Washington Wandering
Columbia River Gorge
Society Hotel
After a drive through the scenic Columbia River Gorge, we arrived at
the Society Hotel and Spa in Bingen, Washington, fresh off the road from
Portland. The car ride had been filled with easy conversation and anticipation,
the beginning of our trip stretching out ahead of us. I was traveling with
Julia, Jon, and Gordon, each of us excited to explore the Gorge’s natural
beauty. But before we hit the trails, we planned to settle in and unwind, allowing
ourselves a day to soak in the calm atmosphere of this unique hotel and spa.
The Society Hotel had an immediate charm that matched the serene
surroundings. Housed in a historic schoolhouse, the hotel had a rustic,
minimalist feel, with exposed brick and warm wood tones that welcomed us in. Jon,
ever the design enthusiast, was already pointing out the carefully chosen
details – vintage light fixtures, cozy nooks, and tall windows that framed
views of the surrounding hills. Gordon, our relaxation expert, was quick to
remind us of the spa amenities, and soon we found ourselves wrapped in soft
robes, ready to explore this oasis of calm.
The spa’s centerpiece was a large, heated soaking pool, its warm
waters inviting us to fully unwind. Slipping into the pool, I felt the stresses
of travel melt away as I sank into the water. Jon stretched out at one end,
looking like he’d already found his perfect Zen, while Julia closed her eyes,
letting the warmth work its magic. The spa was quiet, with skylights that
brought in natural light and gave a view of the dusky sky, where evening was
just beginning to settle.
The next morning, we woke to the soft glow of dawn and made our way
to the hotel’s cozy lounge for coffee. We were savoring the quiet morning when
notifications began lighting up our phones, each screen reflecting the same
headline: Kamala Harris had lost the presidential election. The news cast a
somber note over our morning, pulling each of us into our thoughts as we
processed the unexpected outcome. Jon, who’d always been the optimistic one,
looked out the window in silent contemplation, while Julia and I shared a
knowing glance, feeling the weight of it together.
The disappointment was palpable, but as we sat there, we reminded
each other that change takes resilience, and our work continues. We left the
lounge that morning feeling a renewed sense of purpose, if not the outcome we
had wished for. With our spirits gathered, we were ready to continue our
journey into the Gorge, carrying both the beauty of the land and a promise to endure
whatever lay ahead.
Catherine Creek
Our first hike of the trip took us to Catherine Creek, a place known
for its unique landscapes and, at this time of year, vibrant fall colors. The
trail wound through a mixture of open grasslands, rugged cliffs, and patches of
trees that wore autumn’s full array. Julia, Jon, Gordon, and I started up the
trail, the fresh morning air carrying a hint of wood smoke and the earthy scent
of fallen leaves. We couldn’t miss the signs of past fires – darkened tree
trunks and patches of blackened earth marked where flames had swept through
earlier in the year. But even with the burn scars, the landscape had a rugged
beauty that was hard to ignore.
The grasses had turned to shades of gold and amber, waving gently in
the breeze against a backdrop of charred tree trunks, which stood like
sentinels along parts of the trail. The colors of autumn were everywhere, from
the fiery reds and oranges of the maple leaves to the rich yellows of the oak
trees. We paused frequently to take it all in, appreciating how the landscape
held both resilience and beauty.
As we climbed higher, the trail grew rockier, and we soon reached
the volcanic arch, a natural formation formed by many massive volcanic
eruptions carved over centuries. The arch was a stark contrast to the softness
of the autumn landscape, its dark basalt edges etched sharply against the cloudy
sky. Standing beneath the arch, we felt the cool breeze sweep through, as
though the arch itself was breathing in the crisp fall air.
From this vantage point, we had a stunning view of the Columbia
River winding its way through the Gorge below. The fall colors stretched out
across the hills, patches of burnt land blending into the autumnal hues like
brushstrokes on a painting. We stood there quietly, each of us taking in the
beauty of the Gorge, its history of fire and rebirth evident all around.
As we made our way back to the trailhead, the afternoon sun dipped
lower, casting long shadows across the path. The trail had led us through a
landscape that was both beautiful and wounded, a reminder of nature’s cycles of
loss and renewal. We returned to the car with a sense of reverence, feeling
grateful for the journey and the quiet resilience of the land we had wandered
through.
