It was a slow moving watercourse most of the year but in the spring it flowed with force, swollen with the winter melt and emptying its contents into the Columbia River, before moving downstream onto Cascade Locks.
At this time of the year the river was halfway to being frozen. The better part of Autumn was finished and the trees following the river were stark and almost leafless, the colorful reds and yellows of The Fall giving way to a brown carpet of mush. Today the black water was unhurried, its surface pockmarked by raindrops with the occasional swirl to draw attention to its icy currents.
I sipped my coffee and thought about my mission – the disappearance and murder 40 years ago of Christine Conroy. I was commissioned with the purpose
At this time of the year the river was halfway to being frozen. The better part of Autumn was finished and the trees following the river were stark and almost leafless, the colorful reds and yellows of The Fall giving way to a brown carpet of mush. Today the black water was unhurried, its surface pockmarked by raindrops with the occasional swirl to draw attention to its icy currents.
I sipped my coffee and thought about my mission – the disappearance and murder 40 years ago of Christine Conroy. I was commissioned with the purpose