[Paddlewise] Columbia Bar

Tom said:
>>I guess I'm on a roll today...  ;)...I watched a great program on the teli
last night... all about the Columbia Bar off the Washington-Oregon
coast....I am curious if any of you have had boating experiences near the
river mouth. Or is that just an ignorant question, it possibly being an
insane
idea in the first place?<<

Tom, I was definitely "on a roll" ( or two) on the trip below. BTW, Dave in
Astoria e-mailed me a link to a story from the local papers down there a few
months after my trip ( a few years ago, now). A number of crab fishermen
died off the same jetty that summer, capsized by sneaker waves. Apparently,
the Army Core of Engineers, unbeknownst to the public, had been dumping
dredging spoils off that spot for some time, adding to the wave
amplification. I knew something was up when I could keep seeing eerily
coloured, sand-laden water in the troughs, even though I was in supposedly
deeper water. FYI, "surf-forward" waves were waves that steepened and moved
*perpendicular* to the beach. These I utilized to propel the kayak
northward, between the more regularly breaking ones from the west (that were
moving toward shore). You need to "make-it-up-as-you-go" sometimes in this
sport, when all hell breaks loose and you still want to nail the Devil by
the short hairs.

>From my log:

The Columbia River: Risk and Reward



This past May I headed to the US to paddle portions of Oregon's
swell-battered coastline, and in particular, the salt-influenced section of
the 2000-km long Columbia River and its discharge over the notorious
Columbia River Bar. I came to the conclusion that the "Columbia" is a river
that spills both the silt of pre-history and the flux of contemporary time
into an undercurrent that seemed to sweep away one's very soul into the
fathomless depths. To paddle here, where the mighty meets the immutable, is
to be immersed by the absolute.



The surface lay still as I dipped each paddle blade consciously into the
caliginous depths of the backwater slough. Evidence of recent slide activity
abounded along the estuary shoreline, miles from the Pacific, where the
rusted, twisted remains of railway track disappeared into the brackish
waters. Further upstream, I was told, there was evidence of a 2-foot drop of
the earth's surface in the region during a massive subduction quake. I
imagined the indigenous peoples fleeing, as a giant tidal wave washed
overland.



Moving out toward the main stem of the Columbia River, I passed over the
shallows of ever shifting sand-shoals and around sensitive island refuge.
Although the scope of the area was broad, sufficient landmarks were present
such that I found it difficult to believe that paddlers had become
disoriented amongst the low-lying islands. My friend from Astoria
ingratiated himself by leading me to all the local historical landmarks,
including Pillar Rock and an abandoned cannery from bygone days of
unprecedented historical Chinook runs.



Record setting temperatures, brilliant sunshine, a well-planned route with
tide, and amicable conversation leant itself to an unforgettable day I shall
cherish forever. As we moved to the rhythm of wind and current, monolithic
freighters passed dangerously close along serpentiform sections of river,
their bellies full with the payloads of commerce. After lunching and
launching, a "sneak route" was used to beat upwind against the vast funnel
winds generated by topography and thermal gradients.



I headed for Ilwaco the next day on my own, downstream on the Washington
side. I had reconnoitered bar conditions from McKenzie Head and the cape the
night before. The roar of huge tidal rapids ebbing and swirling seaward
brought a lump to my throat. I was grateful for my Astorian host who had
provided me with printed graphs from the seven current stations employed
near the mouth. I've learned the hard way to reference such information with
intensity.



The Columbia Bar is two miles wide, located between two massive jetties
extending far into the open ocean. A swell against ebb can see waves form up
to 90-feet high  -- challenging even the biggest vessels. As I passed the
Coast Guard training center at Cape Disappointment beside the ever shifting
Sand Island, it took real determination to make seaway against the growing
flood-tide and threat of building onshore wind, while attempting to avoid
"pop-up" breakers that had refracted around the north jetty. After the
successful and far too easy crossing, I headed north to take a peak off the
end of the mile-long north jetty, looking for some action.



As I drew closer a dull roar coming over the top from the jetty's blind side
intensified. Two jet skiers passed, swinging half a mile wide (just like the
State Marine Board's directions suggested) to avoid the mayhem off the end
of the jetty, where Peacock spit extended 2000 meters further offshore. A
wall of waves broke randomly atop a building current -- some tumbling
forward, some backwards -- as far as the eye could see.



With trepidation, yet utter confidence in my abilities, equipment and roll,
I entered into "no man's land". Eventually, the throb of fear formed a
metallic taste in my mouth, more due to the durational aspect: swept further
out into the middle of the mayhem, only the use of intermittent surf-forward
waves enabled a safe transit out. I had to utilize every skill and reflex I
possessed. By the halfway point, I was down to psychological
sleight-of-hand, using positive, reinforcing, verbalized self-talk to get me
out. I dared not think what the zone would look like on a winter day.



The core of my body ached from the constant torsional adjusting.  An onshore
wind had thrown up a further rambunctious sea state. My problems weren't
over. On the other side of the jetty, a gauntlet of far shore and near shore
breakers, a 3-knot alongshore current and a dangerous undertow aimed itself
at the formidable jetty. I capsized in the surf numerous times, trying to
beat upwind and up-current away from the jetty. Clapotis action was
irreverent and intense. To complicate matters, ropes from crab traps pulled
taught in the current had laid out many unwary snares.



When I finally made shore, never doubting I would, I decided not to tempt
fate further  -- that's part of negotiating risk versus reward. A deck cable
had snapped, my nerves were shot, and my enthusiasm spent. I proceeded for
the next hour to portage my heavy sea kayak over the 50-foot high rock
jetty, and then headed on to other adventures along golden surf beaches,
arch-formed islands, and spectacular headlands.



Doug Lloyd
Victoria BC


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