Brian Reeves

Canyon City

Founded 1862, Pop 360

FEAR LEVEL: 3

Built in a gully along the banks of a burbling stream, this little burg is Oregon’s own little Deadwood.

Canyon City was founded after an old- timer wading across the creek with his mule found knuckle-sized chunks of gold just sittin’ there for the taking. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep the find to himself. As word got out, thousands of hopefuls raced out this way hoping to get a piece of the action, forming impromptu mining camps and towns in the many feeder streams all around Whiskey Gulch. The grandpappy of them all was Canyon City, right where the first gold had been spotted.

Of course, most of those treasure-seekers found nothing but shattered dreams. Just when it looked like Canyon City might become the biggest town in Oregon, most of everyone just upped and left.

That was just fine by the town’s stubborn hardliners, who just know there’s gold right around here somewheres, and it’s only a matter of time until they strike it rich.

A RIVER RUNS THROUGH IT

Unlike most towns in the Weird West, this one isn’t platted out in a nice line. It sits on both sides of Canyon Creek, with residential Humboldt Street following the river’s course on the west side and commercial Washington Street on the other. Two bridges span the creek—one at Main Street and the other at the aptly-named Bridge Street. But numerous fords and rickety pedestrian bridges provide crossing all up and down the creek.

It only amounts to three blocks, but downtown is where all the action takes place. Here, one can find Canyontown Saloon, a no- frills clapboard taphouse run by pugnacious Sylvester Markham. The poker game at a corner table has been going for two years, stopping only for the occasional bar brawl. Markham saves money by making his own spirits in a basement distillery, slipping in the extract of a local root known for its addictive properties, on account of it being good for repeat business.

Across from Canyontown is the Rider’s Rest Inn, a flophouse which fancies itself as a proper big-town hotel—but the tiffany lamps and floral carpets can’t disguise the rickety wooden floors, the gaps between the planks on the wall, and the lack of running water. At least the owner, Henrietta Langstaff, keeps the prices down to a reasonable $3 per night.

Several brothels operate in and around Canyon City. All but one of them are owned by a single madam, “Miss Cordelia,” whose identity as a madam might be one of the town’s best-kept secrets.

Just outside of town is Canyon City’s Chinatown, a sorry collection of wooden buildings and tents. Most of its residents were hired to work mines that didn’t pan out and subsequently became stuck here. Several Chinese men and women have started panning or digging for gold on their own, causing tensions to run high between Chinatown and the rest of the community.