Gearboat Chronicles

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jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 23 Mar 2010 19:46:00 +0000

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Operation Steelhead Smoting

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Sun, 21 Mar 2010 06:15:00 +0000

Attention steelheaded fishes of the Grande Ronde River: I feel it is only sporting to give warning that I am coming for you.

It shall be an attack by water. You are right to tremble.

Some buddies and I are launching for three days from Minam to Troy, and we planned it for the very day the recent sunshine spell turns to nasty rain. Perfect.

The lineup looks like this: Fargo Kesey. Known him since 6th grade. I’m predicting I will catch more fish than him. His brother Dave is the same fisherman steelhead parents warn their smolts about.

Then there’s Chadwick Crawford. My brother-in-law. Also goes by ‘Crawdaddy.’ He is feared by shellfish and finned creatures alike.

Dave Rooper, a formidable fisher. And the father and son team of Mike and Patrick Baird. Fish magnets all.

It will go easier on you if you cooperate, steelhead.

Our plan is this: fan out in a three raft phalanx, or the ‘flying wedge’ as it’s known in the Ukraine . . . camp and fish and tell ghost stories and skip rocks and tell lies.

It shall be a ‘hoot,’ steelhead. We are glad you are down there on the Wallowa and Grande Ronde in record numbers. We would like to meet you. Especially me. These other guys, don’t worry about them. But I’ll be the guy in waders drifting a number 6 prince nymph your way. Try it. We’ll have a little tug of war and I’ll send you on your way.

Should be a good three days. Fishing guru Tom reported back from the fishing train today and claims to have lost count of how many steelhead he landed. I don’t know if that means he’s just bad at math, or the fishing is just that good.

I aim to find out.

Retraction

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Fri, 19 Mar 2010 16:22:00 +0000

Recent comments in the Gearboat Chronicles about the pottery work of Morgan Jenkins have launched international protests from art collectors and pinchpot aficionados, ending in a court-mandated decision calling for an apology from the author, who must take back what he said about Morgan’s ceramics resembling “something a kindergartener would do.”

An independent review by Ceramic Artists For Truth found these allegations to be simply not true, adding that the work of Jenkins shows a strong use of something, indicative of something else and evincing some French words with lines above some of the letters.

Mr. Rombach regrets the error.

In fact, Morgan has never produced “little clay snakes,” or any “pinchpot ashtray.”

The civil court decision in ‘Morgan v. Jon re: pottery’ found that Jon is probably just jealous. They gave Mr. Rombach a lump of clay and put on some classical music so that he might demonstrate his own abilities with earthenware, but the results were not encouraging.

Reached at his solar mansion overlooking Wallowa Valley and parts of Idaho, Morgan was gracious about the flap and released a statement saying, “It’s cool.”

A showing of Morgan’s ceramic art will be held this summer at the Winding Waters boathouse.

Cracking open the kiln

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:32:00 +0000

I have seen a clay wolf with roses in its jaw. Check that off the list. My eyes also recently beheld a ceramic cheese platter festooned with shriveled up skeletal rodents appearing to crawl toward where the cheese should be. That one kind of freaked me out, truth be told.

And more. Much more. Dozens of dozens of works of art were pulled last week from the woodfired kiln up at the LH Project on the outer skirts of Joseph.

It’s easy to build one of these toadagama kilns. You just make a giant raised tunnel in your yard out of a few thousand firebricks or so, then get yourself maybe a hundred cords of wood and burn that for about a week, stoking the thing around the clock to maintain the temperature at the better part of a thousand degrees. Then let it cool. Crack er open and see what you got.

Resins and whatnots in the wood lend their colors to the clay en route to the chimney. The resulting finish has a very . . . ‘earthy’ look, if you will. And you will.

Paul, Penny and I went up to investigate all this kiln activity to check in on our friends at LH, including Morgan. We hadn’t seen much of Mr. Jenkins lately, but did get occasional cryptic messages mentioning his newfound interest in ceramics. She seems very nice, by the way.

There were many artists who loaded their work inside this inferno kiln, and it was entertaining to see what pottery emerged and guess who made it based on the style.

I was showing Paul a collection of pinchpot ashtrays and clay garter snakes, saying how nice it was that the local kindergarten class had put their projects in with the professional potters, when somebody set another pinchpot down and said, “Here’s more of Morgan’s work. . . .”

Which I think is great. I don’t know any other river guide who would volunteer in the off season to help preschoolers by sneaking their art into a kiln by pretending he’d made it himself. Well done, Morgan.

I fell in love with sort of an elliptical clay tube basket . . . I don’t what to call it, but I like it. A lot. I need to discover the creator of that pottery shard and commission one of my very own. It sang to me, if you know what I mean. And I want one of Morgan’s clay garter snakes too. He does have a talent for those.

