September Pasco, WA to North Bonneville, WA.
14 - 20: This section of the Columbia River reminds me of the
Missouri River in the Dakotas: flat water behind dams,
dry and monotonous landscape, and dangerous
paddling conditions when the wind picks up. As far as I
can tell, the wind is always up here. It seems to get
amplified as it's funneled through the Columbia Gorge,
hence the region's reputation as the wind-surfing
capitol of the world. Had I reached a section like this
earlier in westward float to the Pacific, I'd have been
terribly discouraged. Now I simply tell myself there's
not much more to endure before I reach the ocean.
Still, the first few days on the Columbia felt like a real
grind, both physically and psychologically.
The wind never ceased on this stretch - there were just
days when it was less strong than others. As I got
closer to Bonneville, I saw more and more windsurfers
darting back and forth through the waves. I envied
them. Dressed in wetsuits on their thin boards, they
had nothing to lose if they capsized, which they often
did. Some of them also annoyed me, especially the
paragliders. Like the flyfisherman on the Missouri, they
assumed they had a right to occupy whatever space
they wanted, regardless of other traffic. To allow me to
discreetly paddle past along the shoreline appeared to
be a major inconvenience to them. By the time I
reached Stevenson, I was secretly hoping to run one
over, even though I'd probably suffer more from the
encounter.
A beautiful view...
As I got nearer the Dalles, the landscape began to
change. I began to see vineyards along the hillsides,
watered by the river, and by Hood River I could see Mt.
Hood, its snow-capped peak highlighting the
southwestern horizon. By the time I reached Bonneville
Dam, I knew I was in the Cascades - the treeless bluffs
and hills of the eastern gorge were now covered with
pines and hardwoods.
I've now portaged the last of the dams on my route, and
I have only 150 miles left to the ocean. I was hoping
for a free ride downcurrent, but people have told me not
to get my hopes up. If I stay in the main channel, I will
have some current to help me, but that means
contending with the wind, waves, and starting in
Portland, huge ocean-going freighters. If I stay close to
shore, as I plan to do, the incoming tidal flow will mean
the current will actually be against me. I guess there
will be no free rides on this trip.
Last week I was feeling blase about this journey. It
didn't seem like much of an accomplishment. I figured
that if an inexperienced camper and kayaker like me
could get this far, anyone could. All you needed was a
combination of naivete about what you were getting
into, and a determination to see it through no matter
what. Stupidity and stubbornness, these were the
keys to success. Looking back at what I've done now,
I can't believe I managed to get this far. I battled the
Missouri's current for 850 miles, I survived (barely) the
lakes of the Dakotas, and I battled the Missouri again
through Montana. I waded up half the length of the
Jefferson River, and most of the Beaverhead, pulling
my kayak behind me. I hiked across three mountain
passes, and through the burned-over Bitterroot
Valley. I mounted a horse for the first time in my life,
and trudged through rain, sleet, and snow in the
Bitterroot Mountains. And now I'm only 150 miles
from the end - not bad for a novice explorer!
Click here for days 152 - 156 of Richard's journal
