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Will and me partway up Beacon Rock, on the Washington side of the Columbia River.
Will came to visit from Rhode Island for two weeks. Prior to this visit he had never stepped foot into Washington or Oregon. I was delighted to be able to show his virgin eyes my favourite part of the world. On our first day back home after Seattle, the day dawned sunny once more, and that meant we had to get outside and explore!
Beacon Rock beside the Columbia River. Photo by Jen Thomas.
This time we went out into the Columbia Gorge on the Washington side because Will was interested in climbing Beacon Rock. The rock is not only remarkable to see, standing alone like a sentinel as it does, but it also has interesting stories behind its formation and its use as a viewpoint.
The rock is a remnant of a volcano that erupted 57,000 years ago – recently, in geologic time. When the eruption was finished, lava that had filled the core cooled and hardened. Between 15 and 13 thousand years ago, a massive event known as the Missoula Floods sent wave after wave of incredibly high floodwaters crashing to the sea, carving and shaping the gorge that I love today. The water eventually eroded the mountain, leaving only the hard lava core.
In 1805, William Clark described and drew the rock in his journals, and in 1806 his traveling companion Meriwether Lewis gave it the name it still holds today.
They were obviously not the first people to note the rock. American Indians used it as a landmark to identify the last dangerous rapids to negotiate – if traveling by boat – before reaching the sea. The Bonneville Dam is visible from the trail as one climbs the rock.
View from the top, looking east toward Bonneville Dam. For a larger image so you can see the dam, just click!
In 1814, Nicholas Biddle edited the journals of Lewis and Clark for publication. Almost exactly 100 years later, his descendent Henry J. Biddle purchased the rock for $1 and began building a trail. He finished it in 1918. Biddle’s children gave the rock to the state of Washington in 1935 so that it could be made into a state park.
My purpose in acquiring the property was simply and wholly that I might build a trail to the summit. ~H. Biddle
The trail remains today and is one mile long with 53 switchbacks. There is a small viewing place at the top, 848 feet up. There are great views all the way up, so you don’t have to reach the top for a reward. However, if you do press on (and if you skate over the icy patches we found on the shady west side), you have a 360-degree view from the top.
It looks scarier than it is. But yes, it’s basically a path on the side of a rock.
The view west toward Portland/Vancouver.
There are many many switchbacks that make you gasp for breath.
The solution for gasping is to take photos along the way.
Will climbs a rock staircase onto the viewing platform at the top.
At the bottom of the hill, we next crossed the Bridge of the Gods, which gets its name from an American Indian legend that talks about another Bridge of the Gods found in this same place in the river. If you read the book, or saw the movie “Wild,” with Reese Witherspoon, the character chooses the bridge as her final destination before quitting the Pacific Crest Trail.
On the other side of the river is the state of Oregon. We hit Interstate 84 and turned west toward Portland again. But we had to make another stop. Will’s virgin eyes needed to see the astonishing waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge. I pulled off the highway exit to Multnomah Falls, one of the most visited tourist attractions in the state of Oregon. It is named after one of the gods in the bridge story I mentioned above.
Multnomah Falls is a familiar sight, but I never tire of it.
Looking from the bridge out to the tourists below and the Columbia Gorge out there in the sunshine.
Sometimes the best view of the falls is from the parking lot, where you can see the whole thing. On this day, the snow and ice confused the view. The Blue Star Highway sign honors US Armed Forces.
We walked up to the base of the falls and Will was duly impressed with the 620 foot falls. “Just like in Rhode Island!” he joked. We hiked up the trail to the bridge you can see in the photo.
By then we were starving, and it was time to indulge in the fare at the Multnomah Falls Lodge. The lodge is gorgeous outside and inside, featuring walls of glass panes so that we could look at the falls while we ate. The lodge theme is maintained inside the restaurant, with rustic and historic decor, and a massive fireplace. The food is always high quality.
Adventuring spirits and bellies sated, we made the long drive back home to Rainier.
