Our campsite at Vista Park sat on a terrace above the Columbia River and offered - yes - a terrific vista. We had breakfast, gathered and packed our gear, and prepared to set out on the Mighty Columbia for the final day of our journey. When we arrived at Vista Park late the previous day, the tide was out and we had a very long shlep from the water across a flat sand beach to the campsite (see photo, below). In the morning, however, the tide was up, and the water was at the base of the concrete stairs leading from the beach to the campground. A much easier launch than we had anticipated.
We set off at 0703 hrs from Vista Park. The weather was cloudy, a slight breeze, and a slight chop on the water. Because we knew the river better than Lewis and Clark had, we crossed to the OR side where the wind and waves were both more moderate. We knew that wind and waves would get progressively worse as we went downstream on the Washington side, and we also wanted to cross the navigation channel sooner.
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| Day 4 began at Skamokawa, WA and ended at Astoria, OR. |
The Day 4 trip was 17.6 miles of paddling, as calculated from the GPS data afterwards. This was not very much distance, compared to each of the previous three days. We were confident that we would make our destination in Astoria by early afternoon. Little did we know what the day would really be like.
As seen in the photo above, the route we plotted was to cross the river just downstream of Skamokawa and work our way through the numerous low, marshy islands of the lower estuary, an area known as Cathlamet Bay. Our actual GPS track is shown on the map below.
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| The GPS track of Day 4 starts at Skamokaway, WA at the top right of the image. |
At 0900 hrs, two hours after launching from Skamokaway, we took a 20 minute break on Brush Island (see below). I truly enjoy this part of the Columbia River where one can get lost among the tidal channels and low marshy islands. I wonder how people paddled their way through here before GPS units were available. From Brush Island we worked our way southwest, following a main channel. The tide was falling, which helped us; however, we could tell that a stiff wind was blowing in from the ocean, and we would have to deal with that at some point.
At one point we tried to speed west across a very shallow area (Grassy Island, above), but the tide was ebbing so quickly we started scraping bottom and nearly got grounded on a sand bar. We quickly back paddled our way off the sand bar and made our way northwest seeking a deeper channel (see the point of our GPS track just below the label "Grassy Island" in the image, above). As we emerged around the north side of Grassy Island we could see our destination, Tongue Point (unlabeled, but above and to the left of Mott Island, image above).
According to my GPS data the distance we paddled from Grassy Island to our landing spot on the lee (east) side of Tongue Point was 3.3 miles, and it took us 1 hour and 15 minutes to make the crossing. That hour and a quarter was the most strenuous paddling so far. The wind was blowing very hard directly into our faces, kicking up a pretty good set of waves. At one point I looked to my left to gauge my speed relative to a landmark on the distant shore - I was paddling as hard as I could and not making any progress! And so I paddled harder. I've been in this kind of situation where you realize that you need to find some way to paddle as hard as possible for a sustained period of time; if you stop to rest for a few seconds you will be blown back to where you started. And so Dry Bag and I paddled our butts off for an hour and a quarter until we got into the lee of Tongue Point, a high, rocky peninsula sticking out into the throat of the Columbia River.
We carefully pulled and carried our kayaks onto a beach of jagged chunks of basalt rock at about 1245 hrs, found a log to sit on, and devoured as much food as we could get our hands on. We were both exhausted from the final crossing of Cathlamet Bay, and we knew we had a way to go before the day was over.
At 1335 hrs we launched from the lee side of Tongue Point and headed towards our final destination, Astoria. As we paddled in the calm water of the lee side, I watched a small motorized boat speed out of the bay we were in and around the tip of Tongue Point. The boat was being pummeled by large waves coming upstream. As we watched that boat careening off the top of each successive wave, Dry Bag Dave and I looked at each other with a knowing expression: "we are in deep doo-doo!" (Or something like that.)
As soon as we rounded the tip of the point, we were in the washing machine of wind, waves and tide all colliding in one space. The strategy for paddling in this kind of water is to keep your nose into the waves and paddle like there is no tomorrow. A strong westerly wind was blowing upstream (east) and the waves it produced were at least 3 feet tall and mostly coming straight up-river. I say mostly because some waves were reflecting off Tongue Point and coming crosswise, while others occasionally came at us from the other side. I fell into a rhythm of steady and long paddle strokes, focused on keeping my paddle blade in the water and my nose into the waves, watching the bow of my kayak come off the top of a wave so that 1/3 or more of the boat was in the air, and then plunging into the trough and disappearing below the next wave until it suddenly lifted clear again. Sometimes the nose of the boat would go below water far enough that my waist was almost in the water; this is when a paddler appreciates a drysuit and a well-fitting spray skirt!
I clearly remember to this day the wave that suddenly reared up to my right heading straight for me and slapped me across the face. I didn't see that one coming, but it was very refreshing. What a wild ride, what a fun time, what a lot of work!
We got far enough downstream from the constraining section at Tongue Point that the waves were not as high and had a more regular pattern. The wind was still blowing strong in our faces, and the tide had turned and was flowing in stronger every minute. Our goal was to paddle under the Astoria-Megler Bridge that spans the Columbia River near the downstream end of Astoria; Dry Bag had suggested that this would be a very fitting symbolic ending to our journey. But I could now feel every paddle stroke as a burden, and fatigue had already crept in and filled my old body. We slogged on into the wind and tide until I saw the East Basin dock and ramp, about 2.5 miles from the bridge. I looked over at Dry Bag Dave and shouted to him that I was finished, and I was heading to this first take-out opportunity. He nodded; "Yep - sounds like a great idea," and swung his boat in that direction, too.
