in this area. The Indians were here many, many moons before the white people came, but they left no written history. This writer did not come with the first explorers, so must depend on some of the history left by them, however, he was a descendent fo some of the early settlers and friends of others, who have given him stories which he wishes to pass on.

Yakima Indians came to the area in 1856 and attacked the portage settlement, killing and burning until the soldiers arrived. The guilty warriors escaping and the friendlys captured and some were hung.

More settlers arrived, transportation improved, Washington becomes a territory and finally county governments with taxes and road building, and a census taken in 1860.

Railroads replaced the steamboats and a power dam buries the Hi-Yu Skookum Chuck backwater and its roar is quieted forever.

Bob Cupit & the Unknown Soldier: Veterans Day Special.

2010-11-11T01:27:00.000-08:00

I have a Vet friend named Bob Cupit... this is some of my interview with him... He is a songwriter.... He is a poet.... He is a Unknown Soldier.Thank you Bob! Very rough draft, mostly a montage of respect... BLessingS....*Si Matta Gathering the Stories
Veterans Day Special Gathering the Stories by +haven+

**PLEASE LISTEN WITH A MOMENT OF SILENCE AFTERWARDS FOR THE UNKNOWN SOLDIERS***

See Through the Water

2010-11-08T15:07:00.000-08:00

Short documentary by the Oregon Documentary Project & Aurora Productions on the destruction of Celilo Falls (Columbia river, Oregon) and the subsequent fate of Celilo village.

2010-11-07T10:17:00.000-08:00

A Skookum Tale from my Grandma Shirley. Skookum is Chinook Jargon for Monster, and boy o' boi could my Grandma tell a Skookum tale... my neck hairs would stand on end like porcupine.... more tales to come

2010-06-25T11:34:00.000-07:00

Ascension:A Prayer for the Solstice Sun
Music by elysium+obscura
Filmed by Si Matta
Shot in the shadows of beacon rock in Skamania, Washington. The woods location is Si's Great Grandmother Kaliah's old cabin site. [the old cabin site is gone but this coyote skull and ribs were there.... i left them as an offering!]

Wind Mountain

2010-05-23T13:10:00.000-07:00

It is a landmark hard to miss, with it's rounded features framed against the tallest peaks of the Cascades and flanked by the mighty Wimahl (Columbia River) and Wind river. Crowned ad mist the gray rain shadow that forms from the warm pacific mingling with the arrid high dessert of the east.. depositing its payload of rain at her feet. She is called Sacred to my people but we do not know her name anymore: Wind Mountain!

My people would walk up her basalt face and fast and pray and work and stack and seek vision.. But this is an assumption that has no hard line facts! I heard stories all my life about our rich heritage as desendents of Chief Tumulth (Chief Tumulth (c. 1850), signed the treaty that created the Grand Ronde Reservation and was later killed by Gen. Philip Sheridan) and his daughter Kaliah (will expand on this relationship in the future.) and about all the moderen day family struggles for identity in a vanishing world and with that our Spiritual way of feeling this place.

experiance

2010-05-19T10:10:00.000-07:00

I remember how vivid her stories were, and how I would hang on to her every word and watch as she hesitated to unleash the ending upon our young heads... My Grandmother is nothing short of special! She taught me to see things through a different lens and supported me even when I had decided to abandon the families religious post and feel around the world for my sense of 'God' sort to speak. I found the same thing she found... a sense of peace in the presence of something 'Greater than you"... she supports my findings in code of approval looking over foggy fundamental glasses and that is OK.... I will share her wisdom with you all because it is timeless and fading! I will share my discovery of myself in her embrace and grace of Honor and Truth.... She is my Grandmother, Shirley Amos, strong as the Earth and tough as nails! She tells stories!

Listen!

Some days just change you! 30 years ago today!

2010-05-18T20:57:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Gathering the Stories!