And now for a game of “Can You Spot the Differences In These Two Photos?”

Both men are wearing waders. Both are smiling. Both on a riverbank … c’mon, think. What’s different?

That’s right. Morgan is wearing a green jacket and Paul is not.

Also, Morgan’s waders are all puffy from air trapped in them. I won’t tell you what he had for lunch.

…Oh. One more thing. Paul has a fish.

Yeah. About that. Morgan had one on. For a while. “Moby Dick,” is how he described it. I was upstream around the corner while this epic battle was going on. Odd that I didn’t hear the commotion, since he described this whale-like steelhead as “breaching” and slapping the water with its flukes and abnormally broad tail. Much like a whale watching adventure.

It seems this fish of Morgan’s sensed danger as it was coaxed to shore, then “leaped,” “jumped,” “rocketed,” “launched” … he used many descriptors throughout the many versions of this incident I was treated to.

Morgan and I were fishing the Grande Ronde, six miles up from Boggan’s Oasis. We had one stretch of river to fish, since we were waiting on the planting crew we’d shuttled across and couldn’t move around.

Paul was fishing the Wallowa River with Tom, the fishing guru of Winding Waters. See their results on the Winding Waters Fishing Report, back on the main page. Also check out the Steelhead Train numbers, which are impressive.

So Morgan and I had three lovely days in the same sixty yards of river and we flogged that chunk of water until it was bruised. I caught some wee trout and snagged a sucker, while Mo hooked into that white whale of a steelhead.

It was 32-inches long, by the way. I know this because he told me this. Which is impressive. Not just in size, but the fact that Morgan is so dextrous he can manage to wade out in the river before losing a fish, get a tape measure or yardstick on the thing and get a reading like that.

I’m confused why he didn’t just keep holding onto the fish after he was done measuring, just to save the hassle of wading back to shore and picking up his fly rod to continue the fight.

In any event, the leader snapped and he lost the fish. And I’m sorry. Very sorry. Not for him, but me. I had to hear him crying himself to sleep for the next two nights. Watch him lash himself with a hackberry branch as penance for letting that fish get away.

It was painful for him, I know. He pulled muscles in both arms by stretching them out wider and wider each time he recounted the tale, showing how big that thing was.

Ah, but there’s more fish in the river and we’re going after them. You’re cordially invited to come along.

Hearing an elk bugle is always exciting. When it’s a real elk, anyway. It’s a privilege to hear such a thing.

So I felt privileged, sort of, every five to seven minutes inside the Portland Expo Center last week when the majestic call of a bugling elk came from one of the many vendors auditioning their elk imitations for the crowds inside the 2010 Sportsmen’s Show.

Winding Waters set up shop next to Del Sol Wilderness Adventures, our horseback compadres for the Paddles & Saddles trip where you head up into the Eagle Cap Wilderness on a trusty steed for quality mountain time, then reset your watch to river time for a float through Hells Canyon with Winding Waters. River time and mountain time are nearly the same, it’s just a matter of whether you end up around a campfire next to a small gurgling mountain stream with your horse picketed in a grassy meadow, or your raft is tied to a hackberry tree on a beach. The campfire still crackles and the water still gurgles, it’s just that the gurgling happens at a lower decibel once it gets to the river stage.

So we put up some great photo moments from river trips gone by and Paul built Morgan a hobby horse, named “Bucky,” so he could demonstrate the proper riding technique for the Saddles side of Paddles and Saddles.

We saw old friends who have been on trips with Winding Waters already, and with Paul, Penny and Morgan acting as ambassadors during the Sportsmen’s extravaganza, there’s a fresh batch of immigrants set to join Winding Waters Nation this coming season.

A popular attraction at the show is a fishing tank set up for kids. If you’re 12 and under, you get a bamboo pole and the chance to haul a trout out of the big aerated pool. It’s always fun to watch a kid get excited from the wiggle of a fish on the end of their line.

I take that back. It’s always fun to watch anybody catch a fish. Young or old. Or in between.

So I like watching kids smiling around that fish tank. But just like an authentic elk bugle sounding much better than something simulated, I’m excited for the river season to start here in a few months so I can trade the walls of the Expo Center for the walls of the river canyon and see a kid reel one in for real.

Morgan agrees. We’re heading back to Wallowa County a day early to do some river shuttling for a work crew so they can get across the Grande Ronde to a roadless stretch where they will be re-planting native grass seed on the banks where they sprayed for noxious weeds earlier in the year.

After the planting crew goes home, Mo and I are thinking we might just stay down there on the Grande Ronde and partake of this record year for steelhead runs.

After being surrounded by all that outdoors squeezed indoors at the Expo Center, it’ll be a welcome sight to see the outdoors back where it belongs. Outdoors.

I’m a little worried about Paul and Morgan. They’re going to that busy place called “Portland” this week. I’ve been there. It’s a strange land. They have lights in boxes hanging over the streets that tell you when you can drive and when you have to stop. Then you need to give money to other boxes if you want to leave your truck sitting somewhere for awhile.

Folks in Portland grocery stores don’t stop and lean against their shopping cart to visit with me when I say hi and ask how they’ve been doing lately. It’s very, very different from Wallowa County.

