Glamping in the Gorge: A Creator’s Retreat at Skamania Lodge

The rain came soft and steady as I arrived at Skamania Lodge—like the land itself was blessing the weekend. My glamping tent stood waiting beneath the pines, canvas breathing with the breeze.

Inside, I found a warm welcome: a curated collection of local treasures, thoughtfully arranged—a love letter from the Gorge's makers and dreamers. From herbal soaps to non alcoholic aperitif, each item whispered of roots and ritual. The tent itself felt sacred and serene, with a plush bed, gentle light, and heat that wrapped around me like a hug. Steps away, my private bathroom offered hot water and spa-like touches—proof that luxury and wilderness can dance together.

That night, creators gathered at the Moonlight Pavilion for a summit dinner under the stars (and heat lamps). Rain whispered on the roof as we raised glasses in a circle of connection. The cocktail hour was a sensory spell—infused spirits, vibrant garnishes, and the head chef’s creations that honored both land and season. Stories sparked, cameras clicked, and we slipped into a rhythm that felt both ancient and new.

Back at the glamping tent, the forest exhaled around me—mist rising, stars peeking through low clouds, and the soft rhythm of rain tapping gently on the canvas roof. The heated bed was already warm, a cocoon of comfort that melted the chill from my shoulders the moment I crawled in.

Outside, the fire pit crackled low, and in the distance, I heard the rumble of a night train echoing through the Gorge—a lonesome, grounding sound that made the world feel both vast and deeply familiar. I unwrapped a piece of local chocolate from the goodie bag, its richness anchoring me to the moment.

No scrolling, no posting—just the stillness of the trees, the slow unfolding of rest, and the sense that something sacred happens when you let the wild hold you.

The next morning brought breakfast in the lodge, where panoramic windows stretched out toward the Columbia River Gorge. Pine silhouettes rose like guardians, clouds drifted low and reverent. Over hot coffee and local fare, we met our guide Kieron from Luxury One Adventures, whose energy was equal parts knowledge and joy.

We piled into the Sprinter van and headed east, following the winding highway to Hood River. A stop at Stoked Roasters set the tone—coffee with a view of Hood River Park and the flow of the Columbia, kayakers moving like brushstrokes across water.

From there, we met up with Sol Rides for an e-bike journey through the Twin Tunnels Trail. The path curved along cliffs and through historic tunnels carved into basalt, with views that made time slow. Spring wildflowers were showing off—balsamroot and lupine in full bloom, yellow and violet against emerald hillsides. The Columbia Gorge was singing in color.

We coasted into Mosier, wind-kissed and buzzing, to arrive at Amalenna Winery—a biodynamic vineyard alive with intention. Lunch was a locally sourced picnic overlooking the vines, flavors grown in the same soil we stood upon. As part of the East Gorge Food Trail, this moment was more than a meal—it was a celebration of producers, soil tenders, and culinary storytellers.

We helped place bee boxes near the vines, part of a biodynamic process that recognizes bees not just as pollinators, but as alchemists. Their quiet work brings balance to the vineyard’s ecosystem—honeyed harmony in every cluster.

After lunch, we laced up for a hike at Catherine Creek, a wild stretch of land where oak savannas and rocky bluffs meet. The trail weaves through a diverse ecosystem—delicate wildflowers, basalt rock formations, and sweeping views of the eastern gorge. It felt like walking through a living prayer, the kind only the earth can speak.

Later that day, we found ourselves at Thunder Island Brewing, perched at the edge of the Columbia River in Cascade Locks. With a pint of local beer in hand and the breeze curling off the water, we looked out across one of the most storied and spellbound places in the Pacific Northwest—the Bridge of the Gods.

This isn’t just any bridge. It rises where legend says a natural stone bridge once stood, created by the gods and destroyed by a battle of passion and power. According to Indigenous lore from the Klickitat people, the Great Spirit built a land bridge for his sons—two mighty brothers who fought for the love of a maiden named Loowit. Their battle shook the earth and shattered the bridge, and in the aftermath, the three were transformed into mountains: Wy’east (Mt. Hood), Klickitat (Mt. Adams), and Loowit (Mt. St. Helens).

From Thunder Island, you feel that mythology in your bones. The water rushes beneath the steel span, the mountains loom in the distance, and the entire scene feels caught between worlds—part history, part heaven.

The brewery itself is the perfect vantage point for this kind of reverence and reflection. With small-batch beer brewed right on-site and ingredients that echo the region—think fir tips, hops grown just miles away, or seasonal fruits—every sip is a tribute to place. We toasted to the day, to new friends, to creators and mountains and myths. The sun dipped low, and the bridge lit up like a silver thread tying together everything we’d seen.

Then it was back to Skamania Lodge for dinner, where candlelight and conversation warmed the room like a spell. The food reflected the forest—earthy, fresh, and artfully plated, with flavors that reminded you how lucky we are to eat from the Pacific Northwest’s wild pantry. But the night wasn’t over yet.

Just beyond the glow of the lodge, adventure waited. We made our way to cozy outlet lit with string lights and mountain air—home of Skamania Zipline and Outfitters. There, under a sky glittering with stars, we picked up axes and learned the ancient art of throwing steel with purpose. With expert coaching and plenty of laughs, we practiced our aim, dialed in our stance, and started channeling our inner warriors.

Games like Bullseye Shootout had us cheering for each other, high-fiving, and pretending we were training for something bigger—like saving a forest kingdom or defending our glampground from imaginary invaders. The thud of axe hitting target felt weirdly meditative. We weren’t just throwing—we were letting go.

In the morning, I drew a bath in the tent’s deep soaking tub. Hot water, rainlight, and silence—a trinity of restoration. At our farewell breakfast, creators shared reflections and new friendships. We spoke of creativity, support, and the magic that happens when we show up for one another—not to compete, but to witness and lift.

Some lingered for massages, others zipped through the trees. I pointed my compass toward Mt. Hood, following the route home beneath a sky wide with possibility. In the Hood River Valley, the pear orchards were in bloom, white blossoms glowing like stars against green hills. A final reminder: nature is always speaking, and if we slow down long enough, we remember—we’re part of it.