[Paddlewise] Dodging the Wind

Winter is a chancy time to paddle on the Lower Columbia.  When it is not
raining and storming seriously, clear weather usually brings a substantial
outflow wind, venting the high pressure inland toward the next offshore low. 
George and I hit a good weekend, with minimal outflow wind of 5-10 knots
predicted and went for it from our favorite put-in on the Oregon side.  The day
was cold but brilliant, with sketchy fog across the way as we paddled the
two-three easy miles across the river to the only legal campsite below
Skamokawa, WA.

We like this spot, because it is adjacent to the shipping channel with its
freighter and tug traffic, and for the open view to the south.  On a clear
night like Saturday's, Orion shimmers, and the planets (four of em, I think)
line up the planetary ecliptic for calming scrutiny while dozing before a
massive driftwood fire.  Oh, yeah, I forgot, there is also an impressive eddy
line off the basalt point nearby to remind us that the River is boss.  That
upriver point also shelters the campsite from outflow winds, a feature that is
a blessing and a subtle curse.

George is recently healed from successful heart surgery to correct a heart
rhythm problem, and this venture was a bit of a test piece for him.  We had
proved earlier in the week via a long day trip that he had the stamina.  This
trip allowed him to vent his energy in hauling firewood, a test for the ticker
if there ever was one!

Sunday dawned overcast but pleasant.  Spuds and coffee got me going, while
George attempted to founder on a monster grain bucket of granola.  Claims it
"... supports my digestion."  Yeah.

As we gathered our bits, we kept eying the River surface, watching the wind. 
The tide crept nearer our feet and the drift logs.  A half hour before launch
time, a small ship's wake nearly washed George's kayak off, and smothered the
fire.  Blessing and a curse.

At launch, the River was alive, with occasional white caps off the point, but
with a quiet eddy line.  Hitting the ship channel, we braced into the two-foot
chop and danced across, some three miles ahead of the big container ship
rounding the bend above us.  Hey!  This is a lot more than I expected!  George
agrees, and we shift our paddling plan.  We are old bulls.

We had wanted to take a straight down-river route, shooting between two monster
bulwarks of dredge spoil sand right down the channel, and then making a long
open crossing to a sheltered takeout behind Tongue Point.  The sand bulwarks,
Miller Sands and Rice Island, are the last pieces of protection from an outflow
wind before the wind hits the River mouth, some 15 miles away.  But, looking
downwind at Rice, we could see a sand plume flowing off it, a certain sign of
heavy outflow wind, usually at least 20 knots or so.

We edged across the River and hit the high side of another dredge spoil mass
(Jim Crow Sands), donned more warmth, hit the candy bar stash, and hooked a
slight right toward one of the low islands two miles away.  Hey!  This is
worse!  I watched George fight the short-period stuff and swore it was calmer
over where he was.  He, likewise, felt I got the better deal.  Decks constantly
awash and spray slapping us upside the head, we finally hit the lee behind
Marsh Island, one of a zillion pieces of federally-protected swamp and mud bank
which are home to migrating waterfowl this time of year, including tundra
swans.

More food, water, and jubilation at having dodged the wind, we contemplated an
easy down-wind, down-tide shot along the OR shore, and shoved off.   Hey! 
Where did this stuff come from?  More wind from our left, and this time it's
over 20 knots, blowing the tops off the chop, now and then breaking on us, and
with only a half mile of fetch to work with!  George and I are really annoyed
now, and he curses mightily.  I'm getting tired, hoping the skirt does not pop,
and humping my butt for more shelter.

Finally we ease in behind Svensen Island, tucked right against the OR bank and
eat, rest, drink, and wish there was a place to pee.  I am surprisingly beat. 
George is still strong.

Edging out from Svensen on the lower end, we hit the wind again, but this time
it is on our sterns, and only ten knots.  At last we get our peaceful paddle,
ending four miles later at our takeout, a short drive east of home.

On the way home, we reflect on our decision to avoid the open River.  The
relatively sheltered waters we paddled tested us.  We are both unsure we could
have remained upright in the rougher conditions out in the open River, an
uncertainty reinforced later that day when we find out the wind was closer to
30 knots at the River mouth, enough to seriously slow down upbound freighter
traffic.

Winter paddling on the Columbia River:  a lesson in dodging the wind.

-- 
Dave Kruger
Astoria, OR
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