But I’m sure these guys’ll be fine. Paul and Morgan march off into the wilderness all year long, guiding ski and rafting trips, and don’t think anything of it. They’ll be fine for a week in Portland, visiting with people from their Winding Waters Rivers Expeditions booth in the Pacific Northwest Sportsmen’s Show.

But still. Stop by and see them if you’re part of our Winding Waters Portland area support group. Us country mice can use guidance from our city mice friends. We’ll tell you where the good fishing spots are in Hells Canyon if you tell us where a good Thai restaurant is in Portland.

This Sportsmen’s show is at the Portland Expo Center. Click here for directions.

Our pals at Del Sol Wilderness Adventures are going to be sharing the booth with Winding Waters. We do the Paddles and Saddles Adventure with these guys, where you get on the river and into the mountains all in one Wallowa County visit. Check it out here or here , but not here, here or here. Better yet, stop by and hear about it in person at the outdoor show.

Morgan and Paul will be there Wednesday through Sunday of this week, February 10th through the 14th. It’s open from 11 to 9 Wednesday to Friday, then 10 to 8 on Saturday and 10 to 6 Sunday.

This show has all manner of whatnot for having fun outdoors. Fly fishing clinics, how-to’s on packing a mule. I just wish they had a seminar on city driving. I’d take that. It’s ten bucks to get in, and here’s a list of those special classes if you’re interested:

Stop in and see us. I just decided I’m going to ride along as backup, so I better get packing for this trip to the big city. Let’s see, I’ll need to patch my good pair of overalls and bring enough venison jerky and dried apples to see me through the week. I kind of want to go up top on one of those tall buildings and spit over the side to see if it takes as long to fall as it does from the trail above the Snake River on the Suicide Point trail. O man, this is going to be exciting.

The Wallowas got a pretty fair dump of snow over the weekend. Enough flakes piled up that any sensible person would head to Ferguson Ridge, our community ski hill, for the Sunday powderfest.

But this otherwise sensible person crashed last weekend, landing with my balled-up fist between my ribcage and unforgiving packed snow. This makes for a dull, and sometimes not-dull-at-all, pain in the rib region. Not a big deal as long as you aren’t, say, hanging sheetrock in your attic the next day, lifting heavy sheets above your head.

So I’ve been hanging sheetrock in my attic since the crash. My ribs don’t think much of this plan. I’ve been unconsciously rubbing my left boob all week, trying to coax it into not paining me anymore. It has raised eyebrows and caused some people to walk away at a brisk pace.

I considered not being there for the powder day. Injured list and all that. But I was scheduled for a work day with the ski club and couldn’t miss that. I loaded folks onto the T-bar, which involves reaching up and pulling the T’s down, in a motion that passes directly through the ribs.

But I did get plenty of chances to take a break and make runs through the powder, which is where snowboarding shines, in my opinion. Years back I was trying out snowboarding, but leaning toward switching my party affiliation back to skis, when I happened into a powder day and … well, it’s a lot like steelhead fishing. It’s fun and all but you start thinking of other things you could be doing. Like not freezing. Until you latch into one of those underwater locomotives and say to yourself, “Ooooohhh, so this is why people do this. I get it.”

That’s what my first patch of powder on a snowboard did for me. “Aaaaahhhh, I see. Yes, yes … this floating sensation is extraordinary. I must do more of this.”

But I could barely hear myself talking to myself on Sunday over the shrill noise coming from the thigh region of my right leg. Riding a board through deep snow requires keeping your weight back so the nose of your board doesn’t dive and cause a tumble. That’s fine for short spells, but I was following Morgan down routes he knew of through the trees, and these avenues were just constant fields of untracked, deep, heavy powder until my right leg finally burst into flame. Ruined a good pair of snowpants.

As I was sprawled out in the snow, mopping up the blaze, it occurred to me that Morgan really is exceptionally good at what he does. Don’t tell him I said that, I have to work with him all rafting season and if he hears I ever complimented him, he’ll expect more.

But he is a great guide. Any time you go skiing, somebody will say, “Follow me. I know a spot where there’s still untracked powder.” And you do, and there is powder, but it’s tracked, and that’s fine.
But this stuff Mojo was taking us to was absolutely clean. And it wasn’t through a thick maze of trees and brush. It was near enough to runs I’d been down before, but he’d explored around and remembered and has his secret spots that he’s willing to share and that’s just what it’s like in Hells Canyon, or on the Grande Ronde, or lower Salmon. Sandy beaches tucked away that you wouldn’t know were there. Alternate runs through rapids that are either safer or more fun at different river levels. Which boulders to jump off and which to avoid.

And thigh-scorching powder trails on days when Fergi gets blessed with a deep blanket of pow.

Again, don’t tell Mr. Jenkins I said any of this. He’ll make some smug comment like: “Thanks. Glad you had fun.” And he just gets unbearable when he’s like that.

I’ve got to get back to hanging sheetrock. It’s taking longer than I expected, what with limping on my right leg and trying not to use my left arm so much. I should call Morgan and ask if he wants to be the lead guide on a fun expedition to remodel my upstairs.