Only Multnomah Lodge can make a burger and a gyro sandwich look so good.
The sun attempts to penetrate our world over the Hawthorne Bridge in downtown Portland over the Wilamette River.
I maintain a childlike appreciation for the natural forces and landscapes in my world that does not seem to fade as I grow older. The Columbia River holds my awe as a local landscape and a force itself. August reminded me constantly of the forested landscapes, and how they are changing under the force of wildfires.
I have been able to capture some remarkable photos of rivers and smoke from those wildfires, as the two converge.
Mondays I work at a tall building right on the shores of the Wilamette River. The rest of the week I work at home. Monday mornings before work I try to get in a short run before work, and thus have been able to see the effects of smoke from area fires on our city.
Jogging past the marina is always picturesque.
One morning I caught this blurry photo of teams practicing their paddling.
Each week I find the sun at a different place in the sky. Here the red orb peeks through struts on my favourite Portland bridge: Hawthorne.
Smoke was so thick for a few days that I could actually smell it outside. I am pretty sure that most of it is coming south to us from British Columbia, but the smoke is likely worsened by fires in Washington and southern Oregon as well. Every summer the West burns.
A view of the afternoon sun from my house.
All day long the light cast over my world has been orange. From morning, through midday, and into evening, the light is surreal: dimmed, tinted, and seemingly still. Maybe Mother Nature is holding her breath, watching and waiting, like me. I am grateful daily that my own community is not burning, while I see facebook reports of my friends evacuating from their homes in other places. Smoke in the air reminds me that the threat is close to me as well.
Returning across the Lewis & Clark bridge from Longview, Washington, I was startled to notice that from one shore I could not see across the Columbia River to the other shore. Instead of going home, I drove down to the waterfront to take a closer look.
From the Rainier marina, looking toward the Lewis & Clark bridge, the last bridge to cross the river before you get to the coast, and the bridge at Astoria.
The bridge is almost obscured from my viewpoint, a half a mile away.
I moved down river to a spot closer to the bridge, but it remains faded in the murky skies.
While at the Rainier marina, I stopped to read some information signs that talk a little about the Columbia and about my tiny town of Rainier. I’ll reproduce some of it here, because I am so proud of my beautiful river, even when it flows beneath worrisome skies.
The Columbia River is the second longest river on the continent. It will fall more than 2600 feet in elevation as it flows 1270 miles from the Canadian Rockies to the Pacific Ocean. The elevation drop and the large water flow give the Columbia enormous potential to generate electricity. Currently the dams of the Columbia River Basin generate one third of all the hydro-electricity produced in the United States.
The location of Rainier on the Columbia is a primary reason why it was established. Two days were needed to travel from Portland to Astoria before roads were built. Since Rainier is located in the middle, travelers spent one night in Rainier before they completed the second day of their journey.
In 1792 American Captain Robert Gray successfully crossed the Columbia River bar and sailed upstream approximately 13 miles. He named the river after his ship: “Columbia Rediviva.”
In 1805 Lewis and Clark traveled down the Snake River where they entered the Columbia. They finished their journey to the Pacific Ocean traveling down the Columbia.
In 1852 Charles Fox donated 24 acres for a town site that would become Rainier.
For the past two days it has been raining. For folks around here, the rain is a relief.
Update: August 30, 2108. We had clear skies tonight and I stopped by the marina to take another photo so you can compare.
Sea lions heaped upon the docks, ranging from hound-sized to bear-sized.
It started with an ordinary night out to eat at one of the very few restaurants in tiny Rainier. I stepped out of the Jeep in the parking lot, and was awash in the sounds of barking, growling, and moaning. Sometimes I can hear sea lions barking while standing on my porch, several miles away, but this sounded more impressive. Before going into the restaurant, I walked down to the beach in the dark, following the sounds, and came to the Rainier Marina. I could barely see the docks, but I could hear that they were occupied. I took this video for the sounds. Even after hearing it twenty times, it makes me smile!