Come to think of it, I’m also very fond of the masks made by Todd. If you’re a member of Winding Waters Nation, you’ve probably met Todd. He helps us a good deal when we can pry him away from the clay ranch. His masks don’t just follow you across the room, they’ve been following me around after I got out of visual contact. Now that’s artwork.

It really was quite inspiring, seeing all that creative juice hardened after a week in the hot box. Makes a guy want to break out the art supplies. And I’m going to, by gum. Spring is bringing on all sorts of flow. Art. Rivers. Sunshine. Green growths. Things are happening.

The wolf and the mice

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 15 Mar 2010 16:29:00 +0000

Here's an appendix, since I can only put two photos up per post. You can't just mention a wolf with roses and skeletal mice cheese platter and not have pictures.

The Steelhead Express

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 08 Mar 2010 21:39:00 +0000

Reeeeeeeediculous. Steelhead fishing is supposed to require long hours of cold perseverance for a brief but spectacular payoff. Six hours of angling per fish is an average I’ve heard bandied about this season. But not on Sunday. Mercy no. Not during that magic hour when I was averaging, say, sixteen minutes between fish. And this is me we’re talking about. As a rule, I don’t catch fish. Certainly not big beautiful steelhead. But I sure did Sunday, after riding down Minam Canyon on the steelhead train and walking into the best day of fishing I’ve had since Alaskan salmon took numbers for the privilege of getting on my line years ago.

This fish train runs . . . well, it goes ten miles an hour, I don’t know if that’s ‘running’ exactly . . . but it chugs nine miles downstream along the Wallowa River, stopping to drop passengers wherever they spy a likely patch of river. You get a lunch and further mobility to new fishing grounds when the train makes a mid-day traverse up and down the tracks. I wasn’t interested in new water. Tom Farnum, our Winding Waters fishing guide, stopped the train for me and pointed to a run nobody else was on. ‘If I were you,’ he said. ‘I’d just stay there all day.’

I would have moved if Tom hadn’t given me that tip. I would have moved just for the sake of getting feeling back in my feet. It was powerful cold early on. The guides on my rod iced over completely. I tried to make a cast but no line shot through. I tried a few more times, because in my style of fly casting, line does not always move through the guides. That style is known as ‘bad.’ But this time it was ice. And frozen feet. And no fish. Ah yes, I thought. Now this is steelheading.

Fast forward two hours. I had just landed my second steelhead. Sun was up, I’d taken off my coat and gloves, even thought about getting down to a t-shirt. Made six more casts and hooked up again. Just got all my line on the reel when the fish decided it had better things to do upstream, ripping a crease in the water while taking line right back off my reel. Another steelhead came up and rolled fifteen feet to my left. And I laughed. Just laughed. Sunny. Warm. A March day that went from freezing to sunscreen weather and I was in the right place at the right time.

The mood on the train was buoyant riding back to Minam. To signal the train to stop, the ‘elephant wave’ is conducted by wagging your arm back and forth as you hold it down. Like an elephant wagging its trunk. And the last group of fisherman made this signal as the train approached, except two steelhead on a stringer were doing the wagging, not their arm.

The steelhead express will make three more runs this season, this coming Friday and Saturday, March 12th and 13th, then the following Saturday on March 20th. For reservations, contact the Minam Motel at (877) 888-8130, or click here for a link to their train info. If you want the inside track from a steelhead professional, I can personally recommend Tom Farnum, who put me into the best day of steelheading I’ve had. Ever.

Fancy Clothes

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 02 Mar 2010 00:02:00 +0000

Rafting guides have a fairly relaxed dress code. Shorts. Torn-up shirts. Flip-flops. That works out well for me, since my wardrobe is heavy on those same items.

But I did gussy up over the weekend for the thrift store formal, a fancypants sort of affair held out here in Wallowa County every year. The idea being to wear your finest Sunday-go-to-meeting threads that came into your possession via somebody else.

I cheated a little bit, as my sweet checked smoking jacket came from my dad instead of a thrift store. But it was bound for a thrift store if I didn’t snatch it, so I give myself a pass on a technicality.

Nothing like a bunch of hillbillies and country folks all polished up and out on the town. Costume jewelry, bolo ties, bearskin coats and heirloom apparel mingled with a faint essence of mothball. Very classy.

My favorite part of the evening was talking to Alyssa, who I used to work with at the radio station here in Enterprise, and her friend as they discussed how odd it was to be wearing high heels. Ten seconds later they both stilletoed through the permafrost layer of the lawn and their heels sunk in, dropping them down three or four inches. They moved over, sunk through again and then just gave up and kept visiting, rocked back on their heels a little bit.

So that’s the last I’ll be needing my one necktie for another year. It’s back hanging on it’s nail and I’m back to wearing jeans and an old t-shirt.

While we’re on the subject of apparel, I’ll help you get packed for your rafting trip with us this summer. Here’s the usual inventory of my drybag for going on a trip through Hells Canyon:

Torso related items: Old t-shirts, one for every day on the river. I also throw in a few longsleeve button-down shirts, good for sun protection when it’s blazing hot and nice to have when it drops a few degrees around sundown.

