Crossing the Columbia

We were leaving Cathalamet, our only stop on the Washington side of the Columbia. We had come in fighting a bothersome head wind and camped on a small island just opposite the protected harbor. We took it slow that morning as some of us had hit the liquor a little more than necessary the previous evening at The Old Pasttime. The night and morning were calm so we packed up looking forward to a calm day on the water.

About 10 seconds before shoving off I noticed golden leaves gently falling to the ground. Looking up at the harbor flag it was blowing for the first time all day. I nodded to Greg and we chuckled softly as we pushed the boats into the water. As I paddled out into the main channel the bow of the boat got pushed hard by a strong upriver wind. I was forced to dig hard to keep the bow of the boat from swinging upriver in the wind. I got myself headed downstream and proceeded to make very little headway it what had suddenly become a nasty headwind.

We were shooting for the Oregon bank to maneuver behind some islands seeking shelter not just from the notorious Columbia headwinds but also from the shipping lanes. Ocean Freighters are bigger than barges, impossible to stop, and nearly silent. Just days before I had been ambushed by one coming up behind me. Luckily I was on the outside of the channel or our expedition may have suddenly been one boat short. Didn’t hear the damn thing until it was right on me.

Unfortunately for us the islands we were seeking were on the other side of the channel which on the Columbia means a several mile crossing. Greg and Suzanne were fine in their boat but I was solo in the old Indian River canoe. Steering a 17 foot canoe solo into a headwind is quite tricky. Not only is your weight distribution off without someone in the bow but in this situation more than any other you miss the power and steering contributions from the bow-man. I was in for a fight. We had a 1.5 mile hop to the first island which would also bring us to the shipping channel, where it crosses from the Oregon to the Washington bank.

As a result this first crossing was relatively safe. Since the wind had just started the waves hadn’t gotten the opportunity to really accumulate so most of this crossing was flat. It was just a matter of power and the exhausting ordeal of only paddling on the left side to keep the line I needed to cross without spinning. We made it to the first island and at this point I was bearing down on exhaustion but still had another 1.5 miles to the next island, the waves were beginning to build, and this time we’d be crossing the shipping lane. This is something like crossing the street but for a better idea of the pace of things imagine you are a turtle crossing the highway. It is advisable to look both ways but once on the street you gotta just put your head down and barrel across in your fastest, most desperate plod. Occasional glances up to allay the fears that suddenly a Mack truck is gonna be barreling down on your hopeless ass. The sweat pours and you pump your stumpy little legs with all the speed and power you got and still the heavenly grasses on the other side of the road never seem to get even an inch closer until your absolutely positive that truck is gonna come barreling around that corner at any second and then BAM! Your nose hits the grass and your momentum carries you tumbling down into the ditch where you sit dazed and exhausted flat on your back wondering how you’re gonna flip yourself over but at the same time not giving a shit about it cause you’re ALIVE!

(Just to give you an idea of the thing)

I took about a 45 degree angle to the next island, looked both ways, and sprinted for it battling against waves and winds, doing my best to ignore my virtual lack of progress. About halfway across the water became turbulent. We couldn’t tell with the wind and the waves what was causing this added turbulence but most likely had something to do with multiple river currents meeting. This added with the headwinds caused some mighty chop to the river.

As we entered the turbulence, the waters went from 1 foot waves to 3 foot chop. All thoughts of shipping lanes and freighters disappeared as we concentrated on maintaining control of our boats. For me, to get spun here, could mean disaster. I would lose all ability to control my canoe and simply be at the mercy of the winds and the water. I dug in. The weariness in my arms disappeared and stroke after stroke I coaxed the canoe farther, deeper into the choppy waters. Waves were cresting all around as I was tossed about like a cork. I kept my eyes forward and allowed the canoe to find it’s balance as I focused on pushing it forward. When suddenly directly ahead of me rising out of the water in brilliant defiance a salmon leapt above the waves and hovered, momentarily suspended, above a cresting wave before plummeting back into the dark, green of the Columbia.

I shouted out to Greg and Suzanne but of course it was too late and then I just sat, momentarily stunned into a dangerous submission, relaxed hands gently holding a still paddle, eyes searching the waters hoping for another glimpse. When I awoke from my reverie seconds later to crashing waves and the roar of water, the wind was nearly in full control of the canoe. The beauty glimpsed moments before forgotten, I fought hard to correct my angle and urge the canoe across the waters to the next island.

As we reached the island we ducked back into a slough that split the island in two and just like that we left the chaos of high winds and crashing waves and entered the peaceful lull of still waters. Unfortunately the backside of the island offered little protection as we left the slough, so we modified our plans and headed back upriver to the head of the island. There we found good protection and one of the best campsites of the trip. We settled in, forced to be content with not much more than a two mile day. Looking out on the horizon we could still see Cathalamet on the hillside just upriver.