Morgan Jenkins of Winding Waters is a one-man think tank. A visionary. And apparently he should be moonlighting for Microsoft as an advisor for their video game development department.

Captain Morgan. MoJo. Mister Mo Jenkles. A river guide of many names.

Years ago when I lied my way into a job with Winding Waters by telling them I knew all about this rafting thing, we shoved off on my first voyage and it became evident that knowing ‘all about’ it may have been overstating facts. So Mo began his patient tutelage, passing on what he’s learned about rowing from many, many river miles behind the oars.

He’s a good teacher. And he mentioned that he had this idea for a video game based on rafting. The river would come at you, just like the real river unfolds every time you float around a bend in the stream. You’d have to watch for rocks, pick the safe line through rapids. In short, a virtual reality rafting trip. For fun, but it could be used for training.

Not a bad idea, really. Because rafting is fun. And people like to do it. And if I could have practiced navigating the Green Room Rapid on the Snake River in Hells Canyon with a simulator before sweating my way through the real deal, I surely would have booted that program up.

Ditto Wild Sheep Rapid. And Waterspout. And Rush Creek Rapid. And Snowhole Rapid on the Salmon River. And The Narrows Rapid on the Grande Ronde River. All patches of water that have made my heart go from pitter-patter to hammer and tongs. I don’t know what tongs have to do with this, but you see what I’m saying. It’s exciting. And I’d run those rapids all day long in my living room if I could, just for kicks.

So I’m in a living room yesterday, visiting with my sister and her family, and there’s a fancy video game being played. There’s a magic little box that looks out and picks up what the players are doing, then transfers those motions to the game. No joystick. No nothing. It’s called…well, you know what, I’m not even going to Google it. It’s a magic little George Orwell box, regardless of whatever the real name is.

As the track and field game finished up, someone mentions there’s a rafting game.

I spit my Sierra Mist all over the living room floor from surprise and said, ‘Say what?’

Morgan’s game had been made. I was amazed. Captain Morgan can see the future and he should have patented that notion of his. I couldn’t wait to see this game.

And then I did. Two players stand inside a realistic looking digital raft and you float in a river for awhile, trying to hit little point things, then zoom into the air and float around in the clouds for a while and…and it’s like Mario Brothers or Donkey Kong or something, except you’re standing in a raft.

Winding Waters uses things like oars. Or paddles. Other outfitters just make you shift your weight.

So it’s not quite the vision Morgan had for a simulation of the real deal. And I suppose that’s all the better. Because if you want to go rafting you should go rafting. I don’t suppose the smell of a campfire at night can be digitized all that well.

Turn it up so I can hear the crackle.

Digital waterfights don’t sound all that fun. And the thrill of dropping into the real Green Room, staring at walls of water all around you – I don’t care how realistic the graphics are. There’s nothing virtual about the Green Room. It’s very real. And a genuine thrill.

I'm still blown away by these graphics.

So let’s go rafting.

Here’s the good news – in the form of a photo with the sun shining on a heckuva nice steelhead caught on the Wallowa River a few days ago.


The other good news for steelheaders is that fish are coming up the channel and when Winding Waters fishing guide Tom Farnum stopped in to visit the Big Canyon hatchery in Minam Canyon a few days back, they had reports of hundreds of fish coming up the ladder.

Visibility could be better and the steelhead aren’t exactly throwing themselves at the nearest hook to drift their way. But that’s steelheading, eh. And it can turn on at any time. The weather report for this week has the precipitation slacking off and we'll be out there on the Wallowa River for when it does turn on. Call and book your trip with Tom if you want to get in on this. He’s got it down to knowing exactly which rock to run your nymph by.

I’ve also been hearing more talk about float trips once this spring turns into summer. Drop Paul a line to see about dates for a Hells Canyon float, a vacation on the lower Salmon or drifting the roadless stretch on the Grande Ronde.

But for now, it's officially spring and here’s your proof with baby cows seen on my drive down to the Imnaha early last week.


So cute. As opposed to this next image of a cow all grown up and stomping around in the river. I just…come on.


Years ago I worked for the Oregon Department of Fish and Wildlife, snorkeling in streams out here in Wallowa County to do fish counts. When the water went from clear to muddy you could lift your head out of the water and find yourself staring at a cow. Banks trampled. Gravel in the stream silted over. This concludes my complaining about cows in streams. Back to the fishing report.

