It whips the river waters into diminutive whitecaps as we ply our way west. It sculpts the clouds into delicate blankets, unraveling along one edge. It scatters the seeds of the spring wildflowers to new territory. It whistles through our ears as we coast on bicycles along the Historic Columbia River Highway. It fills the sails of the wind surfers skittering around our ship. It has given Hood River the designation of the wind surfing capitol of the west. It has plied its mighty forces against the Ponderosa pine perched along the river's edge at the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center, and the tree has yielded. What is this ubiquitous force affecting so many different aspects of our voyage? It is the wind.

The seasonal winds moving from the west to the east are funneled through the Columbia River Gorge and increase in velocity as they travel through this slot which slices the Cascade mountain range. The resulting increase in velocity is known as the Bernoulli Principle.

The Corps of Discovery wrote in their journals of an annoyance with spirited winds. Blowing winds picked up tiny particles of sand from the riverbanks and sandbars and drove airborne bits with force into the faces of the men. Lewis treated the resulting eye inflammations with "a solution of white vitriol and the sugar of lead in the proportion of 2 grs. of the former and one of the latter to each ounce of water."

As we travel in the wake of Lewis and Clark, we see the never-ending work of this force we call "the wind." Unlike the Corps of Discovery, we are never far from the shelter and comforts of our ship the Sea Bird.