My four week trip, in part exploring relocation, was coming to an end, a good one. From a slow simmer in SW Colorado, to the full heat of the Great Basin desert, to the cool green of Oregon it had been a western odyssey of personal significance. Capping things off with a traditional Fourth of July visit with Bro and his kids was great.
On that final day coming home, I came back through Tillamook, crossing over to Longview, via the Wilson River and the Trumanesque/Harley Destination of Vernonia, outside of Portland.
I knew a girl from Tillamook once. She tells a story of a life after death experience, crashing into the Devils Fork of the Wilson River, returning from a High School trip to Portland. It was an event that meant a lot to her, and I think I knew her well enough to be able to plug into at least a small portion of that experience. Call it empathy, call it what you will, but it was certainly something.
My particular travels had never taken me down that particular stretch of road, but as a whitewater guy with several Oregon first descents to my credit it was a river definitely on my list. Like all of the Coast Range rivers the Wilson is a rainfall driven creature, and this was not the time to paddle. But I do think I was able indulge myself a bit healthily in making a guess as to the spot.
Not exactly Freudian, but heck, he was a crack head, at least later... I wonder what Mom's opinion would be... :-)
