You push off from the gravel bar as the guide counts down; the raft answers the river’s pull and the current immediately begins to move you downstream. Canyon walls rise in folded bands of basalt and granitic intrusions, trees lean toward the water as if eavesdropping, and every bend hands you a new view: a crag, a sunlit meadow, a bald eagle wheeling overhead. The Wallowa River doesn’t roar; it propels. Its quick current keeps a smile on your face even where the rapids are only teasing — Class II surges that splash and spin the boat without asking more than steady paddling and a willingness to laugh when the cold spray finds your neck.