A few weeks ago, I traveled to the tiny town of Maupin in Central Oregon where I used to spend my summers raft guiding. Winding down the final curves into the canyon, I began thinking about my first trip — mostly, how different it was then. I first started guiding in 1998. At the time, my car was driving on two of its eight cylinders and it puttered over the hills like a devoted little-engine-that-could, taking no less than 4.
