Moving to Central Oregon And Being Shaped By Its Rivers
Jennifer Hinsley
July 2024
My family and I have been living in Central Oregon now for about six years, and we have picked up some of the habits of the region that many newcomers do, most of those orienting around the outdoors: hiking, fishing, camping, and now, rafting. If someone had told us we’d be self-sufficient in our own 16.5 foot boat with three children for four nights on a river in the middle of the Oregon/Idaho wilderness when Harcourts The Garner Group’s very own Sandy Garner and Jim Tennant handed us the keys to our brand new Northwest Crossing house, I would have laughed. Sure, we were considered outdoorsy, but not by that standard.
This is in large part the story of how Bend and this part of the country can change a person and really, an entire family. Our family of five–children ages 11, 8 and 4, plus a labradoodle who reluctantly accompanies us on these boating journeys, shivering through each section of whitewater–started out by exploring the area on foot and by bike. Day trips turned into camping trips, turned into buying a teardrop and hauling that around the state, turned into buying a raft because our buddies had one, and before you know it, my husband was taking a five day intensive rowing course with Northwest Rafting Company on the Rogue River. This wild and scenic river–a special designation for habitat, whitewater and wildlife in Oregon’s southwestern region, starts in Crater Lake and ends at the coast.
Our youngest turned 2 during our first rafting season in 2022, as we first carefully navigated the mellow waters of the John Day River, a warm and mostly mellow river basin that drains nearly 8,100 square miles of central and northeast Oregon. Absent of dams for 281 miles, the John Day is one of the longest free-flowing rivers in the continental United States and the longest undammed tributary of the Columbia. Here we found our first overnight trip enchanting. Tucked into our tent as a family, we listened to the sounds of the river, the notes of the canyon wren and the conversations of the mergansers as they flew elegantly along the water just inches above the rapids, we swam and caught bass after morning coffee and enjoyed the adrenaline rush of our first Class II rapid. Away from it all, it was obvious–we were hooked on this type of adventure.
What followed were many trips to some of Oregon’s loveliest locations, the teal and cold waters of the fast and nimble 90 mile-long McKenzie, catching trout and cold plunging if we dared in the 50 degree water. Longer, more challenging overnights on the Lower Deschutes, watching the first flights of fledgling golden eagles as they tested their massive wings against the dihedrals of the canyon walls, making pancakes while the kids caught crawdads or tangled up the fly rods. We’ve now also navigated The Grand Ronde and the North Fork of the John Day, as well as the Lower Salmon each with its own unique blueprint in my memory–and what I hope are core memories for my children. Usually we are with other families, running rapids, setting up camp, sleeping under the stars, swimming, fishing and understanding unique landscapes as well as challenging ourselves with the unknowns for the young and old on each trip: how long will it take? Where will we sleep? Will it be scary/hard?
My favorite story from the Lower Deschutes was when my husband and I went on our own one weekend and navigated the class III/IV Whitehorse Rapid, what most would call the defining whitewater section of the river between Trout Creek and Maupin. All boaters get out to scout, and most know the markers of the “knuckles”, “hogsback” “oh shit rock” and “can opener” all of which must be nearly perfectly navigated in order to make it safely through. Each year, particularly in spring when the water is running high, Whitehorse claims quite a few drift boats (and in some cases, lives). Our raft, being large and with a very heavy frame, is really forgiving as long as the boatman is able to anticipate moves far in advance, as, while like a massive cadillac that can bounce off of most obstacles, it is far from nimble.
We scouted the rapid with another group, then got into our boat. I admit my heart was racing. Matt entered the rapid river left of the knuckles, positioning us right in front of oh shit rock, which had us both saying that exact phrase. Reacting to the situation with all of his strength, Matt pointed the bow at the rock and attempted to row away, but the river was pushing us so quickly, there was no point in this at all. I screamed at Matt to stop rowing, and in that moment our boat split can opener and oh shit rock–an accidentally expert move witnessed by the scouters on the hill above us. We shakily rode out the rest of the whitewater without incident, then rested in an eddy a mile downstream, cracking a beer to celebrate our mistaken victory. The folks that saw us came floating past: “Hey! Nice line man! That was incredible—super tight, man!” We tipped our beers toward them. “Thanks!” we said, as if we’d meant to do that all along. “Dude, that was so rad!” Their voices faded as they floated away.
Like so many things that are wonderful, rafting is also hard. There is a moment before each trip when I have been on my feet for hours preparing, cooking, packing and checking things off of a list a mile long when I wonder-is this worth it? We’ve forgotten important things, we’ve gotten flat tires when it’s over 100 degrees and relied on the help of strangers, we’ve had sleepless nights, we’ve gotten bad insect bites and had run ins with rattlesnakes, we’ve been nervous about the risks we are taking and we’ve had to learn so many new skills. It would be easier to stay home and crank the AC, but when it comes down to it, there is nothing like being in the wilds of an Oregon river, and I am grateful for each and every day that I have spent on one.