The Father of Human Geography, Yi-fu Tuan, wrote Topophilia: A Study of Environmental Perception, Attitudes and Values which became a surprising bestseller in 1990. What Dr. Tuan had written as a scholarly work, the general reading public took to its heart. Topophilia literally means "love of place".
What are the links between environment and world view? Topophilia, the affective bond between people and place, is the primary theme of this book that examines environmental perceptions and values at different levels: the species, the group, and the individual.
What does place mean to you? How has place formed your values and attitudes? And what does love have to do with it?
My special place on Earth is the Columbia River Estuary. I’ve sailed her in a 36’ sloop, a 15’ open boat, a 90’ yawl, a 21’ swing keel sloop, and also a 15’ canoe. Spent a whole summer living aboard on the 21 footer with my shipmate, winding up with a job in Astoria where we married and had our daughter.
We discovered the freshwater estuary on the day we got a late start from Cathlamet sailing the shipping channel downriver to Astoria, a 30 mile sail. Timing is everything on a tidal river between the Columbia River Gorge and the Pacific Ocean. A river of wind flows upstream above the river of water. In the afternoons, that wind pushes against the outgoing tide which results in steep waves close together. From Small Places logbook:
What a day.
Winds were strong and we tacked downriver making good headway with the current and fairly smooth seas. Met lots of traffic—particularly a large frieghter just off Three Toed Point which is a narrow spot in the channel. Conditions worsened, so we started the British Seagull outboard motor but she kept lifting out of the water when waves would hit the bow and virtually stop the boat cold. All around bad barf conditions! We beached the boat under sail, putting the anchor out as a kedge and a stern line to a log on shore to keep her bow into the waves. We were on the very last bit of land of Miller Sands and had run out of favorable current. The closest place we could run back to was a full day away. One hour and we would have had it made. Late starts.
We waited there for four hours until the tide would turn at 6:40pm. What an interminable wait. The system worked well keeping the boat still and safe from pounding or being too much beached as the tide came in. The river is 8 miles wide here—a wide sweep of water and shoals laced with strong currents. A dismal place to be caught in knowing you have to go out again. We figured one more hour to a safe anchorage.
Tide changed at 6:40 and we were off at 6:30. The wind was very light so we decided to motor and “get it over with”. As we neared Tongue Point, the waves increased and the wind was higher. The waves were coming on our beam as we motored as hard as we could, setting a course south so we would not be swept past the point.
Making the anxiety level even higher, a Coast Guard helicopter kept hovering over us. I told Al not to wave; we just looked up. [Days later after we’d made land and hitched a ride to town, we found out that a gillnet boat with one man had been lost in the estuary. The boat was found on Marsh Island which is only an island at low tide, getting caught there was like being in a blender.)
The water behind Tongue Point was flat and calm as we swept into our refuge. I discovered the raw physical elation of feeling ‘lighthearted’. Anchoring in 2+ fathoms of calm water with a good bottom, we flick the anchor light on and sleep safe, vowing to leave the shipping channel to the freighters.
And we did. We ‘gunkholed’ our way around the estuary, rarely seeing anyone else. We could still get in trouble here, but she taught us and kept from killing us as we became better sailors. I grew to love her, and she became a part of me.
It was idyllic until May 14, 1984, when the oil tanker SS Mobil Oil veered out of the channel and struck Warrior Rock, spilling out 200,000 of oil into the river above the estuary.
Washington State fought the Mobil Oil corporation; however, Oregon did not because an oil company was checking for oil in the state. So, I turned into a one-woman protest. I wrote a letter to the editor. I ran up $300 worth of long distance calls to agencies and politicians. I did my own field work and produced my own impact statement.
I made a presentation to the Columbia River Estuary Study Taskforce (CREST) which was a council made up of all the cities, towns, ports, and counties along this 35 mile stretch. They were trying to finish the Columbia River estuary Inventory which had never been done before. Why that was important is because polluters cannot be forced to pay for natural resources that are not documented to be there prior to their spills. While they were trying to put together the final documents, I burst through the door covered in Mobil oil. They allowed me to use some of their data as I pressed the Mobil Oil machine for reparations.
My love for the Columbia River Estuary led me into politics. I was elected as a CREST delegate then council member in my little town. That led me to give public testimony when the US Department of Energy wanted to include Handford, Washington, (right on the river) as a National Nuclear Waste Repository.
Eight years after I stumbled into the CREST office covered in oil, I was the CREST chair.
We later moved inland; however, we settled on the banks of the Columbia’s largest tributary. I missed having my days marked by its 8-foot tides every six hours. We switched to our canoe and explored the wetlands, sloughs, and islands.
So my love for place has shaped me as a person, and I would not have it any other way.
Tell us about what ‘love’ of place means to you.
Were you born into a place you love?
Did you find the place you loved best later in life?
What does it mean to you?
How has this place changed you?
What has your love of place led you to do?
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