Fleece. Always bring a fleece jacket. Just nice to have. Also a light jacket. Definitely a raincoat.

What else . . . couple pairs of shorts. Chaco sandals. Baseball hat. Sunglasses. Maybe a pair of jeans for the evening. A towel. A bedsheet to put over the sleeping pad. Sleeping bag. And that’s about it.

In the spring or fall I’ll throw in warm socks, polypropylene underoos, extra rain gear and more warm stuff in general.
For the most comprehensive gear list, you have to talk to Morgan. He outfits himself with the idea that a pleasure trip down the lower Salmon River may detour into a year-long exploration of the Antarctic. The guy is prepared. We’re thinking of getting another gearboat just to carry his various hand drums, guitar and the sporting goods aisle of clothing he carries with him.

There’s a happy medium in there somewhere, and our comprehensive What To Bring list on the main site can help you find it.

I saw a green shoot of vegetable matter poking out of the ground here today, so boating season approacheth. Get your sunscreen together folks, there’s rapids to run.

White Whale of a Steelhead

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 23 Feb 2010 00:18:00 +0000

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.

Indoor Outdoors

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 04:41:00 +0000

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.

Come See Winding Waters at the Sportsmen’s Show in Portland

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 08 Feb 2010 18:54:00 +0000

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.

Bruised Ribs and Screaming Thighs

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 01 Feb 2010 23:11:00 +0000

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.

Frostbite Film Festival

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 25 Jan 2010 22:52:00 +0000

Topless carpenters were a hot commodity Friday night for the Frostbite Film Festival fundraiser, a family-friendly frolic focused on furthering future functions for our local ski patrol at Ferguson Ridge, the community ice skating rink in Enterprise and the county’s Nordic Club.

Dinner was a banquet of tri-tip so good it was more like quad-tip, with roasted tubers, crispy greens infused with vinnaigreatness, golden-brown rolls squirting a wheaty bouquet of rapture and piles of brownies that caused scuffles once the serving platters began to run low. I had to throw my fork down several times, unable to take in one more morsel until my taste buds had finished passing out awards for the last bite.

The silent auction table was not going to blow away, so weighted down was it with works by local artists and cool outdoor gear.

Our river guide/rancher friend Craig Nichols was running the not-so silent auction, and he did wonders with parting people from their funds without them minding a bit. What you see there is a pictorial image of Craig finding a new home for this year’s ski chair, which, incidentally, was built by Winding Waters’ CEO and chair sculptor Paul Arentsen.

But back to those shirtless carpenters. They volunteered a half-day’s worth of construction expertise, and the bidding was fierce. Jeff Irish brought two-hundred and some-odd dollars. Mr. Fergi himself Charlie Kissinger, also Jeff’s boss, rose and announced he’d gladly pay that sum to see an employee of his do half a day’s work. Rusty Hogue also brought in a tidy two hundred dollar-ish sum. Then Brian Oliver started showing off by doing more pushups than most people can, and he brought over three-hundred bucks, my sources say.

I should know the exact figures, because I was there -- but I admit: I was distracted. I was talking to folks in the back of the room I hadn’t seen for a good long while. Good folks. And they were out in force to have a good time supporting their ski hill, their skating rink and the cross-country trails they head to for having good times.

The Winding Waters ‘Sledding Zone’ adventure classic was part of the film lineup. You can see it here on the Gearboat page if you haven’t already, posted a few weeks ago.

There was a short feature made by local young skier gals, and a very cool segment from ‘Skiing In the Shadow of Genghis Khan,’ with homemade skis, using a rudder stick instead of poles.
‘White Crossing’ was the main attraction of the night, filmed almost fifty years ago during a trek on skis from the head of Wallowa Lake, up and over the mountains to Cornucupia. Harold Klages narrated the silent film Friday night, and Paul recorded the audio to dub onto DVD. It has the best footage of a snowcave collapsing I’ve ever seen. I’ll post links if and when the finished product hits this internet contraption I keep hearing about.

Craig the auctioneer had a talk with his cows and let them know he’s going to be away for a bit this summer, running Hells Canyon with Winding Waters River Expeditions. And while I do take it personally if someone jumps ship from my raft, I’ll allow it on a limited basis just so you can experience running a rapid with this Nichols guy. When the water gets exciting I hear he will sometimes slip into auctioneer-speak, and it sounds something like this:

“Next item is a Class-IV rapid, folks, and she’s a beauty . . . Granite Rapid by name and the jewel of the Snake River, with a wall of water in the Green Room you just don’t find on most rivers -- let’s start the rowing at fifty feet from the giant drop, do I hear fifty, fifty...a little more to the right, to the right, to the right, now twenty-five feet, twenty...ten...hold on and here we go....” Then he slams his oar handles down to get the blades out of the water, a lot like an auctioneer gavel coming down and the raft slips over the lip, sold to a raft full of lucky bidders, going on a ride you just can’t put a price on.

