Tranquil, relaxed, smooth; below Merwin Dam the Lewis settles into an easy finish. The river loses 7,950 feet of elevation over its 76 mile journey from its headwaters high on Mt. Adams to Merwin Dam. After Merwin, all that is left is to sluice through gentle curves. In its final stretch, the Lewis is a river retired.
Merwin Dam was my penultimate put-in on the Lewis. Discreetly hidden past the day use area and dam facilities, the down stream boat launch sat tucked away in a steep valley a few hundred feet from the Merwin Dam’s discharge. The mid-morning sun had yet to surmount the trees on the south bank. I felt a slight chill in the shade that covered the north bank boat launch as I prepared my yak. Making my final gear adjustments, I looked forward to a short, pleasant float to the state owned boat launch on Lewis River road six river miles away.
Shortly, I was nestled in the cockpit, engaged in a minute of full power paddling in a playful, upriver pursuit of a darting family of ducks. The ducks easily escaped across the boat barrier just downstream of the dam’s discharge. The effort heated me, and I enjoyed a comfortable pause, appreciating the engineering enshrined nearby in Merwin’s massif. Designed with pencils, paper, and slide rules, Merwin still stands, relentlessly harnessing hydraulic head, over 85 years since its construction. I sat in my polyethylene vessel and paid silent, humble homage to the competence of those minds who got it right, so long ago.
A further five minutes of silent floating found me in the final stretch of unbroken forest along the Lewis’ shores. Anticipating an infusion of houses in the next miles, I sat still and enjoyed the enveloping quiet of the morning scene, so rich in visual detail. Backlit bugs, spider silk, and various airborne detritus appeared in shafts of amber light filtering through the trees. A brief insight into how the land looked in the days before the arrival of our kind. In the near distance, Lewis River Road murmured its presence with the periodic hum of passing cars. The kayak slowly spun in the current, and the sun warmed my skin, as I took in alternating perspectives of tributary creeks, Schumaker mountain, and glassy Lewis water.
A mile and a half past the dam the water gently boiled, indicating the first set of rapids. Just beyond the boil I noticed a short, rocky cliff along the northern bank. A few bounces under my seat and I am through the rapid, steadily backstroking to keep position with the cliff. Some rockfall at the cliff base creates a pseudo-pool of still water which the morning sunlight converts into translucent, tantalizing emerald. After a short pause, I plunged into an opportunity to immerse.
I swung the kayak upstream in a sweeping right turn, taking advantage of the rockfall’s slight eddy to slowly drift into the emerald pool along the cliff. Uniform columns of rock overhang the pool, dropping random drips of surface water onto the Lewis as I drift underneath. These rocks have watched the Lewis flow past, watched the annual rise and fall of its current, from a time well before any human sat on its shore. The oblique sunlight highlights a field of spiderwebs scattered throughout the cliff face. I sit for another minute and note the details that create this micro-world along the cliff, curios about the perspective from this level of existence.
Another minute, and I drift on, leaving the cliff, and the drips, and the spiders to their peace. Houses began to appear along the southern shore. The sun is hotter now, and the river wide and flat. I paddle consistently, ready to reach the take out which sits downstream of the golf course. The Lewis swings around a beach of small rocks. Looking back upstream, the beach frames Davis Peak in the distance. No doubt now that the river’s course has left the Cascades.
I reach the rustic, state-run boat launch in due time. Cars wiz by on Lewis River Road, and I stand and stretch as my mind reframes into everyday life. Carrying the kayak out of the water I am satisfied and thankful for the rejuvenation visiting the land always brings. Though there is little of the Lewis left for this survey; Woodland, the Forks, and the mouth, I am eager to return again.
