A Rocky Butte Sunset

Looking west through the oak trees toward
 the sunset. The rock wall surrounding the
park is clearly visible. -S. Kramer, Photo

 Rocky Butte is hard to miss, though easy to ignore. It towers over Portland airport, and at night, the beacon on its summit flashes like some sort of flying lighthouse. I had been there before, but not for many years, so midway through a 7-day workweek, I decided to pay this old friend a visit. I had been working for several months within a mile of this mountain and had yet to return. Stressed and on the verge of tears: this seemed like as good a time as any.

 Rocky Butte, like many of the hills in Portland, is volcanic in origin, part of the Boring Lava Field. The volcano is long since-extinct, and it has in the past housed a prison. Today the mountain’s main attraction is a rather unique park on the summit. That was my ultimate destination.

In order to climb the mountain as
 efficiently as possible, Rocky Butte
 Road crosses under itself in this
classy tunnel. The rock wall the
tunnel is built into supports the
upper roadbed. -S. Kramer, Photo

After leaving work, I took 82nd avenue to Fremont, then along a residential street to Rocky Butte Road. The road clung to the side of the hill passing through forests of maple and fir, even tunneling under itself.

At the top, parking spaces were scarce. It seems that Rocky Butte is the place to be at sunset. In hindsight, this makes sense what with the unobstructed views and its elevation, but parking was something I had failed to consider. I did find a spot, but only barely got in, cutting off a white car who had followed me from the turn on to Rocky Butte Road. The driver of the white car shot me a dirty look as I casually stole his space: first come first served. I felt bad ripping off a guy who had travelled with me for such a distance, but I later noticed a number of white cars parked up on top, and wondered to myself if the white car had found a spot after all.

The castle-like James Wood Hill Park. This
picture looks up the ramp leading into the
southern gate of the park. Note the lamps
guarding the gate. -S. Kramer, Photo

The summit itself is a castle-like walled enclosure called James Wood Hill Park. There is an entrance on either side, the south entrance is a gravel path, while the north entrance is a complex staircase. The ramparts are made, appropriately, of basalt, the same volcanic rock produced by the boring lava field. Lamp posts are positioned every twenty feet or so, and two guard each entrance. Walking up the gravel ramp from the street feels like approaching a medieval castle somewhere in England. Stone paths of red lava rock crisscross the grassy knoll enclosed by the walls, with a couple of young oak trees guarding the southern end. Benches line the wall in many places, and the rotating beacon, originally intended to guide aircraft, sits in the center of the enclosure. The beacon is guarded by a peculiar assortment of currents thorn bushes and roses, as if the barbed wire fence weren’t enough to protect the tower from trespassers.

This bassalt pedestal provides
information on mountains and
landmarks visible from James
Wood Hill Park -S. Kramer, Photo

The rock walls lining the castle seemed like a comfortable place to sit, and they were. However I found myself much more hesitant to try it after noticing an unexplained memorial on one of the rock walls. That didn’t stop most people though: posing for family pictures, leaning up to get a better view at the surroundings, one was even doing a formal photo shoot.

From the summit, the city spread out, save for sections blocked by trees, and the mountainous countryside beyond. The Glen Jackson bridge carrying I-205, snaked across the Columbia, with Mt. St. Hellens and its foothills rising behind it like an ancient being, watching the scene. Facing another direction, the hills and neighborhoods of Gresham and Troutdale, with Mt. Hood looming behind it. Between these two: Larch Mountain and the Columbia River Gorge. These scenes were massive in scale, dwarfing the planes landing at PDX. The entire scene was bathed the golden glow of evening reflecting on tin roofs and rivers.

As sunset approached, I moved to the castle’s western face and fixed my attention on the sun, which continued to drift toward the horizon, the atmosphere  it a color reminiscent of orange soda. A pleasant cool wind blew over the summit, and next to me, a woman had closed her eyes to bathe in the orange glow. I took a few moments to do the same.

Looking east toward the Columbia River
Gorge just after sunset. The river runs 
through the middle of the photo. Larch 
Mountain can be seen just right of center

-S. Kramer, Photo

people continued to hang around, even as the park prepared for the night ahead. The lamps lining the palisades came on, and the beacon woke up and began to rotate, growing brighter with each turn. No one seemed ready to leave. I wasn’t either, it was inviting, and I could see myself staying there all night, watching the city lights come on, traffic on the freeway, and then the sunrise. I could call out. But only a few minutes later, the crowds had thinned and I knew it was time to leave. So I joined the groups now heading back down to the street. As I left the castle, and walked back to my car, I noticed that the stress I had felt was all but gone. My long workweek had left me drained and on the verge of tears, but now it was as if that workweek had never happened.

“We’ll come back next week.” Someone said as I left the park for the evening. Another one hooked, I thought, like me. I think I might too: come back and sit once more in that orange glow. And this time, I’ll bring a picnic. -KP