"A man travels the world over

in search of what he needs

and returns home to find it."

  -George Moore

 

 

If you’ve been to Garden Valley, Idaho, you know what happens when the rivers begin to rise. The hillsides turn green, birdsong greets the sunrise, and bright colored boats get strapped to roof racks or gravity rigged into truck beds. The hotsprings get busier, the Deer Creek boat ramp looks like a campground, and corn dogs become a scarce commodity. Each spring breathes new life into this tiny mountain town and with that breath come the boaters. 

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As a kid, I used to spend many of my summer afternoons perched on the curb in the vacant parking lot of the Chevron, sipping Dr. Pepper and eating fried lamp food with my friends. The traffic in those days was intermittent and underwhelming. Yet, I have vivid memories of large trucks with overpacked cages of boxes and bags, towing stacks of boats and painted with names of outfitters and towns far from home. I always wondered where they were headed. What life must be like for those guides sardined in the backseat. Little did I know I would one day become one. 

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I grew up surrounded by boaters. My mom, a kayaker and river guide, came to Idaho to run the Payette. After meeting my father, a lumberman raised along the Southfork, she decided to stay. Rivers like the Payette invite people in. Though they never ask you to stick around, you find yourself returning to them, year after year. 

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In high school I loved the river and the community surrounding it but, I had dreams outside of Garden Valley that called to me. I wanted to travel, live in big cities, and see foreign landscapes. So, I tried that route first. 

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Right out of high school, I moved to the city, studied creative writing and language, and started what would become a 9 year career in the world of culinary arts and pastry. I bought a house, planted a garden, and opened a donut business. I put down deep roots. Then, one random Tuesday I woke up to the feeling that something was missing. So, in September 2014, I sold it all and walked away. 

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I moved to Colorado and started kayaking again. I returned to Idaho the next spring and started my first day guiding gig. Over the next 10 years I moved to California, Chile, Arizona, and Wyoming. I traveled to Peru, Czechia, and Spain. I studied Linguistics and Spanish. I lived at a ski resort, in a pickup truck, in a motorhome, on the road. I spent 10 years coming and going and finally, I came home for good. 

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I came home to the pines, to open space and grassy meadows; home to the Sawtooths and the Boise National Forest, the Frank Church and the Salmon river. I returned to the valley where my grandparents built their lives, where my great grandmother immigrated to. I returned to the rivers of my youth, where my mother taught me to paddle.

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In 2023 I accepted a position with ARTA on the Middle Fork. That first day at Boundary I was bewildered and unsure of my belonging there after so much time away. Unsurprisingly, I was greeted with open arms and that warm June sunshine. As I floated downstream I remembered snippets of trips gone by, campfire stories from days long ago. I passed cliffs I had leapt from, springs I’d soaked in. I remembered, all at once, how special Idaho is. I realized what I was looking for out there had been right here all along.

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Of all the places I have ever been, Idaho always lures me back. I’ve considered other careers but by spring, I yearn for the river. There’s something special about this place, these rivers, and these people. 

 

I want to create this book to honor Idaho, its rivers, and the community that returns to it, protects it, and loves it, as I do.