On a serious note

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 19 Jan 2010 19:12:00 +0000

I went to a lecture last week by Charles Shields, biographer of Harper Lee who wrote To Kill A Mockingbird. I consider that book as likely the finest collection of words put next to one another I’ve ever come across, so I was keen to hear what this Shields had to say. And here’s one comment of his I’ve been turning over:

Shields put forward a theory as to why Mockingbird enjoys such popularity. The book asks a question, he figures. A moral one. As in, would you defend Tom Robinson, as Atticus does, when the town doesn’t want you to? Would you have the mojo to go against generations of ‘that’s just the way it is’ when that way isn’t right?

Dr. King has a lot of folks thinking that over this week. And as I started to write a newspaper column about a guy I know that works in Haiti, that question by Shields popped back up and I realized here is a person, Brian Concannon, who definitely answers yes, on a regular basis, and has been for years.

Brian and Marcy are friends of ours that live in Joseph. They lived and worked in Haiti before settling down here in the Wallowas. Brian was in Haiti as a human rights attorney and Marcy . . . I can’t remember now. I want to say community development. Health? I don’t know. And I’m not going to call and ask. Let’s just say she was doing good work, because I know that to be true. I emailed and called them when I was trying to write my column for the paper and just felt bad to be bothering them. They’re waiting for the phone to ring with news of Haitian friends and co-workers in the rubble. Brian’s busy, doing interviews and I can’t even guess what all, trying to make sense or sort out or fix tragedy and chaos from 3,200 miles away.

After the military coup in Haiti in 2004, Brian didn’t throw in the towel, he got all Atticus Finch and started up The Institute for Justice and Democracy in Haiti, with offices in little ol’ Joseph, Oregon. And that’s the last I’m going to compliment the guy for now. It’s just not the time.

I’ll cut to the chase. I trust this guy and here’s a list of relief organizations he trusts, if you’re looking for a reputable outfit to make a contribution to:

Partners In Health.

Haiti Emergency Relief Fund.

The What If? Foundation.

And here are some links if you’d like to learn more about Haiti beyond the earthquake. This Brian Concannon guy has important things to say. They’re not always comfortable. That’s why they’re important.

The Institute for Democracy and Justice in Haiti website is: www.ijdh.org. Read that message at the top. It's worth doing.

“Working with the Haitian Government,” is a recent article in Counterpunch.

“Change Haiti Can Believe In,” by Concannon and Paul Farmer, of Partners in Health, is sobering.

And here's video of a panel discussion on the same topic.

I’ll get back to good times on the river next time around on these Gearboat Chronicles. But, you know, serious conversations are part of the good times on the river. I’ve had many interesting discussions with lots of interesting folks on my boat where we get into a subject – get interrupted by a raging rapid – then pick up where we left off once the water smooths out again. Sometimes the topic gets picked up again after dinner around the campfire. Sometimes it carries over into the next day on the raft. Sometimes I’m still thinking about it months later. These issues Brian Concannon writes about I’ll be thinking of months later.

Thanks for reading.

Winterfest in Joseph

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 11 Jan 2010 17:55:00 +0000

Cabin fever is a well-documented disorder. Treatments include the board game Monopoly. The card game Solitaire. Quilting. Whittling. Shooting rampages. That sort of thing.

County Fever is an almost identical ailment, just on a larger scale. Victims show signs that may include staring at travel brochures, muttering, and facial tics. “Getting out,” is a phrase to listen for when diagnosing County Fever.

Wallowa County is an absolutely wonderful place to live, any time of the year. Except perhaps January. Also February. And early parts of March. Sometimes April. And the first week or two of May, depending on weather.

Don’t listen to me. I’m in the grip of fever as I type these words. It takes over. Fools with your mind. Makes you do crazy things. Things like wear Hawaiian shirts when it’s cold out. Makes you go online to see if someone with a timeshare bungalow in Tahiti wants to trade for a cabin the Wallowas, just for a week or two.

There are remedies. You need to be active. You need to stir. Go skiing. Upgrade your Netflix plan. Or race down Main Street in Joseph pushing someone inside a water trough. Run almost naked through downtown at night while it’s cold and snowy outside. Slide on rails atop skis or snowboards after jumping out of the bucket of a tractor.

Here, then, is videotaped footage of Winterfest activities held in Joseph last weekend. Winding Waters River Expeditions, being in the business of having fun, is recognized as an authority on how to enjoy oneself under any conditions, so we were asked by several international research teams to document Wallowa Countians converging to make merry and beat back early onset of County Fever. We want to share this video, because if the treatment plans in here can help just one person and keep them from turning a game of solitaire into 52 card pickup, it will have been worth it.

Dog sled races are coming up this weekend. That’s heavy duty diversion.

