June 13, 2010; 0805 AM. Columbia Slough ramp at Lombard Avenue.
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Dry Bag Dave (left) and Paddlin' Paul at the Columbia Slough ramp,
wondering if they really remembered everything. |
We pushed off from the muddy base of the small ramp into the murky water of Columbia Slough. Dry Bag and I had planned the trip to take advantage of very large tides in the river and the spring freshet. We hoped to start each day in the early morning on either the high slack or the beginning of the tidal ebb in order to opportunistically hitchhike downstream on the river's flow. Our wives, being the very patient women they are, had gone along with our planning and driven us, our kayaks, and all our gear and supplies to the very out-of-the-way boat ramp not far upstream from the mouth of the WIllamette River in Portland. With hugs, kisses, and a few "good lucks" thrown in, they wished us bon voyage and, being careful not to step into the mud, waved us off on our great adventure.
I had turned 66 years old in April that year, and Dryden D. is six years my junior. We're both in good shape, relatively, and feel very much at home in our kayaks. I don't think either of us had any trepidation about this trip, only a sense of adventure and of doing something we'd both wanted to do for some time. And so we set off down the slough, past a number of strange-looking log structures (fish habitat created by the City), and made a right turn into the Willamette River where we were met by a stiff headwind. We looked at each other and smiled that knowing smile; the Columbia River wind was already blowing.
We've paddled many sections of the lower Columbia River, the section below Bonneville Dam at river mile (RM) 146. (One convention used by people on the river is to reference distance upstream from the river's mouth as river mile. The mouth of the Willamette River, where it flows into the Columbia River, is at RM 101; the city of Astoria, Oregon is at RM 13.) The words "wind" and "Columbia River" are never far apart on a page. The wind blows in from the ocean, or upstream, and often starts around mid-morning and builds quickly. So it was a bit of a surprise that we were already paddling into a stiff wind at about 830 in the morning, but it felt good, and the river carried us.
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| Sauvie Island in the Columbia River |
We paddled on the Oregon side of the river, along the shore of Sauvie Island, one of the largest river islands in the United States (larger than Manhattan!). We spent our first morning racing along the Oregon side of the island, about 15 miles from the mouth of the Willamette to the downstream end. The river was high, as we had planned, from the spring freshet, and the tide was racing downhill towards the ocean. It was an exhilarating and fun ride!
Since I was a boy playing along, and sometimes in, the Chicago River, one of my greatest joys has been exploring and studying nature. Kayaking a river that is seasonally high, and therefore occupying it's floodplain, offers a large menu of such opportunities.
At one point, I saw something in the flooded woodland that caught my attention, and I went to investigate. I immediately called out to Dry Bag to come over. There, nestled into the trees in an area that is usually out of water, was what looked like a UFO!
Upon closer examination, we determined that the UFO was really a derelict vessel, the SS Kbar, that must have been carried into the woods during a flood event and remains there to this day. Sometime after our trip I searched the internet and found photos and discussions about the Kbar by people who had hiked through the woods to view it. All I can say is - what the...?
We moved on from the SS Kbar, and at a point perhaps half-way along the island shore, I took advantage of an opportunity to paddle through the flooded floodplain woodland that had a foot or so of water over it. Dry Bag decided to stay in the channel just outside the trees, and we caught glimpses of each other as we kept pace. I poked around, mindful not to get too far behind Dry Bag, looking at the vegetation, listening for birds, watching for signs of fish. After some distance, I headed back to the channel through the trees. Ahead of me, anchored just offshore, was a group of very nice small yachts; I wondered what the occasion was. As I cleared the trees, the shore opened up to a beach area, and I was between the anchored boats and the shore. There, on the beach, was a fairly large group of people age 60+ - all stark naked! They were playing games, sitting in beach chairs, drinking, talking, and waving at me! OK...a bit awkward, but I smiled, nodded my head in their direction, and paddled on. (Sorry, no pix.)
The downstream end of Sauvie Island is known as Warrior Point. A short distance upstream from the point is Warrior Rock, on which sits the Warrior Rock lighthouse, a rather unimpressive structure that has stood since the 1930's. (Note 1) I made a mental note of the time as we paddled past the lighthouse, about 1 o'clock in the afternoon. We had made our way along the length of Sauvie Island, about 15 miles from the Willamette River mouth to Warrior Point, in 5 hours. Our target for the first day was Goat Island at river mile 80, within reach if we kept up our pace of about 3 miles per hour. But the Columbia River has it's own ideas, a truism learned only by experience.
