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