So until next time, this has been your Winding Waters public service announcement on how to combat the double-scourge of both County and Cabin Fever. So stay warm, drink lots of fluids and keep active. Spring is on the way. It’s a long way. Way, way away. But still, a way.

Red Carpet Rumors, Part I: Morgan in 'The Hangover' and 'Out Cold'?

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 18:13:00 +0000

It’s a new year, time for a clean slate and all that. One of the resolutions at the top of my list is to address persistent rumors that Winding Waters Rafting harbors movie stars.

You may have been watching the new Winding Waters youtube sledding movie we posted last week, thinking to yourself . . . this doesn’t have the feel of a homemade, patchy movie taken on a cheap camera Paul ordered online . . . nay, this seems almost too professional. These people are no strangers to cinema.

“Morgan Jenkins,” as he claims to be called, often seems uncomfortable when it’s pointed out that he bears a striking resemblance to Zach Galifianakas, star of such films as ‘Out Cold’ and ‘The Hangover.’ He acts so aloof that some wonder if he might prefer the subject to be changed, almost as if he’s hiding something that is now being spoken of and he really is Zach Galifianakas and not a character known as “Jenkins” who pretends to be a world-class river guide who enjoys summers in Hells Canyon, navigating whitewater rapids as a break from Hollywood. Hmm.

Likewise, many guests have pointed out how they’re reminded of the movie, ‘The Matrix,’ specifically Agent Smith, whenever Winding Waters owner Paul Arentsen walks by.

And Patrick Baird, our rising star of a gearboatman, has on more than one occasion had his hairdo likened to Hermey, the elf who wants to be a dentist in the holiday stop motion epic, ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’

I’m not saying that Morgan, Paul and Patrick are really Zach, Smith and Hermey. I’m not saying the pressure and stress of the entertainment business, or ‘biz,’ as I’ve heard them call it, have driven them to a double-life where they retreat to the river wilderness come summer time, choosing to live on the river and retreat from fame and fortune . . . matching their skills against Class IV rapids on the Salmon, Snake and Grande Ronde rivers.

I’m not saying that. Because their contracts would prevent me from divulging such information.

So I’ll leave it to you. To dispel these rumors, I’ve taken the only appropriate course and will post pictures of all personalities mentioned, letting you decide.

So enjoy this series of “Match the River Guide to the Movie Star They Look Just Like” and you be the judge. And we’ll see you on the river. And maybe the big screen.

Red Carpet Rumors, Part II: Paul as Agent Smith?

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 18:09:00 +0000

How likely is it that Hugo Weaving, who plays Agent Smith in ‘The Matrix,’ would simultaneously be running a whitewater rafting company in Oregon? Hard to say.

Mr. Weaving also starred in ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ among many other fine films.

“Paul Arentsen”’s business partner, “Morgan Jenkins” has been called an authority on hobbits, which some theorize as proof of the Hollywood connection between these two alleged rafting guides.

You be the judge.

Red Carpet Rumors, Part III: Patrick as Dentist Elf?

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 18:06:00 +0000

‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ was made in the 1960’s and Patrick Baird claims to be a college freshman, so the dates appear to conflict. But the hair is sometimes a little too close to discount the connection.

(note: fringe theories exist that Morgan Jenkins also played the role of “Yukon Cornelius,” the bearded miner who battles the Abominable Snowman in “Rudolph.” Morgan refused comment on the allegation.)

Red Carpet Rumors, Part IV: Upcoming Projects

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 17:58:00 +0000

Finally, here is a rare photo of what is thought to be Hermey the Dentist Elf and Zach Galifianakas on the set of a new movie, titled, “Matrix Hobbits Reloaded: Rudolph’s Revenge.” Due in theatres this summer.

Slednecks

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 28 Dec 2009 21:08:00 +0000

You may not be aware of this, but Winding Waters has a quality control division where we test the water each year before rafting season to ensure it's up to par.

Before it becomes whitewater in Hells Canyon, the Salmon or Grande Ronde rapids, water is created through a complex process known as "science," though it used to be called "magic."

Through this science-magic, frozen drops of water form on the windshields of cars or trucks in the Wallowa Valley, which are then scraped off and become creeks, then they get promoted to rivers.

Some of this water falls on roads and in mountains, where we send our quality checkers to ski on the frozen rivers of tomorrow. If the skiing is no good, we call off rafting season. We just won't take clients rafting on water that isn't wet enough. That's our commitment to quality. Try finding a guarantee like that from other outfitters. You won't.

And we don't stop at just skiing. We do a control group with runner sleds, and it's rather an exciting field of research. We don't advertise this too much, but Santa trains for his big game by coming by the Winding Waters sled course to keep in shape. That guy is fearless, I'm telling you. Doesn't drag his boots on the corners to slow down or nothin'. He's full-bore.

So take a gander at this rare footage of the WWRE sled zone. Note the helmets. We started wearing those after an injury where somebody smiled too hard and sprained their lips. The helmets keep your facial features from overextending, and we're all about safety.

