The Legacy of Lonnie Ray Volger

As the sun comes up earlier, the ground in the valleys begins to thaw, and the vibrant morning melodies of songbirds return, I am immediately transported to past summer trips guided and summer trips yet to come. The anticipation is palpable and the memories are invigorating. People stand out the brightest in my memories of guiding; both those extraordinary characters with whom I've had the pleasure to work alongside, and all those I've met and shared experiences with, from trip guests, to pilots, shuttle drivers, caretakers, and more.

Last summer, I had the great and unplanned fortune of spending a week on the Lower Salmon River with one such character, Lonnie Vogler, as well as three generations of his family. In the early 1970s, Lonnie guided river trips in the Grand Canyon, and on the Green, Yampa, and Middle Fork of the Salmon. I had heard his name a few times in the 'old Hatch tales' of Jerry Hughes (Hughes River Expeditions), so of course, I was excited to meet him and his family. Lonnie hailed from Georgia, he was loud, kind, Southern, and giddy to be back on the river.

His first few days of the trip were harder than he expected, and as a guide, I was a little nervous. He was a few weeks out of a hip replacement, and his doctor advised him not to go on the trip. In addition, the sun and heat seemed to be getting to him, causing extreme exhaustion. It wasn't until the second night, when he had to admit that he needed help up--what is still the steepest sand beach I've ever camped on--that he confided in me that he was battling another round of cancer, a cancer that would eventually take his life, just a few weeks ago. Lonnie had battled the disease for over 20 years; the fight never slowed him down, and in fact, it fueled his presence and desire to spend more time with loved ones. He felt that the gift of memories through shared experiences was one of the greatest gifts he could give. It was the passion for sharing experiences--undoubtedly fueled by months of quarantine away from his children and grandchildren--that brought Lonnie back to Idaho to share one last river trip experience with his family.

As two relative strangers, we had a cry together on the beach in the 100-degree heat. Lonnie spent the rest of the evening in the kitchen with the guide crew, reliving some amazing memories of the southwest Canyons and of Idaho. We went from strangers to friends to family, bonded by a common love of people, places, and experiences shared in guiding. Then he told a story of Whale, the inspiration and catalyst behind the Whale Foundation, which in turn, was a big part of our decision to create The Redside Foundation ten years ago. Lonnie had never heard of Redside before, and so I related our story, the similarities between Whale's story and Telly's, and what we are trying to do for the guiding community. We had another cry. It was one of the most memorable nights I've ever spent on the river. I saw a man truly happy in the presence of his family including kids and grandkids, revisiting some of his fondest memories of friends and experiences, in a place that was so comfortable to him and so full of joy. It was a viscerally human experience--common to guiding--and one of the reasons I return to this work each year.

Lonnie left us an unexpected gift. He asked that in lieu of flowers, that his friends and family donate to The Redside Foundation. I had no idea until we started receiving donations from Georgia. Thank you to all who have donated to us in memory of Lonnie, we appreciate your support and we will work hard to ensure that the legacy of great guides and great people like Lonnie live on. Thank you, Lonnie. Thank you for sharing yourself, your family, and your joy. I wish you clean lines through the rapids in the sky.