Start of the Pacific Crest Half Ironman. I'm the one in the blue cap. "You will have a long and prosperous life," promised the fortune cookie that I cracked open a couple of days ago. I sure hope so. I tucked the tiny slip of white paper into my pocket, not wanting to tease the Gods by unceremoniously sending it to the recycle bin.
Last week, Eddie Miller died on a trip down the Middle Fork of the Salmon River with a group of fellow Bendites. I knew Eddie a little, paddling with him a few times with the stand-up group in Bend. He was a fit, athletic 57-year-old outdoorsman who had just received his river guide license. When the headline circulated the internet last Wednesday, I immediately assumed that a deadly rapid, maybe the notorious Velvet, had taken him. I felt a jolt of sadness for Eddie, but also a jolt of fear. I'll be floating the Middle Fork as you read this.
However, Eddie had negotiated the river safely. It was the final day of the weeklong trip and he had set out on a pre-prandial hike with his wildflower books. Eddie simply slipped on some wet rocks and tumbled down a cliff. The National Guard finally located his body four days later.

