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June 8, 2010 – Astoria, Oregon
By Herb McCormick

First of all, for the sailors in the audience, do not be alarmed by the title. Metaphorically speaking, a mariner is said to “cross the bar” and sail on to “Fiddler’s Green” when his days on this watery world have come to a close and he’s made the final passage on to, well, wherever the heck Fiddler’s Green is. Rest assured, everyone is more than fine aboard Ocean Watch and our sea boots are still kicking. No, the bar we’ve crossed this afternoon is the one at the mouth of the Columbia River, and a formative one it can sometimes be.

Yes, we do have bars back home in Rhode Island, though you must be 21 to enter them, and we even have rivers; not so very long ago, the one in Providence actually caught fire. But there’s nothing in Little Rhody, or even anywhere along the East Coast, quite like the Columbia River bar. But even we New England sailors have heard about the one leading into the Columbia River. Like nearly every sailor, we’ve even seen pictures of it, or at least of the U.S. Coast Guard life boats being tossed asunder by the gargantuan waves that can stack up on the bar, which apparently is a wonderful place to practice capsizing small vessels and making their crews wish they’d joined the Air Force.

After filing yesterday’s log about the glorious conditions we’d experienced thus far in our voyage north from San Francisco, last night we were belted by a filling northerly breeze and topsy-turvy seas that provided a good 12-13 hours of carnival-ride thrills. One would think at this juncture I’d have known better than to harp on lovely weather. It wasn’t quite as terrible as our disastrous trip across the Gulf Stream last fall, but there weren’t a lot of chuckles, either. Everyone’s heard the Bob Seger song, “Old Time Rock & Roll,” right? Last evening we had plenty of rock & roll for old time’s sake.

Happily, after a radiant dawn light show that began at the stroke of 4 a.m. and continued for the next couple of hours – in length and hue, it reminded the on-deck watch of an Arctic seascape – the winds and seas both began to lie down. After crunching into progress-killing head seas for much of the long night, sometimes cutting boat speed to 3-4 knots, the calming conditions allowed us to resume speeds over 7 knots. Once more, Ocean Watch was a going concern.

Closing in on the stark coast of Oregon, we again had a good view of the West Coast, which in many places was a patchwork of green not unlike an emerald quilt. The dark bits, as it turned out, were forest, the light ones large expanses where forest used to be. “We’re back in the Pacific Northwest,” said mate Dave Logan, ruefully. “Look at all those clear-cuts. So bizarre.”

Though I haven’t been up the Columbia before, skipper Mark Schrader has, and as we approached it, he addressed the local hazards and attractions in his latest entry in his Captain’s Log:

“It does seem more than a little odd and somewhat foreboding that after all this time and 26,947 nautical miles we’re heading for a place called Cape Disappointment.  But there it is dead ahead, eighteen miles off mighty Ocean Watch’s bow,” wrote Mark.  “The Columbia River empties itself into the Pacific Ocean at Cape Disappointment and therein lies the challenge for mariners anywhere in the vicinity.

“The Columbia rises up in British Columbia, travels 425 miles through that wilderness before crossing the border (legally, I assume) and wiggles its way another 745 miles before it finds freedom in the great Pacific.  The last town the river passes before making its exit is Astoria, Oregon, which has a truly sobering weather history of its own.  Among other highlights noted for the mariner (or explorer) approaching Astoria are an annual rainfall total, spread over 240 days/year of precipitation, measuring 67 inches.  Weather hazards include storms which ‘may sink or wreck ships, wind and waves which may combine to produce a wave known as a widow-maker and swamp large boats, heavy rains and tides aggravated by gales which may push sea water far inland and flood roads, houses, pastures and livestock along with storms which may fell trees and blow over buildings while snow, hail and ice storms can occur in all winter months.’  The good news, apparently lightning strikes are rare!

“If that isn’t enough to make a mariner’s hair and beard turn grey – too late, I already look like Santa Claus – our trusty Coast Pilot Sailing Directions notes the following: ‘The Columbia River bar is reported to be very dangerous because of sudden and unpredictable changes in the currents often accompanied by large breakers.’  We’ve seen the pictures of Coast Guard rescue boats and other commercial craft coming or going across the bar when conditions weren’t favorable.  If the currents weren’t so fierce I’m guessing the salvage diving would be pretty fantastic. Yikes.

“Our plan for the bar crossing is a cautious one.  We’ll make our approach and stand just offshore until the tide is slack, going to flood, and then we’ll ‘ride’ that tide into Astoria and stay for the night.  The trip up the Columbia will take all of our daylight hours tomorrow.  It is approximately 90 miles of scenic, curving waterway with current against us most of the way because of recent heavy rains and flooding.  If all goes well, tomorrow night will find Ocean Watch and crew safely moored in the middle of downtown Portland: sailors in the big city one last time before heading home,” concludes Mark.

On our final approach, Logan pointed out the once mighty Mount Saint Helens, or at least what remains of it. “It’s the one with the top blown off,” he noted, helpfully. “Over here is Oregon, over there is Washington,” he said, pointing at the coastline. “We’re headed for that low space in the middle.”

That would be the Columbia River.

At 4:30 p.m. local time, we were a couple miles away, so Logan called the river pilots on the VHF-radio and was told seas were running 3-5 feet in the pass and there were no traffic restrictions. “We’re going in,” he said.

It was a cool, gray afternoon, but once in the channel, the swells were considerably less than five feet. There was a slight heave to the glassy seas once we’d entered the channel, where the depth dropped from well over a hundred feet to just over 50-feet, but conditions were benign.

“I’ve never seen it this flat, at sea or ashore,” said Logan. “This is amazing. If we were here two days ago we’d by upside down by now. I’ve been to this bar 25 times by land or by sea, and I’ve never seen it like this.”

A couple of hours later, we’d well and truly crossed the bar and were tied up in Astoria, momentously, and after many a mile, on familiar, Pacific Northwest turf. “Fir trees,” said Logan. “I haven’t seen those in a long time.”

-Herb McCormick and Mark Schrader with photographs by David Thoreson

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