I love the Cowlitz River.

I’ve hiked along the rushing waters of the Ohanapecosh, a major source of the Cowlitz fed by the glaciers of Mount Rainier.

I’ve rafted the wicked rapids of the Cispus, another Cowlitz fountainhead born on the slopes of yet another volcano, Mount Adams.

I’ve felt the Cowlitz surge through turbines of hydroelectric dams, spinning generators and pumping out kilowatts. How, I’ve wondered, can the river make millions of pounds of steel and concrete tremble?

I’ve paddled up Cowlitz tributaries, such as Olequa Creek, and watched hundreds of salmon treading water, waiting to spawn.

I’ve canoed the river’s lower stretches, soothed by the current that whisked me downstream through waters tinted green by glacial silt and reflected foliage. I love to stop on cobble-strewn islands, eat lunch, soak my feet in the cold water, daydream and watch eagles glide the thermals.

As a tonic for my soul, few outdoor experiences can compare.

Yet, as much as I love the river, I’m not sure I want to drink from it any longer.

The city of Longview is facing an expensive decision about where to get its water. Should it refurbish the Fisher’s Lane water treatment plant, which is being worn down by silt that Mount St. Helens keeps flushing into the Cowlitz? Or should it drill 400-foot wells in the Mint Farm Industrial Park and suck water out of a vast and, apparently, clean aquifer?

So far, the city’s analysis shows the well system would be cheaper, more reliable than the river, and provide clean water with relatively little treatment.

Nevertheless, there still is some understandable hesitation in the community. Contaminated industrial sites are less than a mile away. The aquifer is affected in some still-to-be-understood way by the Columbia River, which is far from pure. And the town’s history of heavy industry and old timers’ tales of garages that dumped used motor oil into drainage ditches make consumers squeamish.

So far, the science shows the aquifer is isolated from surface water contaminants by a thick, impervious layer of silty clay. In addition, the aquifer itself is under pressure, which means it would more likely thrust surface water away than absorb it.

Finally, the Cowlitz itself is not pure, either. Sewage plants discharge into it upstream. Chemicals from farm and forestry applications wash into it. A Daily News analysis found that Lake Sacajawea, turgid and turbid though it be, is cleaner in some ways than the Cowlitz.

Science should lead the way on the city’s choice of water sources. But the decision has to feel right, too. People don’t want a nagging fear that their tap water is tainted. So this is partly a “gut” decision that must take into account fears and uncertainties.

One of those unknowns, of course, is not knowing what Mount St. Helens will do next. The silt problem created by the volcano’s 1980 eruption will gradually decline. But that will take decades, and who knows when the next mud flow will roar down the rivers?

The Cowlitz owes much of its character to the three volcanoes that give it birth. But one of them — Mount St. Helens — is among the most active and explosive on earth. So this much is certain: As long as this community exists, it will always have to cope with that dangerous and troublesome mountain in its backyard.

For that reason, it might make most sense to move our water system out of the volcano’s way.