At the door of the hot-spring-heated sauna at Breitenbush Hot Springs & Retreat Center sits a helpful sign: Heed Your HEAD. Practically speaking, it's a reminder that the doors to this wonderful dose of rejuvenation are hobbit-sized. Spiritually speaking, it was a reminder to me that entering this sauna, with its mix of steam sent from a hot stream, through wooden floor slats and into our bodies, was an invitation to check the head at said door. Embodiment – that quest to exist in more than just the parts of the body that exist above the throat chakra – was, after all, a theme for this Women's Only Weekend, filled with healing circles, yoga sessions, Cascade rain and merry-making.
And to think, one more gust of wind to the north or south and all of this might not be here.
If anything signifies the state of the world in 2023, maybe it's a visit to a healing sanctuary, still working to heal itself from a massive climate-related catastrophe.
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A hot springs after the fire
If anything signifies the state of the world in 2023, maybe it's a visit to a healing sanctuary, still working to heal itself from a massive climate-related catastrophe.
The Labor Day Fires of 2020 — a collection of fires that culminated in one big megafire that destroyed the nearby town of Detroit and burned over 1 million acres, made its way, too, to this retreat center – where guests can stay overnight in cabins, rooms, tents or their own vehicles, or just come for the day and soak in any number of the hot spring pools. It was once a meeting place for Kalapuya and Mollala tribes from the west Cascades, and Chinookan and Sahaptin peoples from the east, some of whom called the place Altat Satosh.
Miraculously, the historic lodge that serves as a meeting place and dining hall for the center was left intact, but around the property remain pockets of singed trees — a testament to fire's mercurial nature. All of the guest cabins were destroyed, along with guest spaces including the massage and Sanctuary building. The property was forced to close for nearly a year and reopened for weekends only in June 2021, with a full reopening of Breitenbush later that fall.
During my first visit to Breitenbush, in the mid-2000s, I stayed in a communal cabin, thermally heated by the hot springs. At this visit, it was a bit disorienting not to see them there.
"With our guest cabins destroyed in the fire, it was crucial for us to come up with new accommodation options," David Hyink, events & marketing coordinator for Breitenbush, told the Source Weekly. "Post-fire, we have put up beautiful canvas tents called the Aviaries, we built accommodation buildings (the Grove) where our old cabins used to be, along with a new bathhouse and several yurts along the river. We even converted a dairy truck into five small rooms with twin beds! Additionally, many of our event venue spaces were turned into guest accommodations. Those have become some of the most popular overnight stay options for guests, and we are still debating whether or not we will return to using them for workshops full time. Our library in the Lodge was heavily reworked, and is now where our gift shop and massage rooms are found," Hyink shared.
Surprisingly, much of the tree cover — and the healing waters — that made Breitenbush so magical have remained.
A place for rejuvenation, and climate contemplation
For those seeking a getaway where wifi and cell service is non-existent and where rustic, tree-filled landscapes meet creature comforts like a guest library, massages and hot food that you didn't have to cook yourself, this is the spot. (People with a day pass can opt to add lunch to their ticket; meals come included for overnight guests.)
It's just 1 hour 50 minutes from Bend, but traveling up and over the Cascade crest, through the massive burns of Detroit and Idanha and into a dripping forest where families of deer don't feel threatened enough to run away, feels a lot like slipping into a zone much farther than the one indicated on the odometer.
I don't know about you, but for me, in 2020, experiencing the triple whammies of a pandemic, racial justice demonstrations and then Oregon's biggest loss of human lives and property due to wildfire, was, well, a bit much for any one year to hold, or any one journalist to fathom. Seeing how we emerge now, three years on, is just one more part of that fathoming.
Going back to a place where I'd previously sought a dose of tranquility, and seeing it exposed and then emerging from climate-related catastrophe is enough to send anyone pondering: How many more sacred spaces will be damaged or lost in our lifetimes? How many more times will we be similarly exposed, and able to emerge victorious? And, what lessons do we still have to learn from the Kalapuya and Mollala, and other peoples who stewarded these great forests for centuries before Europeans arrived?
This is the paradox and the lesson of such a place: While I'm there, lounging in the mineral-infused waters of this outdoor pool or that one, it's easy to relax and to embrace healing. Heed Your Head – melt into healing and let the body relax into the moment. Then, use said Head to speak about change once you're back home.
