The Columbia River Gorge, the Deschutes and saying goodbye

We bid our sad farewells with Jim, Marion & Em at Gearhart as we readied for our long-awaited adventure.  We hooked up Woofy and headed inland with Sara onboard, while Shannon ventured down Portland way to retrieve Bri in preparation for our river rafting escapade.

Because we had marveled so much at the grandeur of the Columbia River Gorge when we were there a few years ago, we wanted Sara to see it.  With the trailer trailing, we couldn't manage stops and hikes, but she got enough of a taste to want to return.  

We pulled over at Hood River to watch the colorful parasails and other sports acrobatics.  The wind and cold kept many of them off the river, unfortunately.

Dry camping chaos, noisy neighbors, Maupin. . .

. . . is the jumping-off point for Deschutes River enthusiasts.  Our camping reservation was at the Oasis Riverview.  Sounds lovely . . . it was just across the road from the river - so far, so good - however, I have seen random dog fights managed better than that campground.  It was complete and total chaos.  Our confirming email did not give us a space number, and the place was crowded with tents and RVs every which of a way, so I jumped out at an open spot and planted my flag.  I refused to leave that space until I knew there was something else.

Two fellers approached and clearly wanted "my" spot because they wanted four together, but I wasn't budging.  Another guy said he and many others didn't have reservations but were parked wherever they wanted and intended to stay.

One of the fellers managed to get a campground host on the phone.  Because he wanted me out of the way, he checked on my reservation, too.  Still I refused to budge in case a squatter had taken my assigned slot, so he hiked over there and discovered that Sara was holding that space.  Only then did I cede my territory, later to regret it when we found ourselves next to the worst neighbors ever.

It was Woofy's first time of dry camping and first time of housing three bodies in that 16-foot span.  Our roommate was Sara, so sharing quarters with her required only careful organization and love, but little sleep was had in our house for those two nights.  We lay awake listening to the partiers just outside our windows.  Clearly, quiet time was not enforced on that weekend.

Chris had little leisure to play his new keyboard, but we did haul it out once.  

Shannon & Bri had a more restful and roomy experience.  They were in a vintage cabin that had been a timber worker's abode.  The small houses were loaded onto a train to move them from place to place when the portable lumber mill moved.  A photo on the wall showed the cabins on board the train.

Seems that wherever we go, there's cuttin' up to be done.

Rafting the Deschutes . . .

It all started out so innocently: blue skies, puffy clouds, calm water, fun in the bus on the way to our launch point.

 We got acquainted with Wilson, our guide, a Maupin native of a sweet and accommodating disposition.

He instructed us on how to hold the paddle, how to row (no lily paddling), what commands he would be using and so on.  We'd already been given the low-down on what to do in case of ejection (that one always gives me extreme pause), and how to hoist a fellow passenger back into the boat (dunk them first and let the water's bouyancy help to bounce them into the bottom of the raft of top of the bouncer, although I'm not sure how much they would cooperate with the dunking after being thrown out of the boat), none of which deterred us from proceeding (I think someone said something about the fee being non-refundable in case of terror).

Brianna brought along her cell phone and snapped some pics, and the girls purchased the company's package to share (love those girls!).

And we were off!  We told Wilson we wanted wild and he gave us wild.  I told him I didn't want to be thrown out of the boat and he complied. . .

. . . well, there was that one very close call when the left side passengers landed on top of the right side passengers (me).  It didn't really count, though, I was only halfway out of the boat, so no snatching me back in was necessary (see below).

 

 

As we watched other rafts going through rapids where we had just been drenched, it was obvious that other boatmen were not providing near as much fun as did Wilson.  He was in the back riding the boat as if he were on a bucking bronc at the rodeo.

Going . . .

. . . going . . .

. . . gone!

Wilson had a trick he called surfing.  It was a magical seeming maneuver in which we went through a rapids and turned back to hover below a boulder in the middle of it all.  White water roared past on both sides of us as we were suspended in the mid-river eddy crouched forward to change the raft's center of gravity.  As front row passengers, Bri & I would periodically be covered by a huge wave and all would be completely drenched.  What an adrenaline-spiking experience!

The Deschutes was a perfect mix of exciting white water and serene floating while learniing about the region's history from Wilson, and congratulating ourselves on how well we sailed through (or under) another rapids, how hard we paddled, or remarking about how much of the river we ingested.

We were served a scrumptious lunch midway and shivered in our cold clothes when a cloud covered the sun.

Slide rock . . .

Wilson presented us with a tantalizing option as we sailed downstream approaching the confluence with the White River.  We could take a short hike upstream on the White to get to a place where we could slide down a watery rock chute.  Of course we wanted not to miss an adventure opportunity, so away we trudged through deep sand to check it out.  These photos show the White River's milky water flowing into the Deschutes and our intrepid crew at the confluence.

Throughout the raft trip, I yearned to have camera in hand, and even more so when we got to the slide rock.  We've enjoyed Slide Rock on Oak Creek in Sedona near our Prescott home for decades, but it doesn't hold a candle to the one at White River.

Bri & I were the only ones of our bunch who went for it, and what a rush it was!  I managed to do a doughnut part way down, making me feel that I failed my water gymnastics, but my spectators graciously said I did it well.  It was just one more underwater dunking experience for the day - exhilarating!

There are falls and there are falls . . .

Before departure the next morning, we had a few hours to explore.  Because we had heard about the waterfall on the Deschutes, the one that necessitated the large sign admonishing "all boats" to exit, we wanted to check it out.

It was indeed something I would definitely not want to go through, nor would most folks who value their lives, although I have read that some have done it and survived.  Others were not as fortunate.

Impressive though it was, that torrent paled in comparison to the one we found afterward on the White River - impressive mighty multiple cascades that had once powered an electric generating plant in the early 1900s. 

We were fascinated with the beauty of the waterfall and equally fascinated with thinking about the generating plant's construction by horse-drawn equipment.  Shannon & Bri climbed down to the ruins despite admonitions about the danger.  I confess I would have joined them if I had not been shod in flimsy flip-flops.

 

 

That place had beauty, interest and excitement enough to evoke Darren's presence among us, so we remembered him with another scattering of his ashes high above the river.  

The countryside views were awesome, too.

While there, we spotted deer, elk and even river otters - a joy to watch!  There were lots of common mergansers on the water, including one that was startled when it surfaced right by our boat and did a good job of walking on water to make its escape.  We also added cliff swallow and wild turkey to our trip list.

It was splendid to have time and adventures with the girls, but plenty difficult to bid farewell.  They departed for Portland and Gearhart, and we continued on our journey.