My girlfriend Rachel and I took a long-anticipated paddle down the lower Columbia River. This is one of the Washington Water Trails Association’s seven official water trails. (And the number of water trails is growing each year.)
The Lower Columbia Water Trail runs from the Bonneville Dam, the furthest downstream dam on the river, to the river’s mouth in the Pacific. The river itself demarks the boundary between Washington and Oreon.
Because it was Rachel’s first time kayak-camping, I didn’t want us out on the big water found near the mouth of the Columbia. Instead, Skamokawa would be our take out point, where the river broadens into a vast, tidal bay.
In the end, however, we didn’t make it that far downstream. Instead, we took out at the town of Kalama, some seventy-five miles downstream of the launchpoint at the dam.
Route map. The Columbia is the largest west-coast river by discharge in North and South America.
My dad dropped us off at Bonneville Dam the first afternoon. Rather than get out on the water in the setting sun, we set up camp at the dam’s boat ramp in defiance of the many “no camping” signs and security cameras. Sure enough, a patrol vehicle from the Army Corps of Engineers swung by to check us out, but since we looked more like fanatical kayakers than fanatical terrorists, he drove by without ever hassling us. That was mighty nice of him, because it allowed us to enjoy our first dinner in peace and quiet in a beautiful place.
There was also tons of packing to be done. One of the nice things about camping with Rachel is that she insists we eat well—and lots!
Bonneville Dam. This dam produces so much power the agency in charge sells electricity up and down the west coast, from California to Canada.
Campsite at Bonneville Dam. Here, the Columbia River cut through the Cascade Mountains.
Rachel preparing dinner and packing food. Thanks to her planning, we lived like royalty.
The first morning on the river took us through the lovely canyon country of the western Columbia Gorge. Waterfalls plunged over the high, rock walls. Down at river level, the rocks formed all kind of beautiful geologic features. Lining the banks were stands of grand fir, one of my favorite tree species.
The canyon walls sometimes led to high winds, as cool sea air rushed upstream to replace the rising warm air of the eastern Washington desert. We had a morning of chop the second day, even though the skies remained blue and warm.
There was a moment of humor when we tried to land on Skamania Island, clearly shown on my 2008 US topo map but since totally submerged. As we got closer and closer to where the island was supposed to be, we were looking harder and harder at the different features along the bank, wondering which of them might be hiding the channel behind the island.
Only when the GPS showed us “standing” on Skamania Island—when we were actually floating in the middle of the river—did we realize the island was gone. We had to camp on the mainland close to the freeway instead on the romantic private island we had intended.
Once we were out of canyon country, the river broadened and slowed. From here on, we were always able to find island campsites. These were lovely little hideaways that we almost always had entirely to ourselves.
Each day, we would only spend a few hours actually in the boats. The rest of the time, we were hanging out in camp or exploring our various island homes on foot. This limited our travel distance to around eleven miles (18 km) a day, but we were having too much fun to worry about the distance.
Approaching Beacon Rock by kayak. When Lewis and Clarke reached this monolith in 1805, they were astute enough to notice signs of tidal rise, even 130 miles from the sea.
Rachel at Beacon Rock. Even this far up into the hills, the Columbia was a wide, slow stream.
Kayaking through canyon country. The landscape turned greener and greener farther downriver.
Passing Multnomah Falls. Oregon is justly famous for its many gorgeous falls.
Rachel sitting by Columbia River. We started off camping mostly on the Oregon side, then switched to camping mostly on the Washington side.
Alex happy to be in camp. It was such a delight to be out on the river with Rachel. We got married about a year after this trip.
Passing Rooster Rock. Like Beacon Rock just upriver, Rooster Rock is a relict of the Columbia Gorge’s era of extensive volcanism.
Leaving canyon country behind. From here on, everything would be flatter and greener.
Spring gradually bloomed around us as we got farther downstream. Closer to the ocean, the dry interior landscape evolved into the wetter one we Seattleites were more familiar with. The leaves came out on the black cottonwoods, and the Oregon grape and Indian plum were in blossom.
Here we encountered dozens of California sea lions. These are not creatures one normally expects to find on fresh water, but the abundance of running salmon drew them upstream in droves. Even far into the night, we could hear them barking and honking at each other as they foraged.
At Reed Island, we also observed a beaver swimming around at sunset. Although we tried to remain still, he eventually spotted us and began smashing his tail into the water to create loud splashes that he hoped would intimidate us. When that failed to drive us off his island, he swam around huffing and puffing, trying to impress us with his large size and fierce determination.
Starting just upstream of Vancouver, Washington, the islands began to feature sandy beaches, especially on their downstream sides. What fun to have sandy beaches and warm sun in the Pacific Northwest in March!
Many of these islands were named "Sand Island" on the map, to the point where the name became a running joke: what do you name an island made of sand? Hmmm, think, think!
Campsite on Reed Island. Picnic tables were a rare luxury on this trip, as most of our campsites were on undesignated public land.
Reed Island sunset. We were careful each night to store everything in drybags or in the tent to protect against condensation.
Alex heads downriver. Lacking immersion gear, we paddled only on calm days.
Alex stops to scope some gulls. Gulls are of keen interest to birdwatchers but scant interest to normal people.
Under the Glenn L. Jackson Bridge. The cars above us might have been going faster, but they definitely weren’t having as much fun as we were.
Unnamed island late in the day. We did not plan out campsites in advance. We just took them as they came.
Heron rookery on sandy island. Herons nest in dense colonies in the tops of trees.
South end of sandy island. Even on the fringes of civilization, there was an abundance of natural beauty.