The next morning was partially sunny, so I took my camera back down the hill to see what the scene looked like in daylight.
I wasn’t the only one with this idea, because other locals were parked on a hill overlooking the docks. I was armed with my Nikon and a zoom lens, and got some really fun shots.
Hey! Remember I had camera problems starting during my trip to Chile? At a camera store, before sending it off for repairs, the technician suggested a couple of ways to trouble shoot. One of his suggestions was to try a different lens. I had been almost exclusively using the Tamron lens because it can use the autofocus on the Nikon, and it goes from 35mm to 270mm! So convenient. I tried the 18-35, and also the 70-300, and viola! Problem fixed. It means my Tamron is dead, but not the camera. Yay!
It’s a little blurry, since I have poor distance vision and the lens has to be manually focused. But what a great open maw!
This one lunged along, on top of the others, to find a new spot.
Look at these howlers!
I chatted up one of the men in a truck, who turned out to be a local fisherman. He was very unhappy about the sea lion situation. He explained that the local fishermen view them as a menace because they eat the fish. Smelt populations wax and wane, but since the year 2000 their numbers have been so low they were added to the Endangered Species list as a threatened population. The huge sea creatures were gobbling up a lot of what is available, leaving even less for the humans. This is also a problem during salmon runs, with salmon populations already threatened by human activity like dams on the river. From an anthropologist’s perspective, I see it as a way that the fishermen respect the wild animals, and I think the rivalry is almost touching. People curse the seals and sea lions as though they are equal rivals for a limited resource, and it draws them together and highlights what they have in common. I recognize that I have the luxury of using this perspective because I don’t depend on fishing for food or for income.
Still, I had to bite down to keep from commenting to the fisherman in his truck, that while he professed to hate the sea lions, here he was, among other crusty old fishermen on the hill, having his lunch break with his windows down, listening to and watching them.
Cover up in enough blubber, and nap in a pile with your buddies, and I’ll bet February becomes a lot warmer.
Rainier sits on the Columbia River right across from the mouth of the Cowlitz River. This year, like last year, a one-day, five-hour net fishing season was open on February 25th. People stand on the riverbank with nets and scoop them up. Reports are that no one got a fish this year on the Cowlitz. I imagine there will be even more cursing about sea lions now.
There are enough smelt to bring their wild hunters 45 miles inland from the sea, however.
In hopes of protecting our Marina, workers went out in January to build barriers to keep the beasts off the docks. The combined weight of hundreds of massive sea lions will sink the docks. Wooden fences were constructed, and lined with bright orange plastic netting, to make the fence seem more intimidating. The sea lions said a collective “Whatevs,” and pushed the fences aside and lounged on the docks anyway. I’m afraid the already-poor city of Rainier will have to build new docks, or at least do some significant repairs, when all is said and done.
Looking downriver toward Astoria, and the Pacific Ocean. That is the Lewis & Clark Bridge, joining Longview, Washington to Rainier, Oregon
The other thing I saw down there were the signs of commerce and industry. I know it’s factories and massive machinery and big dirty ships, but I have a childlike joy when I see it all. The lights at night (as you can see in the video at the top) are nothing short of beautiful to behold. The exhaust from the pulp mill is like a scene from a science fiction movie. Everything is huge! The factory towers, the ships, the bridge, the enormous docks across the river at the Port of Longview, in Washington. All of it delights me.
Sea lions have overtaken the Rainier docks. A pulp mill at the Port of Longview is across the river.
This ship’s size is almost made modest beside the big sea creatures.
The very end of the docks here still have their fences intact. I took the photos a couple days ago, and wonder if these fences have been wrecked too.
Singing for their supper.
For comparison, I took a second video with my phone, to give you a better sense of the whole view.
There’s my little home town of Rainier in the foreground, on the Oregon side, and Longview across the river on the Washington side. In the center is the Lewis & Clark Bridge across the Columbia River, that helps me get to work (and more importantly: home) each day.
