The best books about Cascadia, unreal and real

Pyle is a leading butterfly expert and a brilliant natural history writer. And he happens to be bigfoot-curious. As am I. The past few years have seen Sasquatch—at least images of the mythical-or-not-mythical beast—cropping up widely in this region, usually to try to sell something. Pyle takes it more seriously, without being boring or sensationalist. In this telling, Pyle packs his rig with camping gear (and plenty of IPA) and—with his expansive knowledge of nature, his keen skills of observation (of all species, us included), and his humor—heads into southwest Washington’s Dark Divide to try to clear up what, exactly, he heard decades earlier on a camping trip in this remote corner of Cascadia. As to what he finds, you be the judge. 

Before Richard Powers’s bestseller The Overstory, there was The Wild Trees. We love our trees in Cascadia—three of the world’s tallest tree species grow here. We’ve also harvested the hell out of them; just a small fraction of the biggest, oldest trees remain unlogged. Preston’s book about coast redwoods and the people who study, climb, and live among them is not only compelling journalism but a kind of memoir and, I’d venture to say, love story. I read it while hiking the Oregon Coast Trail, then gave it to a southbound cyclist I met at a campground on the state’s southern coast who was about to ride into the redwoods. He left it out in the rain. Bad move.

This biography from a small academic publisher takes readers to a place in-between: the Oregon Coast at the turn of the 19th century, as native people and their culture were being displaced by white settlers. It tells the story of Annie Miner Peterson, a Miluk Coos Indian woman who became a minor celebrity among anthropologists and linguists. She was born in the days when “the passage of time was marked by fish and leaves;" upon her death in 1939, “the Miluk language became extinct.” It’s a sensitive and unflinching portrait of a memorable woman navigating her fraught era.

Kirkpatrick is a prolific writer of historical novels, often romantic, often deemed “inspirational.” I’m not a big fan of the genre, but her story about Cassie Simpson, a compelling and compellingly flawed woman who ditched her husband and kid in 1899 in Washington to take up with her lover on the shores of Coos Bay, where he was helping to build a shipping and logging empire, gave me a whole new way of looking at that place today. And, by extension, other port towns on the Northwest coast. And, by extension, the difficulty, and price paid, of being a woman in the early years of the 20th century who chose an unconventional life and paid some heavy dues for it.

Charlotte Drummond is a sort of anti-Carrie Simpson: same era, but fictional and feminist, living on the lower Columbia River. She joins a search for a girl lost from a remote logging camp and discovers more than she bargained for. There’s so much to love in this quiet novel, mainly the vivid and unflashy rendering of landscape and unfolding of memorable characters.

And, bigfoot.