So if you find yourself in the Wallowas outside of rafting season, call for a sledding adventure. There is no off season with us. We have fun on the water whatever form it's in.

Salvation Mountain

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 22 Dec 2009 21:55:00 +0000

Happy holidays, all you good people.

May Santa fill your stocking with a warm August day on the Salmon River, toes scrunched in the sand as you recline in a folding chair at the rivers edge, eating crispy rice crackers from a blue bowl and sipping lemonade after a spirited rock-skipping tournament where you found a particularly perfect flat stone, then got your release just right, lighting up a double-digit score, impossible to count, since it skipped so many times there at the end.

At least that’s what I’m asking the fat guy for.

Just kidding about the fat guy thing, Claus. We’re cool. Right? Nick? We good?

My holiday greetings this year involve a scene from the movie ‘Into the Wild’ that you may remember.

If you haven’t read the book, it’s worth doing. Written by an Oregonian, Jon Krakauer. I particularly like Krakauer’s handling of the pull to get out amongst the boonies, or far from the maddening crowds, however you want to identify the urge to get out amongst the chunks of earth that don’t get visited as often as others.

I’m guessing you recognize that draw. I think I can speak for all of Winding Waters by saying we enjoy going along when we feel that tug.

Chris McCandless is the subject of ‘Into the Wild,’ and he picked his own route through the world that led him wonderful places, but ended tragically. I’ll refer you to Krakauer or Sean Penn, who directed the movie, if you’re not familiar with the story.

One of the places McCandless visited was Salvation Mountain, in the California desert down by the Salton Sea. It’s a sprawling art project painted on a hillside. Bright. Colorful. Elaborate and one of a kind.

Leonard Knight is the artist. He’s been out there for 29 years, painting his message to the world. That message is heavy on the Bible verses, as you can see in the photos, but talking with him is not.

Talking with Leonard is non-denominational, at least my discussions with him were. And what it boiled down to was this man saying he couldn’t understand why things ever got so complicated. We’re all here on this world and we should get along. It’s pretty simple.

“Keep it simple,” Leonard repeated. “Keep it simple.”

I never heard him criticize anyone or anything, just expressed his wish that things wouldn’t be so complicated and everybody in the world would just realize we’re all in this together and there’s no reason we can’t get along.

I couldn’t agree more.

After I left Salvation Mountain, the holiday spirit was picking up all around me and I started to recognize how much it reminded me of the mood back at Salvation Mountain.

Leonard even gives out gifts to visitors. Postcards, puzzles made from a photo of the mountain or DVDs. He doesn’t ask for money, but will gladly thank you for a donation and puts that money toward buying more postcards, puzzles and DVDs to hand out. To get the word out. Spread his message.

Leonard wants us to keep it simple. And get along.

I think that’s a fine holiday message, so I thought I’d pass it along.

Happy holidays from the gearboat.

Viva Fajita Night

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 14:54:00 +0000

We might need to have fajita night more than once per river trip, otherwise I may never get through these 3,780 milliliters of hot sauce I just bought in Mexico.

I went down to the border town of Algodones, Mexico, which is the dentist capital of northern Baja. Hundreds of Canadians and Americans were down there with me, on a Wednesday afternoon, getting their bridge work done, roots canaled, teeth crowned and prescriptions filled.

There are four blocks to the business district, dominated by over forty dental clinics. I decided to pass on the businesses right next to the border crossing, where employees wearing hospital scrubs were outside competing to hustle customers inside.

“My friend, my friend, come inside, what do you need? A filling? Cleaning? Right this way…” “No, my friend, don’t listen to him, his fluoride paste is rusty, you must come in here, we have only the finest in tooth care…” “Don’t listen to them, they are bandits, my friend, this way, please…”

I found a quiet place, with no bouncers, and had my chipped tooth looked at. Free exam. Five dollar x-ray. I got several quotes and decided to come back in a day or two.

Crossing back into the states, I was the only person in line without a large plastic bag filled with cheap ibuprofen, bottles of pure vanilla, discount tequila or a souvenir sombrero.

“What are you bringing back,” the border guard asked after scanning my passport.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? You went to Mexico for nothing?...step around the counter and empty your pockets…” He looked again at my passport and signaled for backup from another guard who was standing against the wall.

I was pretty sure I should have had that chipped tooth fixed, because the prison dentist would almost certainly be more painful.

I emptied my pockets, placing my phone, my car keys and my quote from the dentist on the counter.

“What’s this?” I was asked, as the border guard examined the dental estimate.

“I have a chipped tooth…a molar.”

“Oh, why didn’t you say so? You’re free to go. Have a nice day.”

So the next time I crossed over into Algodones, I thought I’d better buy something. And that’s when I found the mother of all hot sauce bottles. I haven’t tried this Castillo Amor brand, but I’m guessing it’s not all that bueno, since it’s sold by the barrel.

