Portland, the Columbia Gorge, and Over the Cascades

August 31, 2006

Portland and the Columbia River Gorge

The drive from Seattle to Portland on Tuesday is uneventful, save for the traffic and rain, but our friends in Portland, Floyd and Beverly, have located a pet-friendly hotel for us close to their house. Maxie, the cat, is still reeling from his move from the country, and we’ve all agreed this is no time for him to meet Ethan, but no matter- we’re staying very close and Ethan tours with us all day, anyway.

We don’t get a really good feeling about the hotel. The hallways are grimy and part of one wing is sheeted with a huge blue tarp. But we take a look at the room, and it’s quiet and clean and close to their house. Going back down the stairs to get luggage out of the car, I smack an insect that looks like a giant mosquito – but according to the natives of the area isn’t – against the wall, and his corpse haunts me on every trip to and from the room.

We are on the eating tour here. Floyd and Beverly cook for us not one, but two nights. Organic lamb steaks one night, chutney-marinated chicken the next, and we bring wines to complement. Their house is serene, full of Beverly’s paintings although they’ve just moved in. We settle into that feeling of old friends who might have seen each other yesterday, or twenty years ago: it doesn’t matter. They are what my mother calls friends of the heart rather than friends of the road. This is not the place to describe their unique talents and accomplishments, but Beverly’s art and Floyd’s writing have both garnered attention and deserve yours. Visit Floyd’s website for samples of his writing and a bibliography at http://www.floydskloot.com. This will also take you to Beverly’s website so that you can take in some of her artwork.

Yesterday we drove the historic highway along the Columbia Gorge. Built in the early 1900’s at the dawn of automobile travel, it was one of the first paved highways in the country. Narrow and winding, it’s newly paved and lined with arched stone railings built by European artisans. The canopy of the trees, the misty rain, and the relative isolation of the highway all lend themselves to a mood of something primeval. Emerging at Victory House, far out on a point, the rain stops momentarily and below us, past the swirling clouds is the river, glistening silver in the filtered light of a sun that can’t quite break through the clouds. Further down the road, we visit Multnomah Falls, 6200 feet high and crossed by a bridge built at the turn of the century. The bridge complements the stone lodge at its base. We also stop at Horsetail Falls, long and narrow behind us. Ethan and I hop on a wall and have our picture taken.

Our next stop is Bonneville dam, which serves as a power source for the entire Pacific Northwest and also offers fish ladders that enable salmon to swim back upstream to spawn. We are reminded that salmon find their way back upstream, apparently by smell, and return to their own spawning places to spawn themselves, laying thousands of eggs and then dying. Interestingly enough, those spawned in hatcheries return to the hatchery: hence the fish ladders. While I knew in theory that salmon swim upstream to spawn, actually viewing them through the underground windows as they fight against the current gave me a whole new respect for salmon.

The seventy miles that take the traveler from Portland, which gets 40 inches of rain a year, to Bonneville, which gets a hefty 75, to The Dalles, right on the other side of the Cascades, which gets about 4, may offer one of the most interesting geographical contrasts in the world: One drives from rainforest to semi-arid desert in the course of a few miles, and the change is so drastic when the Cascades have been crossed that we almost think we have dreamed the primeval nature of the rainforest. For here, as we approach The Dalles, there is barely any vegetation, flat buttes and brown rock attesting to the aridity of the area. It was here that the early settlers faced critical choices: Having come this far, they could portage the Mighty Columbia or go over the cascades in covered wagons. The wind blows in The Dalles, and I mean blows at 35 miles an hour, making a picnic lunch, let alone a portaging or mountain crossing, a less than pleasant proposition.

A few miles down the highway, we cross to the Washington Side. We plan to visit Maryhill Winery, owned by folks who did a tasting at The Corkscrew last winter, and the Maryhill Museum of Art, conceived and founded by railroad magnate and paved road proponent Sam Hill.

Maryhill Winery and Museum

They are only a mile apart, and both sit on high bluffs overlooking the Columbia. Maryhill Winery has only been in operation for five years, but its tasting room and patio overlooking its nascent arbors and the Columbia River are spacious and attractive. Ethan is invited in for the tasting and revels in the attention, briefly greeting the owners’ huge white Pyrenees, Harley, whose head is about the size of Ethan’s body. He doesn’t mind Ethan being there, but doesn’t like Ethan looking at him, we discover. Ethan has the good sense to back off. It’s never any fun to hear about what someone else tasted, but I can tell you that the premium tasting, which we did, was excellent, particularly the Zin, which the owner calls “Port Lite” because of its rich quality. Visit the Maryhill winery website at http://www.maryhillwinery.com. to learn more about how the arid microclimate and sandy soil create ideal growing conditions for Maryhill wines.

The museum was originally intended as a home for Sam Hill, who wished to establish a Quaker farming community. The dream for a utopian community faded, but at the suggestion of Loie Fuller, a modern dance pioneer and close friend, it became a museum of art. Situated in the middle of an outdoor sculpture park, the castle-like mansion in this isolated place offers, surprisingly enough, sculptures by Auguste Rodin. In its diversity it also offers an incredible collection of International Chess Sets and a huge display of the artifacts of Native People of North America, and I mean broken down by region and tribe. We could have spent far more time here, and you should, too. A guide at Multnomah Falls said it best: “I have been to art museums all over the world, but this little guy, he’s one of the best I’ve seen.” And so he is. Learn more at http://www.maryhillmuseum.org.
Back at the hotel, the corpus of the mosquito-that-is-not-a-mosquito greets me. We sleep, woken by my sister, a welcome voice after 14 days on the road, and prepare for our trip to the Willamette Valley to do more wine touring. The day is cool and clear, and we are eager to get going. This trip is going way, way too fast.