Hood River Round Up

Position: 45°42’18″N 121°30’38″W

Hood River merges with the Columbia River about 60 miles east of Portland. It is known for bougie sports, beer and fruit. Moving to Portland from the east coast 25 years ago, Hood River seemed like it was a long way away. In truth, Portland International Airport is only an hour’s drive. In the past five years, as Portland slid into lawlessness and working from home became (albeit briefly) acceptable, real estate prices have shot up. These days sub-dividing acreage for development has become a local pastime.

Going to the Dog

Like Bend, Oregon (q.v.), Hood River has continually reinvented itself since its first pioneer, Nathanial Coe, built a homestead at the mouth of the Dog River in 1854. Someone had doggedly overruled William Clark’s naming of the Labeasche River 49 years earlier. Proving herself insensitive to the serendipitous charms of puppies, Nathaniel Coe’s wife Mary changed the river’s name again to the Hood River, and so it remains to this day. Clearly, capriciously changing geographic place names has a long history in these United States. The opinions of indigenous peoples apparently counted for nothing. Such is the power of pen and ink.

Given its location and an abundance of salmon and forests, the little settlement thrived. Steamboats plied the river from The Dalles to Portland, using Hood River as a stopover. Trains arrived right on time in 1882. The town was officially incorporated in 1895 and became Hood River County’s seat in 1908.

The Columbia River Highway opened in 1915 bringing reliable road transportation to the burgeoning apple and lumber trades, along with carloads of tourists. In a day’s drive, a New York socialite might leave Portland in an open car and take in the spectacle of Multnomah Falls, the beauty of the Columbia River Gorge and enjoy a hearty repast at the Hood River Hotel. This hedging of income streams proved prescient. In the 1990s small lumber mills across the state faltered in the face of a slowing housing market and an on-going fight to save old growth forests. With its proximity to Mount Hood’s ski areas and Columbia River, Hood River leaned heavily on tourism.

Downtown

Downtown is a mix of older brick buildings and larger craftsman-style homes overlooking the Columbia. Oak Street is the retail heart of the town and contains outdoor gear shops and art stores in equal measure. Bars, pubs, breweries and restaurants do steady business, especially at the weekend.

A couple of blocks downhill, Union Pacific trains still carry freight towards Portland. The line is flanked by Interstate-84, which will carry you all the way to Salt Lake City if you ask it nicely. Across the river, on the Washington side, BNSF regularly runs mile-long trains, too. Viewed from the bluff, it’s a bit like having a wonderfully rendered model railway set.

On the flats down by the river, the city has taken advantage of its location by extending the breakwater and putting in an event centre (essentially a bare patch of ground with lots of parking). There is a marina deep enough to accommodate Aleta and for riverboats to moor up. Along with a couple of hotels, two breweries and a non-alcoholic botanical spirits distillery, visitors and sports nuts have plenty of restorative options.

Zephyrs

On summer afternoons the high desert heats up and draws steady winds up the Columbia River Gorge. A spit of sand at the confluence of the Columbia and Hood rivers makes a perfect launching point for legions of windsurfers, kiteboarders, and foilers. More years ago than I care to remember (17), Carol made weekly treks out here to kiteboard with her hot boyfriend (a different) Mike, and faithful dog Annie. Annie’s job was to run up and down the spit barking as Carol flew by, kite aloft. Then Annie would dive into the water to foul Carol’s lines as soon as she stopped. She developed quite a reputation among the regulars (to which ‘she’ are you referring? – ed.). A torn rotator cuff put the kybosh on Carol’s Olympic ambitions, but she holds her memories of dirtbag kitesurfing fondly.

Should you need sporting gear, Hood River is the place to buy it. A couple of dozen stores manufacture custom boards, kites, foils, and wetsuits. Hydrophobic? Pick up hiking boots, and poles or a mountain bike and head for the hills. The Columbia Gorge Highway is now a hiking and biking trail with spectacular views. In the winter, retailers turn towards skiing and snowboarding.

Brews

In 1987, the very early days of America’s craft brewing renaissance, Irene Firmat, a buyer in New York’s fashion industry, dropped everything and flew out to Hood River to establish the Hood River Brewing Company. Now Full Sail Brewing, it remains one of the regions larger craft beer-making operations. Since then, another four microbreweries have opened in town, and another seven lie within 45 minutes’ drive. Not to be outdone, local coffee roasters and cannabis stores have plenty of outlets.

Fruit

Orchards blanket the meadows above town. Drive south towards Mount Hood and up above the bluff you find ideal growing conditions for pears, apples, cherries and peaches. Come spring, the neatly manicured rows of trees blossom in a riot of colour. In autumn, the canneries and shippers work flat out monetising the harvest. Fruit farming clings on thanks to low paid labour from Mexico and Latin America. Today, almost 30% of Hood River County is of Hispanic origin, one of the largest concentrations in the state.

The hamlet of Odell is fruit central these days. Two big processing and storage warehouses operate in town. One is family owned (Duckwall Fruit), the other a pear and cherry cooperative (Diamond Fruit). Diamond Fruit has a slight aesthetic edge thanks to its giant WPA-style triptych, viewable from the Odell Highway.

Signage in downtown Odell is mostly in Spanish these days. A few taquerias offer tasty food, and a couple of mercados promise cheap rates for wiring money abroad. Any overzealousness of the current administration’s deployment of the Immigration and Naturalization Service might severely impact cash flow in the area. In that case, I imagine more than a few of the president’s electoral signs might end up in a backyard bonfire.

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