friend.html

The Mt. Adams Sun, Bingen, WA., February 26, 1953, page 4

RAY FILLOON, MORE THAN FRIEND

Even when a boy, Ray Filloon managed to get to Trout Lake every time he had a chance. Many a weekend he bicycled from The Dalles to the valley he loved and pedaled home in the deep Sabbath dusk.
Sunday evening, Feb. 22, Ray sat in his Portland home talking to friends. In ten minutes he was gone, the victim of a lengthy heart complaint.
Between the day he was born in The Dalles, July 10, 1887, and last Sunday evening, Ray's fondness for the Mt. Adams country never faltered. His camera recorded the days that are gone forever, the tribal pilgrimages to the Huckleberry Fields, logging methods of that are now almost forgotten, and the changing face of the mountains.
As a photographer he had few equals. His most famous picture, Mt. Adams from Trout Lake, required six hours of hard work trimming brush, giving just the right angle, and then waiting for the shadows to be exactly right. He often took as great care in photographing a wild flower.

LOVED NATURE

Ray loved the wilderness. He was content to be alone, but preferred the company of the least one good companion. Even in the white winter he knew how to strike a camp, building a warm bed in the ashes of his campfire, and get an excellent meal from the simplest of pack provisions. He was a guide and a builder.
In 1909 he homesteaded on the almost inaccessible top of the mountainous south of Trout Lake. The following year he built a second cabin when he found the first failed to command the best view. By hand and with a horse-drawn "go-devil" he plowed an uphill road to his door.
High on his hill top he developed thousands of scenic postcards. These were sold all over the Northwest. Then W. W. I came and Ray enlisted. When he returned, his house had been ransacked and his fertile, frost-free homestead went for taxes.

HARD TIMES

In the Dalles, where Ray had been a mail carrier, his father John M. Filloon ran a hardware store. This was destroyed in the great fire of 1919 which wiped out much of the business district.
Ray found tough sledding. After the war he married and went to Silverton, Ore., as a forest ranger. Stricken with sciatica rheumatism he was carried out on a stretcher. For months he lay helpless on a hospital bed.
By massage, a strict diet, and mineral bath at St. Martin's Springs, Ray recovered. A course in photography persuaded him to go into business in Portland. Success came fast. He acquired two well-established studios. The third of one was his undoing.
Ray was crowded out. He had nothing left but his camera and a few negatives. His photographic masterpieces were gone. For several months he stayed with his boyhood friends, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Coate. In 1934 he went back to work for the Forest Service.

GOOD WILL

As a guard at Little Goose and Cultus he made himself a personal ambassador of good will. Campers listened with interest to his friendly forest-fire sermons. He inspired others to love the woods as much as he did.
Then, with two other men he built and operated the White River camp on Mt. Hood. For several years he and his wife wintered there even when the snow buried their house from sight.
Finally came the assignment which made him famous. He was commissioned by the U.S. Forest Service to compile a scenic record of Indian life and forestry in Oregon and Washington. This valuable collection now belongs to the U.S. Government.

RETIREMENT

In 1946 Ray started his retirement retreat 2½ miles northeast of Trout Lake. Three girls, Alice Cole and Shirley and Roseann Quackenbush helped him build his handsome and completely modern cabin. It was finished last summer.
"Girls are far better workers than men. They work harder, never stop to smoke and they get my meals," Ray said.
Ray's life was devoted to nature's beauty and friends. He had the skill of the craftsman and the unerring instincts of an artist. None of life's hardships lessened his joy in living.
At 2:30 p.m., Wednesday, Feb. 25, services were held at the Colonial Mortuary in Portland. Committal was private at Portland Memorial. Surviving him is his widow, Marjory E. Filloon. Trout Lake has lost more than a friend.