Water in the lower Imnaha looked OK Monday afternoon when I got down there. Still greenish. Then it browned up overnight and I spent my time Tuesday cleaning sticks off the bottom one snag at a time.

No steelhead to show for my Imnaha mission, but I can still honestly say it was worth the trip. Just nice to get down amongst that rimrock every now and again. And I did get to behold this rather unorthodox tenting setup.

"Maybe cross the poles the other way...or that metal thing with 2x4s goes on the outside..."

Uh, I’m not exactly sure what to make of this. My guess is that whatever that is inside this nylon mess was put there as ballast while the campers were away. Standing next to it was a perfectly fine dome tent, intact and undisturbed. But this thing here, it looks like a crime scene.

Vital signs are normal. Not running a temperature. But I’ve got the fever. A fever for the steelhead. I’ve tried more cowbell, but it’s not helping. Took a handful of baby aspirin – no relief. So I’ve got my bags packed and heading for the Imnaha Canyon.

Fitting those firewood rounds in a duffel is tricky

The plan is to latch into some stellar fishing and not have the energy to drive back home, as my arms will be noodles from all that fish play and in no shape to turn a steering wheel. Stay the night and get in more spectacular fishing.

The Imnaha River came up considerably, from about 200 cubic feet per second to 290 three days ago. Then yesterday it jumped to 360 cfs. Don’t know if I’ll get down there and find the waters muddied too much to fish or not. But I’m sure enough going to find out.

Tom and clients coaxed this lovely lady out of the Wallowa River last Thursday. Little bit of moisture that day, so the lens is foggy but you get the idea. Nice. Big. Bright.

We had to blur the face of this steelhead...it's in the Steelhead Protection Program. Whereabouts a deep secret.

March is a cross between a lamb and a lion these days. A lambion, I guess. But the Wallowa has been holding so far and these fish are homing in – so get on Tom’s schedule and get yourself on the end of a fly rod with that gratifying sound of line being taken off your reel. Love that noise. Just love it.

I’ll check in with a report from the Imnaha, and Tom’s going out again on the Wallowa. Where are you fishing? I keep hearing Tom say this lately: “This is the time to be out there.”

I’m a frugal sort of guy. Don’t like to squander things. OK, I’m cheap. Call it what you will. So losing flies when I’m fishing really chaps me. Not only do you lose that fly – but generally you’re fishing it because it’s a working pattern and, you know, you just lost that fly. So it’s a double disappointment somehow. I just hate losing flies.

And I lost a fly the other day. Fishing guide Tom Farnam and I were nymphing the Wallowa, both using this here tungsten head bad boy that gets down real quick and has been very productive.

The secret weapon. Shhhhh . . . don’t tell anybody.

So Tom points out the juicy water for me, with all the right elements of depth, pace, structure. I flip upstream, tidy up my line and drift along the seam . . . and just where you think it’s going to happen if it’s going to happen – it happens. Indicator bobs down, I set the hook and there’s heft on the business end. With determined movement. No whitefish, this. No sucker. No trout. This here fish had steel for a head, you could just feel it. And then he came up and rolled, giving visual proof.

My first steelie of the season, I was all smiles. A little run. Takes some line. Comes up with a head shake. All is well. Another head shake.

And then nothing. Except slack. My smile, my mood, my spirits, all of that fell.

Reeled in and looked at a clean break on the end of my leader where a steelhead should have been. No curly pigtail showing a failed knot, but the line was rough. Sandpapery. I’d been bouncing it all day and been hung up. Never took the time to inspect how things were holding up and lost a fish because of it.

I gave myself a lecture on maintenance. But I didn’t want to hear it. Tom gave me a pep talk. It was a good one as pep talks go, but I didn’t want to hear that either. I cut away the dinged-up section of leader, tied on another nymph and – well, I’ll be darned – it wasn’t twenty minutes later that indicator bobbed down again and I was connected once again to a steelhead. Glory be.

This fish showed itself and Tom said, “I think that’s the same fish.”

I took a step, lost my footing and fell right on my caboose – now sitting in the water but holding that rod tip up.

Collected myself, got back on my feet and landed the fish.

Note the fly on the right side of the mouth.

And don’t you know, Tom was right. It was the same fish. There was the fly I’d just broken off. On the other side of the mouth. Here’s the dental records to prove it.

Little bit of tartar, there. I can’t emphasize enough the importance of flossing.

So I got my first steelhead of the season and my fly back. Sometimes things just work out.