July 23, 2017
As the day marking my 71st birthday transpired, we continued to enjoy the awesomeness of the Columbia River gorge region. As crazed as it sounds to me, I have actually attained an age that at one time seemed positively ancient, yet when my eyes look at the world around me, my mind does not register any difference from my youth.
This birthday registers 24 years more than my mother had. I am sad not to have had the pleasure of her company for longer, but I am grateful that I am still able to savor the delicious flavor of this life.
Because the anniversary of my birth found us amidst what is said to be the largest concentration of waterfalls in North America, it made infinite sense to view a few at the very least; besides, who doesn't love a waterfall. The señor explained a bit about the hows and whys of the gorge and falls (really, people: it can be very educational traveling with him!).
So . . . far in the past, a huge volcano existed where now the Columbia flows. The river has carved its passage through the lava beds deposited by that unnamed mountain. Because of where the river’s course cuts, the stratigraphy of the gorge’s north Washington side is more gentle and tilted toward the river. Conversely, the south Oregon side is made up of upward tilted rock layers which create cliff edges from which rivers drop abruptly, creating 40 or so magnificent waterfalls in the process.
This shot across the river to the Washington shore shows a section of where the mountain was sheared away when the landslide let loose.
However they came to be, the waterfalls are a great attraction. Each of the ones we viewed was entirely different from all the others. Some, like Multnomah, are close by the highway and thus visited by hordes of people.
Others require treks to reach, some short and easy walks, some long and strenuous hikes. For a portion of my birthday and the following day, we went to seven of the falls. I preferred the ones that required a hike to reach, partly because there were fewer people and partly because of the beauty of the forested canyons, mossy and lichen-covered.
I love how the atmosphere changed entirely as we walked deeper into the canyon: temperature dropped, sounds muffled and as we neared the falls, the soft spray was carried to us on the breeze, caressing us with its moisture.
A number of the sites had been donated to the state by private individuals and families to insure that they would remain open to the public. Latourel is one of those. It drops straight down 249 feet from a basaltic overhang that is brilliantly colored with yellow lichen.
Bridal Veil falls flows beneath the historic gorge highway with the bridge right over the top of it. There the water cascades down one section before dropping a slightly different direction for the second part of its fall.
With a drop of 176 feet, Horsetail falls is spectacular as it plunges into a sizable pool. It is easily accessible. Its namesake, Upper Horsetail - also called Ponytail - requires a hike along a scenic trail.
Horsetail and Ponytail were two of the falls suggested to us by my great niece Bri, so we made it a point to get to them even though time limitations did not allow us to visit all her recommendations.
Ponytail was very fun to be at: the trail leads right in behind the cascade that shoots outward from the top of an overhanging cliff. In the photo below, a person is barely visible on the trail behind the fall, which gives a good idea of its massiveness. Without something to provide perspective, the impressive size of the waterfalls become impossible to appreciate in the photographs.
The following picture was taken from inside the overhang behind the waterfall as we watched and felt it shoot out from above us.
The trail continues on from there to a third waterfall, but we did not proceed further at that point.
Shepperds Dell was perhaps my favorite among the waterfalls we viewed although not as spectacular as some. It is in two segments that the canyon topography precludes photographing together.
That spot where Youngs Creek drops downward is truly a small secluded dell, greened with the close leafy embrace of trees. The place exuded an invitation to sit in the serenity.
George Shepperd donated the land surrounding the waterfall in honor of his wife, Mattie.
Elowah falls, one of several on McCord Creek drops an awesome misty 213 feet. The box canyon causes the free-falling water to be blown first one way and then another. It was fascinating to watch the changing patterns of the water, and I loved how it frosted the bouldery bottom.
That route was the most challenging hike of the waterfalls we saw. Long and precipitous, sometimes wet and muddy, it was steep with rough footing often hairpinning around on itself.
I have to admit to a bit of pride in myself: I declined an offered hand for stability and soloed on the narrow steep path even with the dropoffs, proof that I am actually getting past the fear that has dogged me since the ankle mishap last September.
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| These huge boulders that had dropped into McCord Creek from the cliffs above gave me pause about hanging around down in that canyon. |
Commerce, birds . . .
As we climbed into the canyon toward our goal, we could see out to the Columbia and caught sight of a raft of barges heading upstream.
River and railroad traffic is heavy in the gorge. We became especially acquainted with the frequent long trains that roared past our RV park throughout the night and day. It will be some time before I sleep without remembering the signal for that stretch: two longs, one short, one long.
And speaking of whistles: the only birds added to the trip list at that stop were calliope hummingbird, purple martin and purple finch.
Crown Point . . .
We could scarcely believe the Crown Point Vista House and museum on the historic Columbia River highway. Built atop and in the middle of a highway switchback, it was a marvel of optimism on the part of its planners.
Designed by Edgar Lazarus, it was intended to be a resting house to those long-ago intrepid travelers who ventured out during a more genteel era.
Below are shots of it then (it was completed in 1918) and now.
I cannot fault the rhetoric that touted lofty thoughts and apple-pie-up-in-the-sky hopes for those who would come after. Unfortunately, I do not think that our society has upheld such goals.
Bonneville again. . .