Saturday I turned 46 and went down the road apiece to Astoria, Oregon. I stopped right away at a viewpoint and looked down on our rural valley, about an hour drive north of Portland, Oregon. From there I could see the industrial mechanisms of the local economy, in the form of lumber and pulp mills, and the Port of Longview.
The next thing that caught my attention was a sign that pointed the way to a toll ferry. I did not need to go wherever the ferry would take me, except that I have been randomly discovering quite a few small ferry crossings on the many Oregon rivers, and it’s become a new interest of mine. Sadly, I did not ride a ferry that day.
Ferry was closed for repairs, but now that I know it’s there, I’ll go back and try again.
The water beside the ferry launch was picturesque.
In no time I was in Astoria, the city built at the mouth of the Columbia as it pours into the Pacific Ocean. I took a few photos near the mouth of the river, which is filled with sea faring ships, of course, since it’s a safe harbour when the ships are not en route. Then I stopped for lunch at the Rogue Brewery on Pier 39. I drove on the pier to get there!
Ships appear to be moving along an earthen track in this photo. But they are in the distance, and a man is walking his dog along the path that follows the narrow piece of land.
The “road” to the brewery. One will also find a coffe shop, a dive store, a museum, and a law office.
Bumble Bee Seafood Company started right here. Can you sing the tune with me? “Bum Bum Bumble Bee, Bumble Bee Tuna.”
At the Rogue Brewery I veered away from the “Dead Guy Ale,” and the “Yellow Snow IPA,” and tried the “8 Hop IPA” and some homemade clam chowder (fresh clams, obviously). I somewhat recklessly agreed to become a citizen of the Rogue Nation and raised my right hand and took the pledge. I got a card that entitles me to a free pitcher of beer on my next birthday, but not this one. I talked with another woman traveling solo who is from Idaho like me, and has been roaming the West Coast since November, she said, trying to decide whether or not to retire. When she left, I talked with the couple on the other side of me, who were having a great day because the grandparents had the baby and they were free for awhile. They were both Air Force veterans like me and I quickly gave my VA-is-the-best-thing-ever spiel, and answered some questions and gave them my contact information.
Next I went to check in at the Cannery Pier Hotel & Spa. This place looked great online, and is *so* much better in reality. The service was personal and genuine. They learned my name in the first greeting, and from then on never asked again what room I was in. I told them it was my birthday and they wished me a happy birthday every time I passed the front desk (and even checked in with me the next day at breakfast, to see if I had enjoyed my birthday. I had.) I took a dozen photos, and I’ll share them with you in my next post.
The Cannery Pier Hotel & Spa at the end of a pier into the Columbia River.
There were about two hours of daylight left, so I left the place and went to find the sea.
First I got distracted by this garage covered in scavenged buoys. The woman who owned the home there said the garage was built at the same time as her grandmother’s home, which had been where we were standing before she tore it down to build her new home. “But Grandma loved her garage and it reminds me of her, and I just can’t bring myself to take it down yet,” she said. “We had a pile of these buoys that we had found, and one day we hung them up. Now people drop them off and we keep hanging them up.”
Grandma’s garage covered in buoys
Then I was distracted again by a sign giving directions to the Army Cemetery. The road passed through what had clearly been an Army outpost years ago. Though it is entirely civilian now, one can’t ever erase the stamp of the federal government. It had the feel of a military base still. At the end of the road I found the humble Fort Stevens Post Cemetery, founded in 1868, according to an informational sign, when the first burial was Private August Stahlberger, who fell in the river and drowned while under the influence. It was also closed for repair.
The road to the cemetery.
Past the guardhouse
U.S. Army Cemetery, Fort Stevens
Doing repairs carefully
Finally I found the beach. I honestly tried to pick out just the good photos, but… I fell in love with them all. It was an exquisite view in the January afternoon, as the sun shed her last rays on us ocean-loving humans.
