The next day, after my parents recovered from one too many homemade brews, we set out on the Columbia River Highway, which is part of the Mt. Hood Loop Highway that runs along the Columbia River Gorge and then hooks around Mount Hood and back up to Portland. George couldn’t decide if visiting Mount Hood would be a waste of time. We’d certainly seen it when we hiked and camped nearby, but we’d never actually scaled it. A feat worth pursuing, I think.
The view of Mt. Hood and the Columbia River Gorge
Along the scenic highway heading east, there is a series of high, disappearing waterfalls to the right and the awesome expanse of the gorge to the left, which borders Washington. Ray wanted to stop at every single waterfall, but with about 90 flowing into the gorge from Oregon, that would prevent George from saying we “made good time,” which I think he has a compulsive need to say when we drive anywhere more than an hour away.
The Columbia River Gorge, which can get up to 4,000 feet deep, creates a wind tunnel because of pressure changes off the mountains or whatever, so winds can get up to 35 mph, which makes the river a hot spot for windsurfers and kiteboarders. Pretty cool. Cute boys abound. At one point, when we were driving particularly close to the edge of the road, where the cliff dropped directly to the water, a kitesurfer whipped up out of nowhere and almost ran George and the rest of the Falcon off the road and into the river. George is not really a fan of sports, especially extreme ones, unless of course they involve lightsabers or hovercraft.
So we stopped at Latourell Falls, Shepperds Dell, Bridal Veil Falls, Wahkeena Falls, Multnomah Falls (the biggest), and Horsetail Falls, to name a few. Don’t get me wrong; I love waterfalls as much as the next waterfall enthusiast, but come on. It’s water falling. Period. See it every day. And if I went a couple days without seeing it, I wouldn’t feel deprived. But I get it. The sound is amazing. Much like going to the beach, I imagine, and will get to find out soon enough.
Multnomah Falls, the tallest of the falls in the gorge area
We even went on a side road up to Larch Mount Lookout, which provides an unobstructed view of Mount St. Helens, Mount Rainier, Mount Adams, Mount Hood (whoop dee doo!), and Mount Jefferson all at once. It was worth the 14-mile detour, even though George griped, and a tear came to Mom’s eye. I have to admit it was pretty amazing–amazing enough, in fact, that I forgot my camera. I left it with Glenda, and we left her at the bottom of the mountain. She insisted we take our time but refused to even ride to the top in the RV. My parents probably should have included “no fear of heights” in the Craigslist ad. This is a climbing family.
After the waterfall extravaganza, we barely had enough time to make it to the campground at Lost Lake, which was off a really long winding road in the middle of nowhere between the river and Mount Hood. It was dark by the time we arrived, and we went right to bed after so much loading and unloading that day. I had no idea what I was in for the following morning when I woke up to this:
A breathtaking view of Mt. Hood and Lost Lake
Are you freaking kidding me? Sometimes things this beautiful look fake to me. Even though I’ve seen Mount Hood plenty of times, I can’t seem to reconcile the vista with some block to accepting its extravagance. Even now, this picture looks unreal. But believe you me; it’s real. At one point, I almost got mad that my parents had never brought me to such a glorious place mere hours from our house. But I got over it pretty quickly after spending the day canoeing, fishing, and hiking with this vision constantly in my sights. We had a real campout and roasted marshmallows. I was afraid we would miss out on such things staying in an RV. But I should have had faith in George. All in all, it was the best Mount Hood experience we’ve had. Maybe our best as a family.
We stayed another night at Lost Lake, and no one wanted to leave in the morning. But we all knew without saying it aloud that there was the danger of falling back into our groove, our pattern, and we had to press on. There were still 49 states to see and an ocean nearby. We whizzed past Mount Hood without stopping, back up to Portland, and headed straight for the coast.
FYI: Mount Hood is the highest mountain in Oregon, something I already knew.
Traveling as a tourist is all about facts. The tallest this, the fastest that, the largest whosie-whatsit. They’re all over the guidebooks and brochures and signs. Overblown assertions of random facts. I guess it’s an attraction, yes. But will I remember that Multnomah Falls is the second highest yearlong waterfall in the country? Or that Powell’s is the largest independent new and used bookstore in the world? Probably not. I’ll remember they’re impressive, sure. But the facts may float away to some inaccessible file in my memory bank or disappear completely. Who knows?
The fact that Mom and George basically made out under Bridal Veil Falls while Glenda took their picture will never leave me, however. The image is permanently etched into my brain and keeps playing over and over when I close my eyes, like an unchanging flip book or old home movie. The mnemonic of the veil is helpful, of course, but give me a break! Ick! The fact that I had the longest pee of my life after observing about a million waterfalls and getting no time to go to the bathroom (or bathcloset, as I’ve been calling it) in between each one is a bittersweet and lasting memory. And finally, the fact that the HOTTEST GUY IN NINTH GRADE messaged me back today will forever be the greatest moment of my life (Trish, I know, right!). These are the important facts you won’t find in any guide book about Oregon except my own. In other words, I appreciate knowledge and all, but I feel like it’s more important to make it into your own record books.
(Note: Most of those “facty” facts came from Glenda, so who knows if they’re right?)
