Columbia River: Lashings & Lashings of Water and Beer

Columbia River Gorge lies on the border between Washington and Oregon. As usual, Darren had been tasked with the research and planning for this trip, so my expectations were not in any way based on reality but on my visualization of what a gorge should look like. Not quite on the Grand Canyon scale but in my head, this would be a narrow gouge through the earth’s crust into which we would descend.  Not so.  More of a wide valley with steep mountains on either side. (Valley, gorge, canyon… what’s the difference anyway?).

Preconceived ideas aside, Eagle Creek Trail did not disappoint. Heavily forested, rocky underfoot, with some steep drops. I was transfixed by the trees, gracefully adorned with moss coats, wispy tendrils gently blowing in the breeze.  

But the stars of the show were the waterfalls, in particular Tunnel Falls. Not just the 130 foot free fall drop, but the fact you could burrow behind the falls about half way up, through a narrow tunnel blasted through the rock face, and emerge on the other side. The spray was exhilarating, the drop adrenaline-inducing, the rope strung along the cliff wall life-saving! Looking down (way down) at the white water plunging into the pool below was enough to create a heady dizziness into even the most unafraid of heights person.

All that remained was the long trek back. After a 15 mile round trip hike, muscles aching, pleasantly exhausted, we felt we’d earned our beers at the Walking Man brewery in Stevenson.

We dipped our toe into Oregon again the next day. I was almost convinced by Darren’s suggestion of kayaking along the Columbia River, thoughts of basking in the sun, gliding peacefully through the water. That was until we saw the water. Put it this way… wind, waves, windsurfing and kitesurfing do not ideal kayaking conditions make. A point that even Darren conceded. On the proviso that we go to a brewery instead.  

Crossing between Oregon and Washington over the Columbia River gave us an opportunity to clock up a bit more mileage on the Pacific Crest Trail. The rather grandly named Bridge of The Gods (which sounds like it should be in Game of Thrones, a mechanism for the High Septon to throw sinners off, into the swirling depths of the underworld) is actually a vehicular bridge over which through hikers on the PCT are required to walk facing traffic ‘for safety’, as there’s no footpath.

Unsure whether driving part of the PCT fully counted towards true PCT mileage, Darren found another PCT stretch near the Snoqualmie Pass. Short on views but long enough to stretch our legs, imagine my surprise that Snoqualmie was also home to a brewery. Darren feigned innocence but recalling our recent niece and nephew’s visit when they indignantly realized that they had visited more breweries than frozen yogurt shops, I remain skeptical.