The other day there was one of the most incredible storms that I’ve been able to enjoy since moving to the peninsula over four years ago. I was pleasantly surprised to wake up with electricity on in the house so I could make my coffee. That night it sounded as if the ocean was pounding at our door, “you’re supposed to be over a mile away,” I thought to myself while lying in bed. As I drove to work that morning my little car was noticeably difficult to keep going straight. Pulling into the shelter of the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center lower parking lot it was difficult to expect what this storm was like up on top of the cape.

Walking the paved pathway up, I noticed the red alders dancing and the spruce trees swaying. That bright orangey color of freshly broken limbs spotted the hillside. The half dozen or so old granddaddy alder I passed along the way are the survivors of decades of such storms. Oh, the stories they could tell. I’ve heard them speak before, the alders make these groaning creaking sounds but I haven’t been able to translate them as of yet. As I reach the top of the paved switchback path, the site of Battery Harvey Allen reminds me of the dozens of men who lived on the cape over the years. The Chinook chose sheltered bayside coves to find their respite in, out of the storms. The living conditions for some of the coastal artillery troops at Fort Canby were another story.

Right near the front entrance of the Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center there is a trail head for the Cape Disappointment Trail which follows the ridge of the cape and down to Waikiki Beach. Less than fifty yards down this trail, you can find the now abandoned dormitory, former housing for the men responsible for the operations at Battery Harvey Allen during both World Wars. Amazingly enough the building is in decent shape; it has yet to be crushed by a giant spruce or alder tree. I’m sure there were many nervous sleepless nights that passed in there. When I’m done with my day at the center, I leave the pretty precipice; sixty years ago it was a different story. Oh the stories those men could tell, of nights being literally rocked to sleep by the coastal winds slamming up against rock.

The storms are one thing and the situation is another. The historic dormitory is at a similar elevation as the Cape Disappointment Lighthouse. The white light of the rotating lantern would sweep across this old building every thirty seconds, all night, for years. As those former troops would stretch and drink their coffee on the front porch of their housing they could see the sun rising over Bear Ridge and onto Baker Bay. Or for a change of scenery they could walk a few feet and look out over the ocean. I think a lot of the men whose job it was to operate the gun batteries and observation stations. There job was to watch the horizon and wait, and of course be ready at all times, just in case. Not to belittle their intent, but the job does sound rather romantic; at least the view was and still is.

The season and its storms bring special moments both outside and inside of the interpretive center. As the winter sun sets through the collection of clouds and rain a half hour early, the rays sometimes hit the prisms of the first-order Fresnel lens in the viewing room at the center. The effect produced from this phenomenon is a splattering of dozens of mini-rainbows being scattered around the walls and ceilings of the gallery.
Also in the gallery, there is a hanging mobile composed of former floating glass balls which collect the sun and produce an interesting glowing effect. Of all the names for this area, the Sunset Empire seems to be one of most appropriate and if there was a castle for this kingdom, the interpretive center would be a deserving candidate. Come on up to visit us for a sunset soon, you’ll feel like royalty. By the way, if you figure out what those alders are saying, let me know, there’s a few questions I’d like to ask them.

The Lewis and Clark Interpretive Center is open year around, from 10 AM to 5 PM. Admission is $3 for adults, $1 for children ages 7 to 17.

The old dormitory for Battery Harvey Allen still stands, surrounded by alder, spruce, and elderberry trees in all stages of growth and decay it has withstood many severe storms over the decades.