On the way back to the hotel for their 5 pm wine, cheese, salmon and crackers, I had to stop again for photos. These reflections were still discernible in the very last vestiges of light at about 4:40 pm.
Branches stretch across a swampy bay.
My camera makes it look rather light still, but it was pretty dark at this point. Still, the reflections were worth stopping for.
I went up to my room and changed into my new Christmas dress that I had only worn once so far. I enjoyed the treats downstairs, then came back to my room to try out a new whiskey that I received as a birthday gift. Have I mentioned that I’m a whiskey drinker? A co-worker has been lauding this Japanese scotch for the longest time. I was skeptical that such a good whiskey could be from Japan. I am no longer skeptical. Then, since I wanted to get a photo of my dress for Tara, I took about 75 photos in the bathroom mirror and failed them all. By the time this one was taken, I was totally cracking up at my own ineptness. But at least I got a fuzzy picture of my dress. It’s a sweater dress, so fuzzy is appropriate.
Auchentoshan Three Wood pours out like syrup
Cracking myself up while failing at a selfie.
Beaver Creek is apparently trying to be Beaver River.
I’m sure you have heard the news about the rain on the U.S. West coast. Here’s our story.
On Tuesday December 8, despite the pouring rain I drove south to Corvallis after work to pick up Tara from college to come home for the holidays. We got home at 9:30 pm and I was so tired we didn’t visit, just went to bed. So much rain had fallen that day it had caused a mudslide that brought down trees and debris across Oregon Highway 30 near Rainier, my hometown. Wednesday morning I kissed Tara’s sleeping head, and hopped into the Jeep at 5:00 am like usual. I could not take the Highway 30 route into Portland because there was a roadblock, flashing lights, and police out there answering questions. I shrugged and turned the other direction to cross the Lewis & Clark Bridge over the Columbia River to Washington state. It’s my preferred route into town anyway. Both highways hug the river all the way to Portland, but the I-5 speed limit is 70 miles per hour, and the Hwy 30 speed limit ranges from 25 to 55 mph as it passes through half a dozen little towns.
During the day Wednesday the rain came down like a monsoon. Word spread through the office that there had been a mudslide on Interstate 5 between Portland and Seattle – my way home. I wasn’t worried at first, since that is a major route and I knew it would be a priority cleanup.
Tara sent a video taken on their phone. It showed our little Beaver Creek had overflowed its banks and flooded the whole bottom section of the property, flowed all across the land and into the pond. The video is blurry, but you get the idea. Since I moved here in July I have fretted about the low level of the pond, but in minutes the raging Beaver River filled it up and overflowed the other side. (Notice the sticks still on the railing after I photographed them for their ice formations.)
I left work and headed north on I-5 like usual, and right away I saw enormous highway signs proclaiming “Road closed, mile post 23. Use alternate route.” I kept driving because the mudslide was from the morning. Certainly the major highway would be open by the time I arrived. And besides, “alternate route,” that’s a joke. There is no alternate route. There isn’t a frontage road, or mountain pass, or even a little recreation road that follows the Columbia River on the Washington side. There is absolutely no other way to get through except Highway 30 on the Oregon side.
Road Closed Ahead.
I was still about 10 miles away from the so-called “road closure,” but already the Interstate was slowing down. Three lanes of bumper to bumper traffic traveling around 15 miles an hour finally made me take the situation seriously. The big glowing highway signs stated “Take next exit.” I passed one exit, still not convinced. When we were down to 3 miles an hour, and still 8 miles from mile marker 23, I acquiesced and pulled off the highway, turned around and went back to Portland. I finally had to agree that the Interstate was truly closed.
Luckily I had a place to stay in downtown Portland, so I had a rather appealing Plan B. Serendipitously, Tara was at home and could keep an eye on the place, feed the cat and the chickens, and that was reassuring. I visited the hot tub on the roof of the apartment building where I stayed, and for an hour the rain let up and gave us this Christmas view of the city.
