I knelt on the edge of the precipice with my knee dug into a sandy spot beneath a massive aromatic sagebrush while Finn ravenously lapped water from a small, green collapsible bowl. Behind and below us, the Columbia River wound lazily between lush, orderly, emerald orchards, jagged rock faces, and scree slopes. My friend Chas stood slightly downhill to my left, packing away a massive wild chukar that he had come to harvest with a combination of Finn's good work and a peck on the cheek from Lady Luck.

Years had passed since I gazed upon the Columbia from the cliffs above. Taking a spill on a...