How a backwoods bluff got its name
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How does a man get a large rock named after him? Simple. He puts his name on it. And Stanford Garrett did just that. Literally.
Stanford Garrett Bluff is a large rock overhang, some 300 feet in length and as much as 40 feet deep at its deepest point. There is a natural freshwater spring that flows from the rock, and over the years it has been a stopping point for timber cutters, wildlife and other passersby.
Stanford Garrett — my great-uncle — cemented a steel pipe into the spring nearly three decades ago (before the property was purchased by the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers for the BSFNRRA), making it easier to draw water. The concrete today still bears the letters engraved in it before it dried. It reads simply: “Stan.” And, thus, Stanford Garrett Bluff.
At the time Stan put his name on the rock, a well-traveled road made its way to the bluff. My first trip to Stanford Garrett Bluff was several years ago, with my grandfather and his only brother, Stan. My grandparents tell stories of packing sugar, lemons and water containers to the bluff years ago, where they made fresh lemonade from the spring water. By the time we made the trip to the bluff several years ago, it was no longer possible to take a vehicle there, but horses and ATVs still traveled all the way to the bluff.
A short distance from Stanford Garrett Bluff, one can still find the remnants of an old logging operation if they look closely enough and know what to look for. Stan’s father — my great-grandfather, Clayton Garrett — worked on that timber-cutting operation. Loggers drew water from the same spring way back then.
A short distance from the site of the logging operation is a rock house in the side of the hill. Over the years, folks camped beneath the bluff for a variety of reasons. The timber cutters who worked the land spent nights there. In later years (and likely earlier years as well), longhunters camped there.
Today, the camp site is nearly hidden by rhododenderon and other undergrowth, but many remnants of the old camp remain inside, including an old Crown Jewel cooking stove — now corroded with rust — and an old bed frame, also corroded.
More than one camper claimed to have seen “big cats” roaming nearby over the years. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that a nearby stream is named Panther Branch.
The land has changed greatly since then, of course. The road that was driven as recently as a couple of decades ago has now virtually disappeared into the landscape. Fallen trees cover the roadbed; the only traffic along this road in some time has been foot traffic. The land cleared by logging operations has reclaimed itself. As I paused at a stream crossing a short distance from the bluff, the only footpritns were of a whitetail doe. Underneath the bluff, near the spring, the only footprints were raccoon. No human had made the trek in a good many months, if not longer, proving what the grown-over road is evidence of: Stanford Garrett Bluff is becoming forgotten to all except the old-timers of the Mt. Helen and Honey Creek communities who so named it.
But the old pipe is still in the rock. The spring is still flowing. And the water is just as cold and pure as it always has been.