Christmas lights of Portland.
I wore all the same clothes at work Thursday December 10, though I was able to swap out my undershirt with a clean Incredible Hulk T-shirt, which I was carrying for the workout that never happened. You just never know when you’re going to need the help of a superhero, am I right?! My co-workers and I heard that Highway 30 was finally open at Rainier, but a couple hours later a new mudslide happened at the St. John’s bridge. Cleanup crews for the St. John’s slide accidentally hit a natural gas pipeline, which closed Highway 30 again. I-5 stayed closed. My co-worker’s wife called to tell him that a tornado dropped down in their hometown, and the schools were calling parents to come get their kids. A tornado!
Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.
I considered driving to the coast at Tillamook, Oregon, going north to Astoria, and coming in to Rainier from the back way. Yes, for reals, I was seriously going to drive to the coast just to get home. However, the same co-worker with kids going home for a tornado, has family in Tillamook. He cautioned me not to try it because many of those highways were under water as well.
Finally Hwy 30 opened again in the afternoon, and I left an hour early. I thought for sure that leaving at 2:30 pm would help me avoid rush hour traffic and make the trip home reasonable. I had not seen my home in two days, hadn’t said “hi” to my teenager or the chickens or the cat, hadn’t taken prescription meds, and I needed new clothes. I made up my mind to get onto 30 and just be patient if it ended up taking a long time.
“A long time,” was an understatement.
The sign says “SLIDES.” I found it pretty funny. But then, I was bored out of my mind while bumper to bumper, so I was easily entertained at that point.
All Interstate 5 traffic was routed onto 30 that day. Just imagine it: three lanes of Interstate traffic on two lanes (and for a large portion of the highway, only one lane) of country road. It wasn’t just a slow trip home: it was the worst ever. Six and a half hours it took me. I finally pulled into the driveway at 9:15 pm.
Friday morning at 5:00 am, I kissed Tara’s forehead in the dark again (I still hadn’t seen my kid awake for days) and headed back into town. Sadly, all the southbound roads had been open all week. Meaning, I could always get to work, but getting home was the problem. Next time I’d prefer to be trapped at home due to mudslides. At work we heard stories of how the Red Cross had set up tents along the Interstate for motorists trapped on the highway, unable to back out because of being penned in by other vehicles. They passed out silver heat blankets and bottled water, and people stayed the night in their cars. If I was religious, this would probably have been the time for me to send up some prayers. (I sent some anyway, just because I don’t let convictions get in the way of my gratitude)
This is how I-5 looks now, at mile post 23.
Two lanes are open and it’s not a problem at all to get through.
…but that’s certainly a heap of mud to deal with yet.
After work Friday I went home on I-5 that had two lanes open at long last. I passed about a dozen abandoned cars beside the highway, where people had pulled into the ditch and walked back toward Portland two nights earlier. Thank goodness I had not been one of those trapped. I am so glad I decided to turn around. One of my defining qualities is the refusal to give up when things get difficult, but perhaps a sign that I’m maturing despite it all, is the fact that I am learning that sometimes the right decision is to give it up.
All is well at home. No one is allowed to worry that my house was ever in danger of flooding. We sit up on a hill and the whole Columbia Valley would have to fill up before the water would get to my house. Ironically, I currently have an application pending with FEMA to get the property removed from their categorization of flood zone, so I don’t have to buy flood insurance. Shh! Don’t show them the video.
The river washed out the log that used to be here, as well as the huge blackberry brambles that were growing from it. (Yay! Less weed-whacking this summer.)
Who needs a leaf-blower when floodwaters clean it up much better?
Looking the other direction, you can see exactly where the water flowed.
(This is what it looked like in July)
Not as welcoming for the ducks at the moment, but lots better for the fish.
This is back when I thought my poor fish were going to boil in the shallow, warm pond.
Hm, the water brings gifts.
