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Older editions are archived and listed by date.
Conversations
with a Hypoxic Dog began on May 1 of this year. This edition launches
a new format. Words
and Language
and other Nonsense
will
remain the focus; but a bit of History
will be added. Additionally,
I will now publish just once a week, on Wednesdays. This edition
continues downriver with Lewis and Clark just 140 miles from the sea.
WIND
AND WEATHER
The
prominent thrust of Beacon Rock found the explorers through the
mountains and now at tide water. On October 31, 1805, Clark wrote:
...
a remarkable high detached rock Stands in a bottom on the Stard Side
near the lower point of this Island on the Stard. Side about 800 feet
high and 400 paces around, we call Beaten rock ...
And
from his journal of April 6, 1806, on their return trip, he noted:
...
the river is here about 1 1/2 miles wide; it's general width from the
beacon rock which may be esteemed the head of tide water ... it is
only in the fall of the year when the river is low that the tides are
perceptible as high as beacon rock ...
As
the river widened, the current slowed and became shallow with sandy
beaches at what the explorers called 'bottoms.' The weather, too,
changed. Once through the heart of the Cascade range, the arid
eastern reaches gave way to a " ... countary a high mountain
on each side thickly covered with timber, such as Spruce, Pine,
Cedar, oake Cotton & & ... " And more often than not
they woke to " ... cloudy rainey disagreeable morning[s] ..."
Drawing
by Roger Cooke, Washington State Historical Society
Lewis
& Clark Today
The
journals of Lewis and Clark noted 128 "rain days" from
November 1805 (Beacon Rock) to March 1806 (Fort Clatsop). An average
winter for northwest Oregon. Astoria, for example, recorded 127 days
of rain during the winter of 2003-2004. "Rained all the after
part of last night," wrote Clark on November 5. "I slept
very little ... " And on the 6th, " ... A cool wet raney
morning ... "
As
wet and disagreeable as the conditions were, when the wind began to blow their
troubles multiplied. The Gorge, as is well documented, is a wind
funnel. When high pressure sits to the east and low pressure flows in
from the coast, the resulting pressure gradients create strong winds
that increase in velocity as they wend their way through the
constrictions of the Gorge. Folks in Corbett, a small town perched on
a bluff above the western end of the gorge, like to tell visitors
that they use anchor chain for a wind gauge. If the chain hasn't
lifted off the ground, it's not really windy.
From
Lewis (January 31, 1806, Fort Clatsop):
The
winds from the Land brings us could and clear weather while those
obliquely along either coast or off the Oceans bring us warm damp
cloudy weather. The hardest winds are always from the S.W.
This
is a typical weather pattern for the winter months on the Oregon
coast. Had he spent a summer in the Northwest, he would have noted a
shift in the pattern. The wind, he would find, would come primarily
from the northwest. With this shift, the rain relents. Winter months
in the Coast Range bring 140 inches of rain; summer months receive
less the ten inches.
November
14th Thursday 1805
rained
all the last night without intermition, and this morning. wind blows
verry hard ... one of our canoes is much broken by the waves dashing
it against the rocks ...
In
the summer of 2004, I paddled a sea kayak from Beacon Rock to
Cathlamet (RM 40) and then, off the river, through the sloughs to
Skamakawa and on to the Lewis and Clark Wildlife Refuge. My journey
was done in stages over the course of the summer. No broken canoes or
lashing rain and wind.
Not
far down river from Beacon Rock, paddling the Washington side to stay
out of the main channel, I picked up a bit of breeze and some chop.
When the wind is from the west, against the river's current, it can
kick up waves and white caps in short order. Running your hand
against the lay of your hair gives you the idea. The river was
getting the least bit tousled.
Into
this head wind, I sat up and put a little more muscle into each
stroke. Ahead on the river were two aluminum fishing boats bobbing up
and down in the mouth of Skamania Island's north channel. "Can't
be too bad," I thought. "Just the wind getting funneled
past Skamania. No problem."
I
put my head down and paddled harder. Chop became two foot waves with
their tops blown off. I began taking water over the bow as I slapped
into the face of the waves. I knew the boat was up for the conditions
(it was a sea kayak after all); but the paddling was beginning
to get too much like work.
I
peered down river looking for my fishermen. They, more prudent than
I, were gone. One more faceful of water made up my mind. I steered
for the east end of the island, into the relief of shallow water and
respite from the wind. Laughed at myself.
Turned
tail and skedaddled, ya did, I thought. But then, as the old climbing
adage goes: there are bold climbers and there are old climbers; but
there aren't any old, bold climbers. I eased over to the lee of a
bend on the Oregon shore and paddled down river.
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