Squeezed by narrow rock walls, the winds blew strong, whipping up waves on the Columbia River and rumpling our hair. Below, the river was an imitation of itself. Lewis and Clark braved the elements in their wooden canoes and shot through rapids that were once here, but now flooded and gone. Pioneers heading west demolished their wagons, converting them to rafts. They prayed these same torrents would do no more than dampen their provisions. Some got wet and some lost their lives. The railroad came and carved a niche into basaltic flows.
And then there was Sam. With friend Sam Lancaster, they built a road, a work of art that blended with the land and let the automobile in. Cars raced faster and trucks blocked the way. A dam trapped the river. The water rose. The rapids are gone now but the road is there. We stood at the edge and looked down at the road and the river. Much has changed but the land is the same, the same that was seen through the eyes of discoverers, settlers and dreamers.
