Next time you’re rafting on a Winding Waters trip, watch what your guide does with their oars as soon as you see rapids coming up. There probably won’t be much to see, and that’s what you’re looking for. Knowing where you want to be before you get there allows you to adjust early and easily. If you do set up early, the current is your friend, giving you a free ride where you want to go.

The alternative is to let your boat be swept down until you urgently need to change course. Then there’s flailing oars, fighting a current that’s picked up speed now in the bottleneck of rapids and is no longer your pal.

I did more than my share of flailing when I started rowing. Still do when I let my guard down. But I promise you that putting a two-ton gear boat in the wrong place just a few times will learn you real quick to avoid doing that again.

There are several nasty whirlpool eddies in Hells Canyon that I now know very well, but never wanted to. A few oar strokes would have kept me safely in the current. Instead, I missed the ounce of prevention and got to learn what it must have been like to work on a Viking ship, heaving on the oars to get out of the whirlpool until your spine explodes out your back and your shoulders pop from their sockets.

So you learn to conserve energy. I recall several times rowing my boat directly behind Morgan’s boat, and wondering how it could be possible that he appeared to be enjoying a nap up there with his oars calmly tucked under his arms, while I whipped the river into a froth, frantic to avoid a rock or hole. I should have been watching earlier, when he saw it coming and nudged himself where he needed to be before he needed to be there.

Morgan is even efficient about resting. Tucking the oars under his forearms when the blades aren’t in the water is a calculated measure to take strain off the wrists. I confess that I found this a wee bit silly the first time he explained it to me. I changed my mind. Oars are heavy. Hold them long enough and by the end of a rafting season you’re chugging ibuprofen from an economy-sized bottle, pleading for the throbbing in your wrists to cease.

And that’s why I’m going to ask my accountant if I can claim my new foosball table as a business expense. Healthy wrists are vital to rowing. I think we’ve proven that. Feathering the oars is all in the wrist, just like . . . um . . . well, you see, IRS, foosball also improves hand-eye coordination. And you just can’t get that from a rowing machine.

Some people might view the purchase of a sweet, vintage foosball table you found on craigslist and just had to have as a frivolous purchase. And normally I would agree. But I take my job seriously, and once I realized the value this awesome foosball table has for improving my rowing skills in the off-season . . . well, if avoiding that vicious whirlpool in Hells Canyon means I have to play foosball all winter, so be it. That’s how serious I take this river-running business.

So for all of you interested in our row-your-own river trips where you learn to pilot your own boat, stop by my place when you get into town and we’ll play some foosball to condition your rowing reactions. And if you don’t mind terribly, I might have you sign something to show the accountant this is a legitimate training device.

Paul and Penny are vacationing down in Old Mexico and Morgan is up in the mountains guiding ski trips . . . which means I have right here on my desk the booking calendar for Winding Waters rafting trips this season.

So let’s make a deal.

Want to barter some eggs? Trade that old recliner in your garage for five glorious days of whitewatery bliss in Hells -- the deepest canyon in all the lower 48? I’m your guy. Call now. I’m standing by.

Paul, if you’re reading this, which I’m certain you are not, because you’re sipping margaritas in a hammock beside some palm-thatched cantina in a sleepy villa – but if you were to be reading this, you just rest assured, mi amigo, that Winding Waters is in the best of hands. You can have complete and utter confidence that by the time you cross back over the border into Los Estados Unidos, this outfitting outfit will not have been neglected in your absence.

I’ve made a few changes. The logo you had was good. But change is better. I thought we needed something that says: Bam! Pow! You know, excitement. Something to reflect the rare delight of floating down a river with a special crew such as ourselves. I want people to know it’s not something they’ll forget. Like seeing a unicorn, or something.

So the new logo is a unicorn with a rainbow in glitter behind it. I was going to try to keep the river motif in the background to be consistent with the whole ‘river’ thing . . . but I think it’s cleaner with just the unicorn so I’ve changed all the letterhead and I’m sure you’ll love it. I saw it in one of those sticker vending machines in Safeway and it cost me like a buck-seventy-five before I got the right sticker. The other ones were lame. So I just put them on the company van.

Next I thought I’d revamp our whole image, beyond just the logo makeover. So I got to thinking how we’re known as Winding Waters River Expeditions . . . and I like “Expeditions” because that’s what it is. And plus it’s an adventure and I wanted to combine all that in a new way, so here’s what I’ve got:

Expedition + Adventure.

That equals: Expedenture.

Winding Waters River Expedentures.

“Expedentures” does kind of sound like a mail order false teeth company, a little bit. But it’ll catch on.

I’ve got loads of other ideas. Just wait. You will not be sorry you left me on watch. I’ve got that go-get-‘em attitude and aim to prove it.

I tried to reach you in Mexico, but the man at the reception desk wouldn’t put me through even though I explained it was important company business . . . he told me there was no such word as ‘expedenture,’ in spanish or English, and refused to bother one of their guests over such a matter.

But I did manage to sign him up for a river trip in August. Traded for the towels and soap in your cabana, so don’t forget to pack those up before coming home.

