A letter from a local
Quit asking if the wind thing is real. It is.
You keep asking what I actually do here all day, so here's last Tuesday: rode Post Canyon before work, took two calls from the deck, and at 4:30 I was on the river while the Gorge ran its daily wind machine. The Columbia funnels weather through here like it's on payroll, and the whole town is organized around playing in it.
Mt. Hood is forty minutes up the road, which means lift skiing into late spring and our favorite party trick — ski the mountain in the morning, kite the river in the afternoon. The White Salmon runs cold and clear ten minutes across the bridge when you'd rather be in a boat. Waterfalls on your commute. Plural.
And no, you don't have to be a raft guide to afford it. There's a quiet little cluster of sensor and gear companies here that hire engineers and designers who'd rather debrief on a chairlift, plus the orchards and the breweries that keep the valley honest.
Come out in July. Stand on the waterfront at six when the sails stack to the horizon and the light goes gold on the Washington side. Then tell me you're staying in the city.
— Casey