Our fascination with the lock system of transporting river traffic past numerous dams took us to the visitor center at Bonneville once more, this time to the Oregon side of the structure. We were able to look into the lock and learn a few things about the process, one of which is that they would not be amenable to filling and emptying it for us in our non-motorized kayaks - darn!
The Bonneville lock fills and empties in about 25 minutes. There is no charge to either commercial traffic or for those on the river for pleasure to utilize it. The boater either radios ahead to signal their arrival or uses a riverside phone, allowing the lock keeper to raise or lower the water level depending on the direction the ship is going.
Early explorers . . .
It would be hard to find anyone in the country who does not know about the Lewis & Clark expedition through that territory; however, it turns out that company was not the first non-indigenous people to be there. Their exploration of 1806 was predated by a goodly span. There is speculation that Asian sailors were in the region very early, and evidence that Spanish castaways were there in 1679, possibly the first Europeans to see the Columbia.
Other early explorers either did not locate the Columbia at its mouth or did not penetrate past the bar where it empties into the Pacific. As an aside, we have heard much from our nephew Jim about crossing the bar, a difficult and sometimes harrowing ordeal. When Chris went out on the boat with Jim recently, he said it was the calmest crossing he has ever had.
Back in time: In April of 1792, George Vancouver, a British commander, sailed past the Columbia's mouth on a northward passage. In May of that year, American captain Robert Gray traded with the natives up to 13 miles upstream and named the river after his ship. In October, 1792, Vancouver dispatched Lt. William Broughton to explore up the river. His journey ventured 100 miles on the Columbia up to the Sandy River. They camped at that juncture on the island pictured below.
An amusing dinner, Ross . . .
Undecided about marking my birthday with a dinner out, we finally opted to try Clark & Lewie's (named of course after the renowned expedition) in Stephenson on the Washington side of the water. Crossings are toll bridges: Bridge of the Gods requires a $2 fee; further upstream is a mere one buck).
At any rate, the place had been recommended by new friends Scott & Cindi, and I liked the idea of dining outside overlooking the river. We secured a table perfect for viewing the placid sights before us and all seemed well.
Our very nice waiter by the name of Eric greeted us and took my order for a glass of wine, and all seemed well.
There we were on the river, so a logical choice for dinner would be fish & chips, which I ordered, and all seemed well.
Uh-oh, there came Eric with the news that they were out of fish, and all began to seem less than well. I contemplated for a few moments that perhaps that was my signal to abandon the glass of wine sitting untouched before me to dine elsewhere.
Then I remembered that Cindi had liked Clark & Lewie's crab cakes; however, their "surf" came with "turf" and I did not want to spend $34 for that dinner, so I asked about getting just the "surf" part. Again, the situation went downhill. They declined to serve me a dinner of crab cakes, so it was back to the drawing board or menu, as the case was. No fish and no crab . . . hmmm. All did not seem well at all.
Ah, brainstorm - the two of us would order and split one dinner of crab cakes and fillet! Eric again took our order and all seemed well.
That's about the time the music started, and all was not overly well. The tiny patio was much too small for such large music that, ahem - we did not think was overly impressive. As the musical duo explained to us, very loudly, it was not a paying gig, so all donations would be appreciated. We quickly understood why it was not a paying gig, especially when they treated us to their original song, "In the land of the Subaru".
And, oh no, there came Eric again (by that time, I was cringing when he appeared) to inform us that not only were they out of fish and wouldn't serve us crab without fillet, but they were also out of mashed potatoes to go with our shared surf & turf.
Actually, about the time the music started in, we had begun laughing at the ludicrousness of it all. Might as well at that point, so all seemed well again. Eric brought us a very nice large salad to assuage our disappointment at the lack of potatoes.
Eventually, we grew accustomed to music so loud you couldn't hear yourself think, so we sang along just like all the other folks in attendance, especially when a fellow diner stepped in to treat us to her fine rendition of "Bobby McGee".
Between songs, I heard someone from a group of diners mention Arizona, so I talked to them afterward and learned they were from the Valley and often caroused at Whiskey Row in Prescott.
So . . . the surf & turf was tasty, even sans potatoes, and we enjoyed watching a local Indian placing his gill nets that he would pick up the next morning, hopefully filled with salmon. Natives are the only ones allowed to fish for salmon there.
Throughout the entire time when our waiter had to continually give us bad news about our dinner, his smile never faltered. From the start, he reminded me of someone I had watched on the telly, but I couldn't think who. Chris finally came up with it: he acted and sounded exactly like the character, Ross, on Friends! He said he had heard it many other times, so it wasn't my imagination run wild.
Larch Mountain, volcanoes . . .
The Cascade range is punctuated with dormant (okay, some not so much) volcanic peaks that are topped by permanent snow and glaciers. When we learned about a vantage point that afforded a view of five major snowy peaks, we opted to check it out.
We hiked upward to the lookout spot, a fairly hefty climb, and attempted to photograph the mountains. At nearly 100 miles distant, Mt. Ranier was close to impossible to capture in its haziness. Chris came to my rescue on that one, I couldn't see well enough to get it in the viewfinder. He wasn't even sure he had managed it until he saw the picture.
As you can see, St. Helen's has blown her top right off.
In the course of things . . .
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| Isn't it a shame that our federal tax dollars do not stretch far enough to cover proofreaders for signage. |
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