Or stay another week. You won’t even recognize this company when you get back. I can’t wait.

Morgan Jenkins brings many things to this rafting outfit, but far and away his finest contribution would have to be the ping pong table he found at a garage sale last summer. It’s been a nice addition at Winding Waters HQ.

Although playing Paul will keep you plenty humble. Ditto Penny. She beats me too. And Morgan. Matter of fact, the only person I’ve managed to beat during our shop pong games has been young Patrick the apprentice, and I’m nearly certain he’s losing on purpose.

Ping pong fever has been spreading in Wallowa County, largely thanks to the efforts of Rob Taylor. Rob works for The Nature Conservancy, rides his bike a lot and has a vast array of carabiners and whatnot dangling from his Mountainsmith fanny pack. Also, he’s powerful good at pong. I stopped in to check out one of his Tuesday night pong gatherings in a local church hall last week. Rob had just returned from Seattle, where he found his way to a Chinatown ping pong parlor and, despite the language barrier, managed to get beaten very badly.

He talked as if he’d just returned from the Shaolin Temple where he’d gleaned the secrets of the Five-Point Pong Exploding Heart Technique. He was doing this crazy intro to his serve where, rather than just holding the ball in his fingers then hitting it, he cups it in his hand and presents it to his opponent, then gingerly drops his cupped hand and initiates contact with his paddle when it gets to the elevation he’s looking for. I guess this is to avoid trickery. Like . . . spinning the ball? Maybe a spitball? I don’t know.

I knew Rob was enthusiastic about the sport . . . waaaaait a minute, I’m not sure ping pong should really be classified as a sport. Even by dressing it up with the name ‘table tennis’ I think it’s a stretch. Olympic event or not, I think you should have to move around a little more before calling something a sport. Although I did see Bill Knox putting on an ankle brace before playing pong the other night – so if you can potentially get injured during the course of play, maybe it is a sport. I’m not sure.

What I do know is that Rob Taylor has a padded carrying case for his personal ping pong paddle, which officially makes him an enthusiast. I’m also guessing that it makes him easy to shop for. Anything ping pong-related should make a person happy once they reach the stage of transporting their paddle inside its own case.

Between games, Rob tucked his precious into its case, even though he would be using it again in just a little bit. I couldn’t figure out if this was to keep it from getting scratched or dinged, or to keep it warm, or what.

His explanation was, “Well, I figure if you have a case, you might as well use it.”

Can’t fault his reasoning there.

So while I’m not familiar with Chinatown serving etiquette and do not own a paddle, to say nothing of a padded case, I will be back for Tuesday night ping pong to get myself into shape for games in the boathouse this summer. If you can’t be rowing a boat through whitewater in the off season, might as well be working on your hand-eye coordination for when it does warm up again.

Reasons people give for living in Wallowa County often include the mountains, rivers and natural surroundings. Plus you don’t need to lock your doors. It’s a good place to raise a family. And there’s a community of like-minded folks.
Things people miss about living elsewhere often include their favorite Thai/Indian/Italian restaurant. And . . . then it usually jumps to the paychecks you can get elsewhere.

A group of like-minded folks got together last Thursday night to share their appreciation of winter sports in the natural surroundings out here, and also to share their paychecks that often aren’t the size they might be elsewhere.

The Frostbite Film Festival was a dinner benefit for the local ski club, community ice rink and Nordic club. For ten bucks you got dinner, got a shot at some choice items in the charity auction and then saw a series of local and mainstream winter-themed movies.

Penny helped organize the whole shebang. Paul helped cook the roast beef. They both put together one of the short films showcasing the local ski hill . . . and I . . . well, I ate some of the roast beef and watched the movies.

Auctioneer Craig Nichols is a local cattle rancher, used to guide hunting trips up in British Columbia . . . he’s a bush pilot, river guide, cowboy, one hell of a musician and you’d be wise to get within earshot if this guy start telling stories. He ran a lively auction and if you happened to miss it, fear not. He’s also a rafting guide for Winding Waters and if you can catch one of his campfire concerts you’ll be glad you did.

One of the hot auction items was a chair made from old skis that Paul specializes in making. Somehow it’s just extra-relaxing to sit in a device made from things you’re supposed to be exercising with.

The evening proceeds brought in $5,000 to keep things running out here for when you want to get off your couch in the winter.

The highlight for me was babysitting a . . . well, a baby. I don’t even know how old the kid was. But he was cute and somebody passed him to me at some point in the evening. We got along and I fed him potatoes and bread when my dinner arrived. Turned out later I know who the parents are and they know me. Also, they knew right where their child was and since we both seemed happy, they let us be. I’ve lived a lot of places before moving here, but in no community have I ever been handed a little baby before without . . . well, it’s never happened. But if it had, I would have a few questions. This time the only thing I wondered was how many potatoes you’re supposed to feed a kid that small.

So that’s one of my new reasons for living where I do. Not only can you leave your front door unlocked, you can attend a night out and watch as your baby gets passed among friends during a community function and know that everything is just fine.

Big paychecks don’t buy that. But a bunch of little paychecks will have that kid tearing up the slopes five years from now. I look forward to watching that little one ski.