In the Heart of the Gorge

A Photo Essay During a Cyclonic Bomb

Columbia Gorge from the summit of Cape Horn.

When the first shockwaves of the cyclonic bomb began to detonate in the Pacific Northwest, I was on the crest of Cape Horn, six hundred feet above the Columbia River as the skies blackened, 200-foot-tall Douglas-firs shivered in the winds and creeks dry for months began to swell from drenching rains.

Cape Horn stands at the mouth of the Columbia Gorge, the last large cliff on the north side of the 100-mile-long chasm the great river of the Northwest carved through the Cascade Range, as it barreled its way toward Cape Disappointment, the Desdemona Straits, and the Pacific Ocean another 120 river miles to the West. Cape Horn is made of basalt, laid down by successive floods of lava pouring out of volcanic fissures in the earth on the Idaho/Oregon border more than five million years ago.

To read this article, log in here or subscribe here.
In order to read CP+ articles, your web browser must be set to accept cookies.

Jeffrey St. Clair is editor of CounterPunch. His most recent books are Bernie and the Sandernistas: Field Notes From a Failed Revolution and The Big Heat: Earth on the Brink (with Joshua Frank) He can be reached at: sitka@comcast.net or on Twitter @JeffreyStClair3

CounterPunch Magazine Archive

Read over 400 magazine and newsletter back issues here

Support CounterPunch

Make a tax-deductible monthly or one-time donation and enjoy access to CP+.  Donate Now

Support our evolving Subscribe Area and enjoy access to all Subscribers content.  Subscribe