Not feeling the need to climb 1200 feet above sea level, I chose Warrior Rock Lighthouse for this weekend’s adventure. Located on Sauvie Island, it was described as an easy walk through the woods along the Columbia River to the smallest lighthouse in Oregon.
The island reminded me of San Francisco Bay’s Treasure Island, except more rural. It feels sparsely populated and isolated. There is that distinct remote feeling of being on an island, and yet all you see if farmland as far as the eye can see. The remoteness feels more deep, as if you’re not only in a faraway land, but in different time.
Despite having a Northwest Forest Pass (for federal land), and Oregon State Park Pass (for Oregon state parks) and a Discover Pass (for Washington State parks), I still had to purchase a different pass for the privilege of walking to the lighthouse. The pass is sold in only four locations on the island: the Department of Fish and Wildlife, a 7-11, a Cracker Barrel, and a country store located at an RV park.
Luckily, there was a giant painted sign pointing to the country store and RV park on the one road to the trailhead. We pulled in, and I entered the little house-converted-to-convenience-store. The man behind the register stamped a piece of paper for me and wrote down my payment in a little book of pages with carbon paper as if we were in 1976. It added that remoteness of the rural island, as if time had stopped here decades ago.
We carried on with the water to our right (at least I assume that was what was up over the dune with stairs that led upward). There were parking spots on both sides of the road from near the country store to the trailhead. Then it would be three more miles on foot to the northwestern tip of the island and Warrior Rock.
The asphalt ended and our tires rolled onto Mother Nature’s earth for the last few miles. Grey skies and dampness abounded, keeping the dirt on the ground without the usual sand storms one encounters in dry Southern California. The parking lot wasn’t overly crowded, but there were people. Out afternoon arrival meant we were crossing paths with the eager morning hikers who were just finishing up.
I left our trusty steed to stare off into the farmland and ponder simpler times.
The island reminded me of San Francisco Bay’s Treasure Island, except more rural. It feels sparsely populated and isolated. There is that distinct remote feeling of being on an island, and yet all you see if farmland as far as the eye can see. The remoteness feels more deep, as if you’re not only in a faraway land, but in different time.
Despite having a Northwest Forest Pass (for federal land), and Oregon State Park Pass (for Oregon state parks) and a Discover Pass (for Washington State parks), I still had to purchase a different pass for the privilege of walking to the lighthouse. The pass is sold in only four locations on the island: the Department of Fish and Wildlife, a 7-11, a Cracker Barrel, and a country store located at an RV park.
Luckily, there was a giant painted sign pointing to the country store and RV park on the one road to the trailhead. We pulled in, and I entered the little house-converted-to-convenience-store. The man behind the register stamped a piece of paper for me and wrote down my payment in a little book of pages with carbon paper as if we were in 1976. It added that remoteness of the rural island, as if time had stopped here decades ago.
We carried on with the water to our right (at least I assume that was what was up over the dune with stairs that led upward). There were parking spots on both sides of the road from near the country store to the trailhead. Then it would be three more miles on foot to the northwestern tip of the island and Warrior Rock.
The asphalt ended and our tires rolled onto Mother Nature’s earth for the last few miles. Grey skies and dampness abounded, keeping the dirt on the ground without the usual sand storms one encounters in dry Southern California. The parking lot wasn’t overly crowded, but there were people. Out afternoon arrival meant we were crossing paths with the eager morning hikers who were just finishing up.
I left our trusty steed to stare off into the farmland and ponder simpler times.
Tuck and I headed to the gate, trudged through some shrubbery to the beach, and got our first look at the Columbia River from here.
We stepped back up to the path but before long encountered a tree down. The couple heading toward us were with a small terrier/Chihuahua mix who was easily picked up and set down over the tree. While I could clumsily surmount the challenge myself, I could not also help Tucker. The tree had struck some sort of thorny bushes, so Tucker was standing in sharp, violently defensive plantlife. I couldn’t see how he could get onto the trunk of the down tree from that liftoff point and then land back down on the same terrain on the other side.
So we backed up and headed to the beach so we could go around. We shambled up the beach and onto the low grass running parallel with the trail.
So we backed up and headed to the beach so we could go around. We shambled up the beach and onto the low grass running parallel with the trail.
Judging we had passed the tree, I found an open spot through the brambles to climb through to return to the trail.
At the one fork in the road, someone had posted a friendly directional sign:
Once deep into the forest, it was an autumnal wonderland. Tucker and I walked upon a blanket of ambers and yellows and golds.
Once through the final meadow trail, we ended up seaside once more. I imagine with blue skies and the sun shining down, things would look a lot different. From here, all was one grey palette.
Even the lighthouse in the distance was mostly grey...
Except not totally grey.
Someone has painted a glorious bird taking flight. I couldn’t tell if the echoes of autumn colors that looks like silly string but were lines of paint were done by a graffiti artist or were part of the original concept. Either way, it worked perfectly, adding this splash of color to the already vibrant piece.
Above, a chunk of missing plaster gave the impression of a smaller bird taking flight.
The downed tree made for an excellent vantage point to enjoy the painting and also look downriver.
Having had our fill of the tiny lighthouse, we returned to walk back the three miles on the blanket of golds.
Seldom has this happened, and perhaps it was simply due to the grey skies or that it was an out and back hike—not as a loop—but I have to shamefully admit that I got bored on the way back. I kept checking my app, hoping the miles would disappear.
I never regret any trail I take, for each step leads to the next one. There are some I will return to in order to experience time and time again, and there are some that having done them, I am satisfied. Warrior Rock is one of the latter. While grateful to experience this other-timely island in the middle of the Columbia River and to see the tiniest lighthouse with the most majestic artwork, I need not do it again. But I am ever appreciative of the journey, and I look forward to seeing where the next trail leads us from here.
I never regret any trail I take, for each step leads to the next one. There are some I will return to in order to experience time and time again, and there are some that having done them, I am satisfied. Warrior Rock is one of the latter. While grateful to experience this other-timely island in the middle of the Columbia River and to see the tiniest lighthouse with the most majestic artwork, I need not do it again. But I am ever appreciative of the journey, and I look forward to seeing where the next trail leads us from here.
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