This section was entirely impenetrable a month ago. Now it’s smartly combed.
Look at her, high-stepping through the marsh land.
The sun sets over the Columbia River
We had some mighty hot days here in Portland Oregon not too long ago. I was trying to move from my old house to the new house, in the off hours between work hours. I was tired and sweating.
A friend offered to meet me at the river and that was a great plan. I took a break from packing and was still dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, but when I spotted that water, I just waded right in. J waded in after me and we stood in the water and I unloaded all my worries for about two hours as we watched the sun drop to the horizon.
It was just what the doctor ordered.
Cars zoom past on I-205 between Vancouver, Washington and Portland, Oregon. These two cities (and states) straddle the huge Columbia River.
J directed me to a beach that was west of the I-205 bridge.
Here, dozens of families unwound and cooled off. You can still see the bridge in the background, as well as my favourite volcano: Mt. Hood.
A few sailboats were out.
The air was warm. The water was warm. The people were warm – even the talking and laughter were like a blanket around me. In this softness, the copper sun sank into the water.
This was the view this morning beyond our table at the Holiday Inn Express. Can you believe this view?
Today the weather did its best to dampen spirits, but we prevailed! Good day despite the rain and hail and chill. Plus, good soggy rain photos get a few laughs, so there’s a couple more points for me.
Look what we found! You could not use it for calls, but it had 911 service. Too cool.
Astoria, Oregon is the location where the movie The Goonies was filmed. If you didn’t see the Goonies, or don’t remember it, then trust me: you’d love it. A story of a gang of boys who go looking for buried treasure and end up on a heck of an adventure. We found the building that was the jailhouse in the movie. Scenes from yesterday’s post – Haystack Rock and the boardwalk at sunset – were also in the movie. I had been hopping with excitement all day Sunday, waiting for the chance to see “Mikey’s house” the unforgettable house in the movie.
The owner of the property graciously invites visitors, and has signs directing tourists right to the spot, including the best places to park.
As we walked up the gravel drive to the house, M and I were stunned to see a prominent, sparkling new flag flying smack in the middle of the porch, clearly making a political statement, and one that was deeply offensive to us. The “NOBAMA” sticker on the car next to the house will give a sense of the political bent. We stood silent, making faces of disbelief and dismay, for a full five minutes before we could move. All my joy and excited anticipation was demolished, and I forced myself to take a couple photos once M suggested editing the flag out. You can use your imagination and cover the flag in something that gives you bouncing childlike happiness…to make up for what I lost first thing this morning.
We ate fresher-than-fresh oysters for lunch, and learned about multiple Indian tribes as we drove through a lot of Indian country and past reservations. It rained and rained and got colder and rained some more. We saw sunbeams a couple of times. Finally we stopped in Forks, Washington for the night.
Astoria-Megler Bridge from Oregon to Washington. We took this bridge and soon began the Washington leg of the trip.
The grey sky matched the grey water and made it look like this building was floating in air.
Jailhouse from The Goonies
Mikey’s House. Goonies Never Say Die!
We saw two lighthouses. The second one was at Cape Disappointment, but this one, called North Head Lighthouse, was more of a disappointment. It was all wrapped up for repairs, except for the part the winds have torn off.
Coast Guard ships
The lighthouse at Cape Disappointment. On the north side of the mouth of the mighty Columbia, it was named in 1788 by John Meares, expressing his chagrin at not being able to find the Columbia River. Puzzling. Or hilarious.
Horsetails along a trail
Rainforest trees look like the long hairy arms of a green ape.
The World’s largest Sitka Spruce. 58 feet 11 inches in circumference, 191 feet tall, approximately 1,000 years old.
Me at the base of the spruce tree.
Me on the spruce tree
M waiting in the rain while I played at the base of the tree.
Fabulous sea stacks at Ruby Beach
Windows through a sea stack.
Long, wet day is done. My goodness it’s getting late. I make such sacrifices for you people! 😉