Beacon Rock
After our hike through the burnt and beautiful landscapes of
Catherine Creek, we returned to the Society Hotel and Spa with sore muscles and
a newfound appreciation for the Gorge’s resilience. The hike had left us
reflective, and we were grateful to slip back into the warmth of the inviting
waters of the spa. Wrapped in soft robes, we each made our way to the soaking
pool, eager to relax and process the day.
The spa was as peaceful as before, but there was a heaviness in the
air as we began discussing the recent election results. The news of Kamala
Harris’s loss had hit us harder than we’d anticipated. We’d spoken so often
about the hope and change her leadership might bring, and now, it felt as if a
door had closed. Jon leaned back in the pool, gazing up at the skylights, his
expression thoughtful. “It just doesn’t feel real yet,” he murmured, echoing
what we were all feeling. Julia sighed, resting her head on the pool’s edge,
and Gordon simply stared into the water, lost in his own thoughts.
The next morning, we packed up and checked out, bidding farewell to
the cozy refuge of the hotel. The road back beckoned, but before heading home,
we made a stop: Beacon Rock. Rising sharply over the river, it seemed like the
perfect place to gather our thoughts and view the Gorge.
The trail up Beacon Rock was steep, winding in tight switchbacks
that tested our legs one more time. We ascended together, sometimes pausing to
look out at the river winding far below. Despite the strain of the climb, the
view grew more stunning with each step. The Columbia River stretched out in
both directions, framed by golden hills and autumn’s colors. It was as if
nature was putting on one last show for us.
At the summit, we found ourselves surrounded by an incredible
panorama. The Gorge lay beneath us, alive with color and movement, a reminder
of the beauty that remains despite challenges. Standing there, the wind cooling
our faces, we felt a sense of peace settle over us. The disappointment of the
election still lingered, but here, above it all, we were reminded of the
resilience that both nature and people share.
As we began our descent, each of us felt a quiet resolve to carry
this journey’s lessons home with us. We’d come to the Gorge seeking adventure
and beauty, and we were leaving with something deeper: a renewed sense of hope,
connection, and commitment.
St Cloud
After our climb up Beacon Rock, we were ready for a quiet lunch by
the water, and St. Cloud, an abandoned apple orchard right next to the Columbia
River, seemed like the perfect spot. We pulled off the road and walked through
the overgrown trees, their branches twisted and heavy with the last few apples
of the season. The orchard had an air of solitude, a place left to its own
quiet rhythms beside the endless flow of the river.
Jon, ever thoughtful, had prepared sandwiches for us – simple, but
made with care. We unpacked our lunch at a picnic table. The sandwiches were as
delicious as they were lovingly made, and we ate slowly, savoring each bite
while enjoying the quiet around us. The rich, autumn air was tinged with the
faint scent of apples, and as we ate, Julia suggested we “scrump” a few. With a
grin, we each set off to find the best apples we could, reaching into the
gnarled branches for whatever the orchard had left to offer.
Back at the picnic table, we shared our harvest, each apple uniquely
shaped and colored by the land. Jon bit into one with a loud crunch, declaring
it the “perfect blend of tart and sweet,” and we all followed suit, letting the
fresh, crisp flavors fill our mouths. The simplicity of it – sandwiches, wild
apples, and good company – felt grounding, especially after a morning spent
high above the Gorge. Here, by the river’s edge, life felt beautifully
uncomplicated.
After lunch, we wandered down to the water, watching the Columbia
River’s slow, powerful current push by us on its endless journey to the sea.
“This place feels timeless,” Julia said softly, as if speaking to herself. Jon
nodded, his gaze fixed on the far side of the river, where rolling hills faded
into the autumnal horizon. The river felt like a reminder that life, like the
seasons and the land, moves forward, adapting and enduring.
We lingered by the river for a while, taking in the gentle quiet of
St. Cloud. Our conversations drifted back to the news of the election, the
uncertainty of the future looming like the distant clouds on the horizon.
Gordon voiced what we were all feeling. “It’s strange, isn’t it? How peaceful
everything is here, even when the world feels anything but.” None of us
replied, but we each understood the weight of his words. The stillness of the
river, the steadfastness of the orchard – these things had endured, and
perhaps, we thought, so could we.
As the afternoon waned, we knew it was time to head back, leaving
behind the quiet refuge of St. Cloud. The road home felt longer, marked by a
mix of reflection and resolve. We were returning to an uncertain political
future, a country divided, and the lingering disappointment of the election.
But our journey through Washington had given us something to hold onto – the
beauty of nature’s resilience, the comfort of good friends, and the hope that,
like the river, we could continue moving forward.