Jeff Driver was my guide on the White Salmon, when my good friend Jim insisted that I go rafting for the first time. As we drove up the winding dirt and gravel path to All Adventures Rafting I instantly felt a sincere relief wash over me despite the thought that I would soon be struggling into a skin tight body suit in the chilly February air. The business was run out of the Driver's home right on the edge of the White Salmon, a bit upriver from where we would put in.

The home was small and rustic, with an easy country charm about it. The rural atmosphere and assemblance of vehicles in the yard took me back to years of boy scouting, gathering together with other kids on small country farms, working together to stow away our gear for a weekend of camping and trouble making. Karen, Jeff's wife, pulled in right behind us, Bible in hand, on her way home from morning worship. I felt completely at home.

Despite the awkwardness of shoving myself into layers of synthetic thermal underwear and thigh-hugging rubbery outerwear, Jeff taught us the basics of rafting right there in his front yard. He had such an air of confidence and off-handedness about everything that I was certain no ill-fate awaited me under the waves of the river. Well, not as long as I did what he said.

Soon afterwards the confidence Jeff had inspired was washed rapidly away as we approached the roaring turbulence of the put-in. The water churned and spat at us as Jeff guided the huge purple and yellow raft off the guiding rails and into the river. I felt as if Poseidon himself had decided that this would be the year to vacation in Southern Washington, tired of washing away sailors, he was eager to suck young, foolhardy men beneath the frigid waves of the White Salmon. Not about to let me back out, Jeff ordered me into the raft. After a few moments spent reviewing paddle commands, we launched into the waters.

Jeff called out for us to paddle forward, meeting the turbulence of the initial rapids head on, with speed. Somewhere between my brain and my arms a neural traffic jam of alarming proportions occurred, causing me to fumble with the paddle. Suddenly we were being accosted by waves of water, tossing me back into the raft, off of my seat. As my rump hit cold rubber, my arms decided to remember what I had asked a moment before and began enthusiastically paddling at the air as I struggled to pull myself up with the heals of my feet as we were buffeted back and forth.

A few seconds later, Jeff and Jim were laughing loudly as they helped right me in my seat while the raft slowly spun in circles to bump against rocks butting out into the water. Karen chuckled at our mishap as her kayak pulled up alongside us. Soon we were back on track and steaming down the river at full force. The cold winter air, the breathtaking beauty of the day and the splash of freezing water in my face soon plastered "perma-grin" on my face, as Jeff called it.

Jeff, along with Jim, had brought back my love of the great outdoors through a new way of experiencing God's great handiwork. Eventually the trip winded to a close, yet there was no going back to life on land for me. I loved rafting.

When Mom and Matt came to visit last Summer there was no one else I trusted to the lives of Joleine and my family with. Though Jeff guided the accompanying raft behind us, I knew I could trust any guide he placed in our raft. Perma-grin again plastered our faces as we plunged over the 14-ft. drop of Husum Falls. Later, we tired friends and family with memories of one of our greatest vacations.

It's with these fond memories that I think Jeff should be remembered and he would enjoy the most. I thank God for the short time I knew this man, and for the memories he helped create.

- Written by Michael Sigler