On the river, it’s as if we’ve stumbled on a more kid-friendly country— like the ones I hear about from friends who’ve visited Ireland or South America.

mingle with the guests and guides who make up our small society of 20. Roger Rosentreter, the natural-history expert for our trip, wears goofy red sunglasses and a perpetual grin as he paddles a big old-school kayak. I, too, have brought my own boat, and Roger keeps pointing out huge waves that surpass paddling ability. I’m reassured that my boys won’t be the only kids on this trip.

At camp that evening, we hear stories of the Lewis and Clark expedition, which, historian and author Cort Conley points out, was an epic river trip of 7,000 miles. As soon as it’s dark, Gabe and Dylan and I find our way to our bedrolls. On a tarp under the stars we sleep three across, lulled by the sound of the rushing river.

LIKING LICHEN

On day two we learn that Roger gets as excited about finding varieties of lichen as he does about surfable waves. Soon Gabe and Dylan are collecting moss and beetles in cupped hands for Roger and his biologist wife, Ann, to admire and identify. This is what a river teaches, I think. There are people in the world who get excited about lichen.

Everyone on this trip—not only Roger and Ann—is kind to the boys. “It takes a village,”

says Ian, a child-free vegetarian and mechanical engineer from San Jose, as he tosses my sons’ river sandals into the raft. Guests and guides alike are a decidedly generous and encouraging bunch as they patiently listen to riddles told in a wandering, disorganized, 11-year-old rhythm.

When they tell me what great kids I have, I glow. On the river, it’s as if we’ve stumbled on a more kid-friendly country—like the ones I hear about from friends who’ve visited Ireland or South America.

THE BIG DUCK

It’s the middle of our trip, and I still haven’t heard “I’m bored . . .”—though I have heard, from Gabe, “It’s not fair!” On day three we run most of the Salmon’s biggest rapids, including the one everyone talks about: Big Mallard, with its huge keeper hole at the bottom. A keeper is a reversal wave that can hold on to a boat—or a child—and not let go. For much of the trip, each boy has paddled a ducky—an inflatable kayak for one—but it’s a no-brainer to keep them in the bigger paddle boat for the rapids. Les Bechdel, the owner of the outfitting company and one of our guides, puts it kindly: “It’s not their skill level, it’s their weight. They’ll pop out.”