“Castillo Amor” translates as, “Castle Love,” unless I’m mistaken. Which would be a great title for a medieval romance novel.

It cost me four dollars, or 52 pesos, for 3,780 milliliters of salsa picante, which should keep Winding Waters supplied for…I don’t know how many fajita nights. It’s in metric, so I’m not sure how to convert that to river trips.

We’ll still have the Tapatio and Dave’s Ultimate Insanity next time the Riveritas come out for your next Hells Canyon or Salmon River expedition…but if you feel like trying some of the imported Castle Love, well, by all means help yourself. I’ve got plenty.

And it worked like a charm, by the way. The border guard took a look, said, “that is one big bottle of hot sauce,” then waved me right through.

Take you to our leader? Hold on, Morgan's right over here...

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Sun, 06 Dec 2009 16:47:00 +0000

If you’ve been rafting with us you may have been lucky enough to catch Morgan in an expansive mood. Now and then he’ll really get going on a subject and fill you in with all sorts of interesting detail. By “now and then” I mean when he’s awake.

I’ve heard him tell of UFO sightings around the Imnaha canyons. Sasquatch encounters in the Wenaha. Hells Canyon hauntings and Grande Ronde ghosts guarding their homesteads. And if you haven’t screamed on the banks of the Salmon River after listening to the saga of Skeleton Bob, well then you have yet to hear a proper ghost story.

Campfires on the beach after a day of rafting are hard to beat for tales of the unknown. But I’ve been spending some time in Sedona, Arizona, and you don’t even need a campfire here. Strange stories here aren’t even strange. The whole town is.

Sedona is known for its power spots and vortexes, where the earth’s magnetic fields rise and converge to create unusually high concentrations of souvenir stands, casting visible auras of t-shirts, refrigerator magnets, bumper stickers and cheap jewelry.

Damien Seuss, one of our rafting buddies who now lives in Flagstaff, comes down here to Sedona on climbing trips. He told me about his favorite camping spot, and how they usually have it all to themselves. Except one time, when he arrived to find the area jammed with vehicles. He asked someone what was going on and they answered, “Aren’t you here for the UFO landing? They’re coming tonight. Right here.”

Damien’s putting in for a permit on the Middle Fork of the Salmon. I might just try to sneak on that voyage if his permit comes through. And Sam has a Grand Canyon float trip coming up next month, with 18 days on the river.

It’s gratifying to hear talk of looking forward to river trips, and here it is early December. I’m also looking forward to rafting season, and once we’re around that campfire I’ve got some stories from Sedona that will make your souvenirs stand on end.

Were cliff dwellings foreclosed on?

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 30 Nov 2009 19:48:00 +0000

You may have camped with us at Battle Creek on the Snake River, above Wild Sheep Rapid, on the left in Oregon. The big bench up there where we put the tents has depressions left from pit houses where Nez Perce wintered I don’t know how many years ago.

After Wild Sheep, we pull over to scout Granite and if you’ve taken that short walk you’ll recall the pictographs under the rock overhang.

I love that stuff. Just absolutely dig knowing someone stood right in this very spot looking at just this very thing thousands of years ago. “Thousands” is a handy term, but perhaps we’re too used to throwing it out there. I mean….thousands. Hundreds and hundreds of 365s. That’s a lot of 24/7s. A lot of sun-ups and sun-downs and the rock art is still there. You can see where the pit house was. You’re walking the same trail.

Couple days ago some friends took me out to some ruins near Prescott, Arizona that aren’t on the map. Drive two hours. Hike around a knob and bam. Right there. Perched up in a natural overhang, sandstone blocks stacked and stuccoed, log rafters still intact. Small tiny corncob lying on the floor. Discreet sign posted nearby asking you to please respect the site and not disturb anything. Walk down the trail and there are more sandstone wall remains.

This morning I took a walk around Montezuma Castle, south of Sedona. Montezuma was never this far north, the folks who know these things say, but someone hung that name on this place and it stuck.

Note the shade wing in the Montezuma picture. Reminds me an awful lot of river camping.

….speaking of rivers, it was nice to see rafting influence at Coyote Joe’s in Prescott. They’ve got some action photos on the wall of paddle rafts, and a broken wooden oar blade above the bar.

Adios for now. I’m hitching up the Minnie Winnie bound for Sedona to take some peeks around.

One-Mule Pileup on the Hells Canyon Interchange

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Mon, 23 Nov 2009 06:05:00 +0000

Rafting people – hello to you. How you been . . . mm-hmmm . . . O, you’re kidding. She said that? No, no . . . that will never do. Listen, you’re just going to have to sit down and . . . exactly. Yeah. Let me know how it goes.

OK. On to new business. I’m down in Arizona. There’s a bright orb that hurts to look at, I’m not certain what strange manner of aberration this is, but it happens each day. I’ve spent the last I don’t know how many winters in Wallowa County and can’t recall anything like this spectacle in November.