As we passed Warrior Rock, the river channel changed direction by about 30 degrees to the west, and we were suddenly straining at our paddles into a strong westerly wind and large swells. This is a typical pattern on the lower Columbia, and combined with a very strong ebbing tide the river was suddenly a living thing upon whose bucking back we were riding. Ahead of us on the left, the Oregon shore, lay the town of St. Helens.
We crossed the open water between Warrior Point and St. Helens, a distance of about 2 miles, in a state of intense concentration. The current was so strong that we could have easily been swept past the town. The strong head wind and big swells challenged our skills on what would be a leisurely paddle on many other days. We were using every ounce of strength and every nuance of paddling skill to make the crossing.
There is a large marina in St. Helens, and we planned to hold up at one of the outer docks to rest a bit and decide how to proceed. The marina raced towards us (a paddler's perspective about moving and stationary objects is different from that of land lubbers). Dry Bag was ahead of me, and he grabbed hold of a dock cleat. I was on a course to get to the dock just downstream of Dry Bag, and I shouted something to him as I raced by, wondering what the funny look on his face was about. I immediately understood his expression when I turned my gaze to the front and saw the next dock, one that sticks out perpendicular to the flow, racing towards me at a very high speed (there's that paddlers perspective again). My gaze lingered on the roiling interface of water and lumber where the mighty river crashed into and slid under the dock. Uh-oh.
An experienced paddler has synapses that are lacking in the nervous systems of non-paddlers. My upper body immediately switched gear into a back-paddle, with subtle movements that pointed the stern of the kayak away from shore, executing what we call a back-ferry that moved the boat sideways towards the middle of the channel. As I raced past the end of the dock, I took a quick glance over my shoulder and saw that Dry Bag had also headed out into the channel. We were back into the belly of the beast, and could tell that the wind was gathering more strength and the swells were getting higher. We had a short shouted discussion about our situation, and agreed that Goat Island was now not within easy reach.
Sand Island sits in the river across from St. Helens, and solid ground under our butts felt awfully good once we had pulled our boats up the shore and sat for a brief rest. The island has picnic and camping facilities, including a small building with bathrooms. It is a popular spot during summer, but this was early June, and the weather was still chilly and rainy, so we had the island almost to ourselves. We scouted out a good camp spot, hauled the boats and gear up from the river, set up our tents and camp kitchen, and settled in for the evening. We both felt good, but we both knew that making only 15 miles on the first day was a major problem.
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St. Helens, Oregon on the left; Sand Island on the right. Our route is shown in blue (GPS track).
Map Data 2013 (c) Google |
It was mid-afternoon when we finished setting up our camp, and the weather was very pleasant - cool and partly-cloudy. We explored the island, on foot of course. Most of the island is wooded with typical bottomland trees, mostly black cottonwood, and shrubs. Like most Columbia River islands, Sand Island is an elongated oval with the long axis parallel with the river channel. A long sand beach occupies the northern side, perfect for walking, looking at the river, and finding interesting bits of stranded debris. The south side of the island faces the town of St. Helens, and this, too, was a pleasant view in the changing light of the horizon rising to meet the sun.
The chilling air and time of day made us realize that we were really hungry; we had stopped once from about 11:00 to 11:30 in the morning for a pee break and a snack. And so I started to assemble the evening meal, a simple menu of corned beef and potato pancakes. These were left-overs from a party a few days previous, and once the food was heated on the little camp stoves, it was truly a fine hot meal.
We crawled into our tents at some point after dinner, and both slept like old, worn drift logs stranded on a high beach.
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Notes:
(1) How Warrior Rock got it's name:
On October 28, 1792, an advance party from Captain George Vancouver's Columbia River expedition set foot on a rocky point at the north end of Sauvie Island. Shortly thereafter, Lieutenant William Broughton and his men were surrounded by twenty-three canoes carrying war-clad Chinooks. Broughton prudently decided to make peace rather than fight and called the place "Warrior Rock." The original lighthouse and bell structure was built in 1889. The entire history is told here.
