Bridge of the Gods, Pacific Crest

Hiking across the southwest flank of Mount Hood, the trail dipped into Little Zig-Zag Canyon before climbing again, only to descend once more toward the Zig-Zag River. As I approached the river, the distant rush of water grew louder, echoing through the trees. The river cut across the trail, fed by the steady melt of Mount Hood’s glaciers, its icy current tumbling over smooth stones. There was no bridge, no easy crossing. I stepped closer, eyeing the best route across. The river wasn’t deep, but the force of the current was enough to make any misstep a soaking disaster. Testing a boulder with my boot, I shifted my weight carefully, feeling the slickness beneath me. A misjudged step could send me tumbling into the freezing water.

Midway through, the current wrapped around my ankles, numbing even through my boots. I moved deliberately, stepping from rock to rock, my trekking poles anchoring me against the pull of the river. Just ahead, Zig-Zag Falls roared in the background, sending a fine mist into the air. One final step, and I was across, my heart still pounding with relief and exhilaration. 

I took a short detour to the summit of Chinidere Mountain for the sweeping views before rejoining the PCT. Hiking on the ridge for the next 6mi (10km), the trail gradually descended until I arrived on the outskirts of Cascade Locks, a small town of just 1,144 residents. This was the largest city on the PCT and was named after the set of locks built in 1896 to help steamboats bypass the Cascade Rapids on the Columbia River. The locks were in operation for 42 years until the Bonneville Lock and Dam took over, and in 1938, the locks were submerged. Cascade Locks is another resupply stop, but even better, it was a chance to find a shower and laundrette since both me and my clothes needed a good scrub.

The Columbia River flows through this region, stretching 1,243mi (2,000km) from Canada’s Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. The river’s mouth is notoriously dangerous, with the Columbia Bar creating hazardous navigation conditions, hence its infamous nickname, "Graveyard of Ships", due to the many wrecks over the years.

To cross into Washington, I walked across the Bridge of the Gods, a steel truss bridge that spans the river. After the Bonneville Dam was built, the bridge had to be raised 44ft (13m) and extended 730ft (222m). The bridge was named after a natural geologic feature, the original Bridge of the Gods, formed by the Bonneville Slide. This massive landslide, which occurred sometime in the early first millennium, created a natural dam across the Columbia River. The dam was about 200ft (61m) high and 3.5mi (5.6km) long. The impounded river formed a vast lake, submerging a forest for about 35mi (56km). Over time, the river carved through the natural dam, washing away most of its remains.

Walking across the bridge, I dared not look down as the open metal grate beneath my feet offered a clear view of the Columbia rushing below. Not a fan of heights, I felt my knees go jelly, the strength draining right out of them. With each step, I tightened my grip on the railing, especially whenever a truck rumbled past, shaking the structure beneath me. The bridge was barely wide enough for two lanes, with no sidewalk for pedestrians—just me, the wind, and the dizzying drop below.

However, midway across, I dared to take a peek, knowing I was standing at the lowest point on the PCT, only 170ft (50m) above sea level. Finally, back on solid ground, I turned back for one last glance, said goodbye to Oregon, and stepped into Washington.