Operation Minnie Winnie is going splendidly. In brief: I developed a taste for Metamucil, bought a motorhome and retired to the southwest for the winter. You can read more at our sister site: jonrombach.blogspot.com.

Here’s the Winding Waters Roll Call: Morgan Jenkins. Last we heard from his tracking device, he was in Virginia. Be prepared to look at birds next rafting season, cause Mo Jenkles is on a birding kick. Talked to him several times recently and it’s blah blah blah, sapsucker, blah, pilleated something-something.

Mike Baird and Sam Macke had themselves a time down in Hells Canyon, not rafting but horseback and muleteaming it. Baird packed in a camp to pursue elk and Samuel went along as administrative assistant.

You’ll have to get the full tale from one of them, I don’t want to tread on their copyright, but the preview trailer goes like this –

“…There is a canyon, so deep, so remote…”

[cut to shot of Hells Canyon, eagle screaming in the background]

…that none dare enter…

[bass drums]

…except Winding Waters River Expeditions, based in Joseph, Oregon, featuring world-class adventure and superior gearboat service…

[shot of Morgan looking at birds]

…and maybe some other rafting companies too, but, uh….

[shot of birds pooping on other companies’ rafts, Morgan rushing to help clean it off, because we’re good about stuff like that]

And then the preview runs out of time, so I’ll just fill in the rest here. What you really need to know is that a mule Sam was leading fell through a portion of the trail and things were sticky there, apparently, for a few instants.

But they got the critter back on the trail and got out of there. There was foul weather, as every hunting expedition should have. And a bear got into the wall tent while they were away. It’s got all the elements, folks. A real rip-snorter of a Hells Canyon story, but it’s not my story to tell so I’ll leave it for the next time you’re in a boat with one of those guys.

Frankly, I’m jealous. Except for the bad weather. And the trails falling away underneath them. But other than that, I would like to spend more time up on the rims. Get to know the canyon more from up high.

Meantime, I’m digging on getting to know the desert around here. Took a nice ramble with my pooch today, so I’ll put up some photos.

Be good.

Operation Minnie Winnie

jonrombach@gmail.com (Jon Rombach) — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 15:44:00 +0000

Well, I retired. For now. Bought a motorhome. Operation Minnie Winnie is a go. 29-feet of sweet vehicular mobile comfort. Queen bed. Kitchen. Little tiny toilet. The works.

Friends Al and Jennifer were trading in their Winnebago and I was outraged at the low price the dealership was offering them. I saw it as an injustice. So I offered them the same unjust amount, which they kindly said OK to.

But I had to get to Yuma, Arizona. Quickly. So I threw my sleeping pad for the river in the back of my truck. Tossed in some clothes, a toothbrush and my dog and set out.

Then I drove for 20 hours, listening to radio shows discuss the dismal economic climate. An economy that some might say is not ideal for investing in a luxury item that gets 7 miles to the gallon. That would have given me pause if I’d had time to pause, but I had to scoot to Yuma.

Got there and Al showed me the basics. The he directed my attention to the gigantic owner’s manual, which is so large I suspect it has a lot to do with this rig only getting 7 mpg.

I didn’t anticipate certain costs for this expedition, like hiring a research assistant to climb around in that owner’s manual. Or how involved it would be to hook up a tow bar so I can pull my truck behind the mother ship.

The tow bar took two days of canvassing Yuma for proper bolts, tools and advice. There’s no shortage of RV places in Yuma, and they answer most questions with a variation of this phrase: “That’ll be two or three hundred dollars.” Variations include, “three or four hundred,” sometimes, “four or five hundred.”

This is not a poor man’s sport, this RVing. And it’s not as carefree as it might seem. Driving a 29-foot box with your truck behind puts you right around the 50-foot mark. Add traffic, tight corners and at some point my knuckles just can’t get any whiter.

I’m somewhere outside of Phoenix right now, surrounded by cactus. My route seems to change based on available big, wide turns. The old song, “Give Me Forty Acres and I’ll Turn This Thing Around,” often runs through my head. Instead of backtracking, I just keep on moving until I come across a salt flat or abandoned airstrip where I can make a corner.

So if you’re in the market for a 29-foot Winnebago Minnie Winnie with a complete owner’s manual, we should talk.

My timing is a little off, by thirty years or so, to be buying a motorhome and retiring. But really, it’s been quite nice and I could get used to this. It’s snowing back home in Wallowa County, I’m told. And while I do have a cactus spine stuck in my left index finger after bushwhacking around in the desert yesterday, I really can’t complain about being down south.

I might just go take another peek at the Grand Canyon. As you know if you’ve floated Hells Canyon with Winding Waters, Hells has the upper hand on being the deepest gorge in the lower-48. That’s not a boast, just fact.

The Grand Canyon is staggering, no doubt. But I still might lean over the edge and whisper, “Hey, Grand Canyon, I got a message for you from Hells Canyon: ‘If you need help reaching something on a shelf, just ask...Shorty.’”