14 // COASTWEEKEND.COM
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descended the Big River all
the way to Cape Disappoint-
ment.
We were determined. We
were cold and wet. Mind
you, that same route and far-
ther routes have been swum
and paddled and rowed by
more than a corking boat-
load of athletes. One brave
friend, Mark Hamilton, went
overland from Missouri to
the Pacific, hiking, rowing
and paddling much like his
pioneer heroes, the Corps
of Discovery. He traveled
alone.
This, then, was our
challenge, even if it was a
smaller one. But that’s the
point of an adventure: You
can choose your own. You
can follow your own bliss.
You can add up what matters
in your own head. Nobody
can take that away.
Crossword Answers
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A R T
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H A J
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S A D D L E
P L E A S E D
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COASTER THEATRE PLAYHOUSE
t. 27
c
O
-
1
2
Sept.
And that Sunday, as a
stiff wind blew over the
mouth of the Columbia and
into Baker Bay, I decided to
recreate an adventure from
older days (12 years ago at
58, being the last) and pad-
dle my small kayak to the
mouth and attempt to catch a
salmon. I hauled my deject-
ed kayak from the rafters in
the garage and set forth.
It’s three or four miles
from the China Beach
property to my fishing hole.
I wasn’t so sure I could com-
plete the passage, out and
then back, aller et retour,
as the French say. That is
where a sense of adventure
reached out like a friendly
hand and poked me hard.
Fishing the Mouth
I launched the boat into a
narrow slough in front of the
B&B and paddled into rough
water. It felt so good: the sea
spray, the salty breeze, the
strain of muscle. Waterfowl
and geese. Two eagles cir-
cling while appraising their
chances of a free meal. And
miles of lovely water that
beckoned in front of me.
Choppy river waves
lapped at the sides of the
kayak. The tide was flood-
ing and pushed against my
steady paddling. The sky
was gray, almost the color
of ash. A seal broke water,
and then, a huge sturgeon
surfaced, rolling up and
onto his side, reminding
this ol’ boy of a humpback
whale. And then, for a deep
intoxicating moment, it was
deathly quiet.
The shoreline slipped
away. Sand Island ap-
proached. Over a deep chan-
DAVID CAMPICHE PHOTO
Gulls on Sand Island, gathering before a summer storm.
nel on a full flood tide, I fed
out the neoprene fishing line.
The orange diver sunk onto
dark river water, murmuring
prayers as it fell. If only I
could have translated! The
silver herring flapped like a
wind-blown flag. I pad-
dled on while the sea chop
slurped over the 12 inches
of freeboard. Other fisher-
men stared. Their motorized
boats were equipped with
relative comforts and high
prows.
Paddling became more
difficult. I maneuvered
the vessel into place and
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checked the bait, all the time
moving backward rapidly.
Even rowing with deter-
mined strokes, the kayak slid
backward against the surge
of flood tide.
Nearby, a heavy-set man
on a motor boat yelled,
“You’re crazy!” I ignored
him. Suddenly a fish struck,
and the pole was nearly
jerked from its resting place
between my legs. I grabbed
the pole and set the hook.
For the next 10 seconds, my
heart raced. Then the salmon
was gone.
I paddled against the tide
for another hour, fishing, but
nothing happened, at least in
terms of the expectation of
a salmon dinner. I checked
the time. I had a check-in
at the China Beach cottage
and realized it was time to
return.
Return voyage
Before me was 3 miles of
sea. I turned and followed
the tide. Bad luck. Now the
water was ebbing, and I was
fighting a choppy sea and
Northwest wind that struck
my face insistently like an
unwelcome visitor knocking
at the door. I thought about
an old poem I had written
one afternoon on a following
sea in a sailboat in the Gulf.
We had inadvertently sailed
into a small hurricane. I
have forgotten many of the
words, but not the memory.
Charge on sea. Charge
on, you! That’s me, a
70-year-old adventurer. That
was the message.
Like the sturgeon rising
above the dark gunmetal
water, I dug the paddle
into the sea and rowed
for home. My heart beat
smoothly now. I was happy.
The smell of salt water
and small accomplishment
wafted into my nostrils. I
felt flushed by a fleeting
spirit of adventure. Flushed
by this Columbia-Pacific
vista that touches us with so
much grace.
And I had met myself and
liked what I found. CW