By about day four, it was obvious we weren’t moving fast enough to reach Skamokawa. In fact, we were only doing about twelve miles (19 km) a day. Rather than push ourselves harder than we were, we decided we would simply take out of the river closer upstream than Skamokawa. This decision freed us from time pressure and meant that we were able to have a rest day on the evocatively named Caterpillar Island.
And yes, Rachel spotted some butterflies on Caterpillar Island, so the name was accurate! We also found a spotted towhee with a pale eye. This was very unusual, because here in the west, all our spotted towhees have red eyes. Only in the east do some have the pale eye, and even then, it is a rare trait found mainly in Florida. So either our bird was a genetic anomaly, or he was a stray visitor from even warmer, sandier beaches!
It was good we took a rest day. The rain started falling, and the winds kicked up something fierce, with the VHF warning that our area would see steady winds of twenty-five miles per hour and gusts to forty. That was much too much wind for the kind of relaxed paddling we like to do, so we were quite pleased to stay on the beach.
A small motorboat hauling trash bags even capsized due to the wind that day. The guys were able to haul themselves out of the water, but they had to yell their cellphone number to me on shore so I could call their boss to come rescue them! The Coast Guard and Portland City Police even showed up, so it was quite the circus.
The rain continued intermittently for the next several days. Luckily, Rachel had a great attitude about things like cold and rain and refused to let them spoil our fun. More rain just meant more time in the tent reading the Kindle and sipping hot tea. This was especially nice for me, because Rachel had the only pair of rain pants, making it easy for me to justify her being the one who should leave the cozy, dry tent and go boil water in the rain!
In the boats, of course, rain didn’t matter at all, since you just kind of expect to get a little bit wet.
Paddling under the interstate bridge near Portland, Oregon. One day, I would like to return to explore Portland’s many rivers, islands, and channels.
Portland waterfront. Portland is quite far inland, but the Columbia River is so wide the city still operates an international port.
Sunset at Caterpillar Island. This island was a lovely place to be stormbound the next day.
Capsize at Caterpillar Island. Luckily, no one was injured, but some of the trash bags did escape and need recovery once rescue boats showed up.
A rainy, windy day on the river. We were able to use small islands to shelter us from the worst of the wind.
Kayak versus container ship. Ship traffic was mercifully light, even in the vicinity of Portland and Vancouver.
I had originally brought ten gallons (38 liters) of water for the two of us for a nine-day trip. Anticipating that we would use around one and a quarter gallons (5 liters) per person per day, I figured we would need to resupply water at around the four-day mark.
I had come up with these numbers based on my typical water usage for a camping trip. What I hadn’t counted on this time, however, was Rachel’s insistence on bringing good food. Instead of the bland, “week of spaghetti”-style meals upon which I usually subsist, Rachel had brought all kinds of canned and packaged foods, including smoked salmon, olives, two dozen fresh eggs, canned vegetables, chicken, tuna, mayo, cauliflower, apples, oranges, and on and on.
This not only meant that we got to live like actual human beings on the trip, it also meant we ended up getting a lot of our daily water from our food, so our actual water usage was around 1.25 gallons per day for the two of us—half of what I had calculated. We almost made it the whole way without resupplying water, but when we finally ran out, Rachel paddled ashore in the town of Columbia City and got water from a generous couple who lived by the river.
Water jugs full, we paddled to our last campsite on Goat Island, just a few miles from our new take-out point of Kalama, Washington. Goat Island was a beautiful place, our best island yet, with long sandy beaches, an upland area of grass perfect for tents, and a large, deciduous forest to explore. The undergrowth of the forest was very sparse, making it easy to move around, and we soon found out why: Goat Island is not home to any goats anymore, but it is home to mule deer and elk, and they had grazed down the brush.
We also encountered tons of Pacific tree frogs in the forest. These are the frogs one often hears chorusing at night but rarely ever sees by day. On Goat Island, they were so numerous that we saw half a dozen of them, mostly the green variant but also a single brown one. The frogs were tame enough Rachel and I were able to catch some of them. One clung to Rachel’s pinky finger as if it were a tree branch!
A loud, croaking trill from high above could only mean one thing: sandhill cranes, and lots of them! Sure enough, dozens of cranes came flying overhead in V formations, crossing Goat Island to roost and forage in a farmer’s field on the mainland. These were absolutely spectacular birds, definitely the coolest species of the trip.
We took another rest day on Goat Island. We were near our take-out point, and nothing ahead was going to be nicer than this. The beautiful island was a perfect capstone to a trip that had seen bald eagles snatching fish from the river and tossing them into their mouths on the wing, ospreys peering at us from the lip of their nest, thousands of cackling geese flocking with hundreds of snow geese for the great migration north, and even an American dipper poking around in the riverside shrubs.
Lighthouse on Goat Island. The Columbia River is so wide there are full-fledged lighthouses to help ships navigate.
Arriving at Goat Island. There was never a shortage of perfect sandy beaches for landing and camping.
Departing rain clouds. Most of the squalls did not last more than an hour or two.
Paddling through sandy sloughs. Wherever possible, we liked to hug the inside of islands, where the best scenery and wildlife were.
Rachel paddles through a narrow channel. River paddling is some of the most relaxing.
Sandhill cranes over Goat Island. The cranes came on like weather fronts, trilling and chirping to maintain the integrity of their formations.
Altogether, we saw sixty-two species of bird, five species of mammal, one species of amphibian, and one species of reptile (garter snake), as well as several different unidentified fish. The most important thing, however, is that we got to spend time together in a beautiful place, alone with each other on this great, winding river.
My dad met us with the car at Kalama, and my mom had come down as well, as a surprise. They’d stopped at the Columbia River’s Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge, where my mom, an even more avid birder than I am, had racked up as many bird species in a single day as I had in nine!
—Alex Sidles