Our trip to New Orleans on the stern wheeler was meant, for one thing, to see how well I could manoeuver my aluminum walker in and out of doors; along narrow corridors; over pebbly surfaces; on rainy, slippery sidewalks; up and down extensive walks on grass and concrete. I passed with flying colors, surprising myself. That was a 3-day journey.

We drove back to Portland, and came aboard our ship, the Cruise West 192-foot long "Spirit of '98," which is described as "designed to emulate an early 20th century coastal steamer with carved wooden cabinetry and a Grand Salon complete with player piano."

I never saw or heard the player piano, but it was a good-looking ship that could look majestic and move like a banshee along the more than 1,000 miles of our trip.

Designed to hold 96 passengers, there were only 56 passengers on our trip, and this proved to be an ideal number (to enhance the sociability of the group members).

The captain might have switched us into a larger stateroom, but he didn't, so, as a result, we had a dinky room, so small that, in the morning, I had to go down to the diningroom before Ginny could start getting dressed for the morning ahead.

The next day, we traveled to the Bonneville dam, and from there to "Sacagawea State Park, a point marking the confluence of the Columbia and Snake Rivers." We rocketed through Hell's Canyon in a jet boat that barely touched the surface of the water.

On Tuesday, April 26, we visited Walla Walla, where we visited a restored fort, its buildings and farming implements, and had lunch at a restored hotel, the Marcus Whitman, then later got some time to wander around the town itself, which is wonderfully neat, clean, and friendly, apparently like everything else in this northwest area.

The next day, after being transported during the night to a location in the Columbia Gorge, we visited the Maryhill Museum, a huge chateau apparently in the middle of nowhere.

Described as "an extraordinary setting for an eclectic mix of Native American artifacts, Russian icons, Rodin sculptures, and other works of art," including a room full of 18th- and 19th-century American firearms, the Maryhill might appear, from the inside and without a glance at the outside setting, as if were a western European castle.

On the last day of our trip, we were driven by bus to a spot on the very edge of the continent, to get a view that might have been that of Lewis and Clark on their first sighting of the Pacific Ocean ("Oh, joy!" had been Lewis's actual reaction.)

My first visit to the Northwest, home of so many of my best Cottey students, was an eye-opener.

Marjorie Goss, who lived part of her life in Eugene, Ore., once told me, when she was living in Nevada, Missouri, "I've never forgotten that when I lived in the northwest, I could look out the window each morning and see the mountains. I still miss that." Now, I think I can empathize with her.

The small number of passengers on the trip, and the large number of crew, really made a difference. You could even strike up a friendship with the captain.

Now that I think about it, that doesn't sound like too bad an idea.