We landed at the East Basin ramp at 1530 hrs (330PM), a long eight hours after sliding away from Skamokawa. We phoned our wives, who were already in Astoria at the hotel. They drove to the East Basin ramp and loaded us, our kayaks and our gear onto and into the car; what a terrific support crew they were. We made it; tired, aching, a bit smelly, and with big smiles.
February, 2015, four years and eight months afterwards, I have finally completed the log of the Derelicts of the Columbia River. The trip is still fresh in my mind after almost five years; it was that memorable. Being on the water is one of my very favorite activities; being in my kayak on the water is special because I am so close to the water and I mostly control where I'm going, using my own muscles to do so. I never tire of studying the ecology of the lower Columbia River as I paddle on it and poke around in its nooks and crannies. It is a complex system driven by wind, ocean tides and flows from upstream waters that are regulated by an extensive system of dams. Fish and wildlife are abundant and diverse, although not as much as before Europeans altered the system, logged the forests and over-fished and hunted the native fauna. The human history of the river before and after the European invasion is also complex and filled with interesting tales. And of course, the link paddlers have to the paddlers of the Lewis and Clark party adds a layer of wonder and respect for the courage and strength of those people.
If you read this far in this series of posts, I thank you. I wrote this mostly for my own benefit (and Dry Bag Dave's, of course) so I could reread it if and when the memories start to fade. My shoulder is fine now, following the surgery in 2013, and I've been back on the rivers of the Pacific Northwest in my 17 ft wood kayak exploring, day dreaming, getting wet, and doing a lot of smiling.
Paddlin' Paul
February 13, 2015
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As soon as we rounded the tip of the point, we were in the washing machine of wind, waves and tide all colliding in one space. The strategy for paddling in this kind of water is to keep your nose into the waves and paddle like there is no tomorrow. A strong westerly wind was blowing upstream (east) and the waves it produced were at least 3 feet tall and mostly coming straight up-river. I say mostly because some waves were reflecting off Tongue Point and coming crosswise, while others occasionally came at us from the other side. I fell into a rhythm of steady and long paddle strokes, focused on keeping my paddle blade in the water and my nose into the waves, watching the bow of my kayak come off the top of a wave so that 1/3 or more of the boat was in the air, and then plunging into the trough and disappearing below the next wave until it suddenly lifted clear again. Sometimes the nose of the boat would go below water far enough that my waist was almost in the water; this is when a paddler appreciates a drysuit and a well-fitting spray skirt!
I clearly remember to this day the wave that suddenly reared up to my right heading straight for me and slapped me across the face. I didn't see that one coming, but it was very refreshing. What a wild ride, what a fun time, what a lot of work!
We got far enough downstream from the constraining section at Tongue Point that the waves were not as high and had a more regular pattern. The wind was still blowing strong in our faces, and the tide had turned and was flowing in stronger every minute. Our goal was to paddle under the Astoria-Megler Bridge that spans the Columbia River near the downstream end of Astoria; Dry Bag had suggested that this would be a very fitting symbolic ending to our journey. But I could now feel every paddle stroke as a burden, and fatigue had already crept in and filled my old body. We slogged on into the wind and tide until I saw the East Basin dock and ramp, about 2.5 miles from the bridge. I looked over at Dry Bag Dave and shouted to him that I was finished, and I was heading to this first take-out opportunity. He nodded; "Yep - sounds like a great idea," and swung his boat in that direction, too.
We landed at the East Basin ramp at 1530 hrs (330PM), a long eight hours after sliding away from Skamokawa. We phoned our wives, who were already in Astoria at the hotel. They drove to the East Basin ramp and loaded us, our kayaks and our gear onto and into the car; what a terrific support crew they were. We made it; tired, aching, a bit smelly, and with big smiles.
February, 2015, four years and eight months afterwards, I have finally completed the log of the Derelicts of the Columbia River. The trip is still fresh in my mind after almost five years; it was that memorable. Being on the water is one of my very favorite activities; being in my kayak on the water is special because I am so close to the water and I mostly control where I'm going, using my own muscles to do so. I never tire of studying the ecology of the lower Columbia River as I paddle on it and poke around in its nooks and crannies. It is a complex system driven by wind, ocean tides and flows from upstream waters that are regulated by an extensive system of dams. Fish and wildlife are abundant and diverse, although not as much as before Europeans altered the system, logged the forests and over-fished and hunted the native fauna. The human history of the river before and after the European invasion is also complex and filled with interesting tales. And of course, the link paddlers have to the paddlers of the Lewis and Clark party adds a layer of wonder and respect for the courage and strength of those people.
If you read this far in this series of posts, I thank you. I wrote this mostly for my own benefit (and Dry Bag Dave's, of course) so I could reread it if and when the memories start to fade. My shoulder is fine now, following the surgery in 2013, and I've been back on the rivers of the Pacific Northwest in my 17 ft wood kayak exploring, day dreaming, getting wet, and doing a lot of smiling.
Paddlin' Paul
February 13, 2015
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