Fine Art Photography Blog

It’s a 700 vertical-foot climb to the top of Multnomah Falls; about a mile and a quarter each way, mostly over switchbacks. Being a fairly easy hike and only 30 miles from Portland, the challenge isn’t getting to the top, it’s fighting the crowd. Even in the dead of winter, with snow lying next to the upper trail, there will invariably be thousands of people enjoying the great outdoors.

Much of the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area has a straightforward history, the type you might hear about in a nature documentary. The Cascade Range of volcanoes - Mount Hood and Mount Adams, both dormant, both visible from the river, could erupt during the 21st century, geologists tell us - began to push upwards a million years ago, and the mighty river carved a deep gorge through them. Incredibly, this is the only passage through the mountains that stays near sea-level. A series of floods ensued; the present day Bridge of the Gods is build on the site of a landslide that dammed the river, creating a lake that may have stretched as far as Idaho.

But the waterfall has a far different history.

Long ago, the daughter of the Multnomah People’s chief was married to a young chief from the Clatsop People; an event that was met with great celebration by both tribes. The festivities soured as a horrific illness fell over the people both families.

The wise elders and brave warriors met, and could find no solution but to accept the tragedy: “There is nothing we can do. If it is the will of the Great Spirit that we die, then we must meet our death like brave men. The Multnomah have ever been a brave people.” A medicine man came down from the mountains with another answer, saying his father had told him everything that had come to happen many summers ago. The healer said that all would perish unless a sacrifice was made: if a young lady, a daughter of a chief, would throw herself to her end, the sickness would vanish.

Soon, the daughters and grand-daughters of chiefs were brought together, and heard the news. An order was given to the warriors and medicine men of the tribe: “Tell our people to prepare to meet their deaths bravely. No maiden shall be asked to sacrifice herself. This meeting has ended.” The chief of the Multnomah, himself an old man, having lost his sons in battle, saw his daughter in the crowd before him.

More people died, and the young head of the Clatsop who had married the chief’s [unnamed] daughter began to fall sick. His wife, who European history might call a princess, cared lovingly for her new husband, then stole away from the camp.

According to the legend, “All night and all the next day she followed the trail to the great water.” [This is hard to believe for anyone who’s hiked the trail, which is better paved than some country roads. Without switchbacks everywhere and a network of trails, there were far less ascents to choose from; our trail would have meant scaling a 620 foot cliff.] By sunset she reached the edge of the cliff, thinking silently as she took in the beautiful view below her. Then she asked the Great Spirit if he would accept her as a sacrifice: “If you will accept my life to spare my people, show me a sign that my death will not be in vain. Please, hang a token low in the sky to let me know.”

Just at this moment, the moon rose over the distant mountains holding the river in. Our hero closed her eyes and jumped from the ledge.

People woke up healthy and strong the next morning, from their death beds. There was great rejoicing, briefly, for the tribe was saved. All the young women were once again called together, and the chief’s daughter was missing. The group rushed to the great river, walked around the base of the cliffs, and buried the girl where they found her.

Distraught, the chief of the Multnomah cried out to the heavens “Show us some token that my daughter’s spirit has been welcomed into the land of the spirits.” Roaring above, a stream of pure water rushed down the face of the cliff, falling at their feet. This beautiful waterfall has forever since marked our hero’s grave.

Below isn’t exactly the source, but this is the last chute before spilling over the cliff and plummeting 540 feet to briefly form a pool before descending another 70 feet, under Benson Bridge.