For the rest of my journey through the Columbia River Gorge, I follow Interstate 84 on the Oregon side, a route that hugs the riverbank and allows water-level views of the action on the river–salmon  fishermen, commercial barge traffic, windsurfers and waterfowl. Still some 70 miles from Portland but on the drier, sunnier side of the Cascade Mountains, the vegetation is still fairly sparse and dominated by pines, grass and sagebrush–along with cultivated orchards and vineyards. Each mile further west, though, green becomes more prevalent. Pines give way to Doug fir; sage to salal, wild rhodedendrons and ferns. With the green comes moisture: low-lying clouds drape themselves between ridges and shroud the upper reaches of cliffs and mountains. The river goes from blue-green to gray, but there is something satisfyingly moody and mysterious to the shifting atmosphere.

Just before approaching the last great hydroelectric dam on the river, Bonneville (Dad never fails to remark that “Me and some other fellas built that”–a reference to a distant college-summer job–whenever the subject comes up), I pass the Bridge of the Gods, a name which never fails to evoke a romantic appreciation for the native lore surrounding the site. The current bridge is a modern steel structure, but geologists tell us that at one time there was indeed a great stone landbridge here. They speculate that it was originally created as a result of massive landslides which for a time completely blocked the Columbia. Eventually the river broke through but left a stone arch in place spanning the water, which in turn finally collapsed, perhaps as late as 1700, when there is evidence of an enormous Cascadia earthquake. That’s what the scientists say, but I far prefer the ancient legends of great gods battling over a beautiful maiden, providing explanations for the one-time natural bridge and the three mountains that loom over it today: Hood, Adams and St. Helens.

Some 30 miles from Portland I pass numerous twisted ribbons of white, waterfalls spilling over the high black cliffs and between walls of lush vegetation to the river below. They are dominated by Multnomah Falls, a cascade plunging 620 feet and providing a beautiful rest stop (or a challenging climb on a trail to the top) for those so inclined.

Not far beyond this point the interstate passes from between the towering basalt walls of the Gorge and out into the broad floodplain of the confluence of the Columbia and Willamette rivers. As always, I emerge rejuvenated by the sights and history I have passed through, looking forward to my next journey through.

Patty Vanikiotis, proofreaderÂÂ