Ravings of a Textual Deviant

After a good twelve hours of sleep on Saturday night (we had a 21+ hour day, what with the travel and three-hour time change) Ed and I fortified ourselves with wonderful Pacific Northwest coffee and went out to the Columbia River Gorge with Kim and Ari.

The Columbia River divides Oregon from Washington State. Oregon, I noticed, has lightly fortified its side of the river with what appears to be a wooden palisade. There are also some monitoring or signaling devices of some sort. Clearly, they take interstate rivalry seriously here.

Our first stop was La Tournelle Falls. Mind you, this area is generously supplied with waterfalls in a dazzling variety of sizes and configurations, and La Tournelle is indeed scenic, rushing out of the conifer-frosted mountains to plummet scenically into a misty pool a few hundred feet below. Ed walked down to the bottom of the falls, and the obligatory souvenir photo was snapped. Ed’s not terribly visible in it, but the falls are lovely.

Next, we went to Multnomah Falls, which I’m told is the second-highest non-seasonal waterfall in the U. S., at 624 feet. (Presumably the largest is Niagra Falls.) Multnomah is a two-parter, with the bulk of the height in the upper falls. There’s a picturesque bridge across the break, affording one a great view of the upper falls in one direction and the Columbia River in the other. The trail up to the bridge is a bit steep, but only a fifth of a mile. It’s also more “improved,” as there is a chain and posts on the non-mountain side. Even so, it’s got a switchback or two to cover the vertical distance of 69 feet.

The trail to the upper falls is a bot more of a challenge; it’s nearly all uphill, with a generous number of switchbacks. It rises something like 550 feet in less than a mile of travel distance. Those words really don’t convey the reality of a mile hike at an uphill angle of anything from 10 to close to 30 degrees. I needed a few rest stops, but made it to the top of the falls. The trip is worth it; there’s a deep, swirling, pool surrounded by moss-covered rocks and trees. Ferns, mosses, and lichens cover every available square inch of ground and old-growth tree.

The trip back to the Multnomah lodge is mostly downhill, and affords one an excellent opportunity to contemplate what the words “temperate rainforest” really mean. Even in December, it’s green everywhere. There are dozens of varieties of moss and ferns; many of the trees look as though they’re wearing woolly green sweaters. Conifers abound, as does non-native invasive blackberry, (“It’s taking over the state,” Ari told us. “Starting with our backyard.”) and a wide variety of other plants I can’t readily identify. It was humid, but when the temperature is in the forties (Farenheit), it’s not so bad, and the walk is certain to warm one up.

A two-mile hike up a mountainside is a good way to work up an appetite, so we drove another half-hour west to the small town of Hood River, and had lunch at one of Oregon’s many microbreweries, the Full Sail Brewing Company. (Hood River is a jumping-off point for both snow and river sports, being conveniently situated betwixt the two. It is also home to the International Museum of Carousel Art, which I did not have the opportunity to visit.) The Full Sail’s pub has a limited but very vegetarian-friendly menu, and of course, at least six kinds of beer on tap. Beer is wasted on me, as my malt allergy means that beer-drinking is ill-advised on a significant scale. I did have a small sip of porter and one of amber ale, and though I know absolutely nothing about beer, I can understand why people like it. Of course, as Ed pointed out, that was the good stuff, and worlds away from, say, Coors Light.

Twilight started creeping up on us at around 4:00, and we turned ourselves around and headed back east. When we reached the Bonneville Dam and Fish Hatchery, we stopped briefly to look at the fish. There was an impressively large sturgeon—longer than Kim’s Saturn—as well as some less-impressively large sturgeon, and numerous trout, which Ed enjoyed considerably. Sturgeon are Jurassic-era fish, and definitely look the part.

Even in the last rays of the sun, the Columbia River Gorge is truly breathtaking. Craggy, conifer-and-birch(?)-covered slopes rise steeply away from the river. Domes and peaks rise into the clouds, and mist gathers in the depths of the mountains’ folds. There’s an occasional bare, vertical face of rock or landslide scar and rock pile, but overall, the landscape gives the impression of being lush and wild. The sunset peeks out above the gray, choppy river, and the clouds turn salmon, gold, and rose. Not to be missed, I assure you, should you have the opportunity.

This entry was posted on Sunday, December 26th, 2004 at 10:25 pm and is filed under Been There, Done That. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.