I think I want to move to Sunriver.

After 10 1/2 years in Central Oregon, I’m finally beginning to understand the appeal of the resort community south of Bend: It’s pretty, it’s clean, it’s conveniently located and the people are friendly. I assume the friendliness stems from the fact that people in Sunriver are often on vacation or are retirees on permanent vacation. That, or they work for institutions that serve the vacation set, so being nice is a job requirement.

This all started in April, when I wrote in this space about spring mountain biking along the Deschutes River to Sunriver (and getting slightly discombobulated by its roundabout system). Then, a couple of weeks back, my oldest daughter and I pedaled our bikes around Sunriver’s paths while her sisters attended a pool party at the fitness club Mavericks at Sunriver, and before the day was through, she began saying we should move there. After a stress-free day spent hanging out down there, who was I to disagree?

Perhaps even better was last Friday, a mostly sunny day (or was it partly cloudy? Anyone know the difference?) when the temperature hovered around 80. I remember it warmly as I now sit indoors huddled with a jacket over my shoulders. Such are the fickle days of June weather in Central Oregon.

Fortunately, Map Guy and I were prepared to take advantage of what would be the last sunny and warm day for a while by canoeing up the Deschutes River to the confluence of the Little Deschutes River, one of the Deschutes’ tributaries, and upstream.

From the spot in my backyard where my trusty aluminum canoe resides about 364 days a year, we loaded it atop my family minivan and made the always surprisingly quick trip down U.S. Highway 97 to South Century Drive.

We had to negotiate one roundabout before we put in at a boat launch conveniently located on the shoulder of Spring River Road where it traverses the Deschutes. Note: The launch site is on the east side of the river; keep an eye out for signs.

The head-in parking area is on the north side of Spring River Road, while the ramp is on the south side. Rather than make things easy on ourselves, we went ahead and parked, took down the boat, loaded paddles, food, cameras, water, sunscreen, the almighty flotation devices and my $7 Aquatic Invasive Species Prevention Permit, which I then realized had expired but tossed in the boat as a show of semigood faith.

After a break in the traffic, we carried the boat across Spring River Road. I took the front of the boat, Map Guy insisting upon the back, claiming he’s an ace when it comes to steering.

It soon became clear that Map Guy’s chief steering skill involved jamming the paddle in the water and using it as a rudder — which, to the poor guy (me) paddling away up front, is tantamount to using the paddle as a big old boat brake.

After maybe 25 to 30 minutes of paddling upstream, we reached the Little Deschutes River, which neatly merged with the also-calm-here Upper Deschutes. I kind of expected a whirlpool or something dramatic.

Of course, the scenery is pretty dramatic, in a drop-dead-gorgeous sort of way that, again, makes you want to move to the area, like the lucky ducks with waterfront houses and docks we’d passed a few minutes earlier.

If you’re looking for a great canoe or kayak experience, get thee to this spot: The current can be strong, but any capable paddler will be able to negotiate this whitewater-free stretch. We opted for less forceful currents of the Little Deschutes, whose winding curves and oxbows I’d heard about but had never experienced firsthand.

Within view are Paulina Peak to the southeast and Mount Bachelor to the west, but it’s the close-ups you get that remind you why it’s great to get off of land and on the water. Amid the willows and breeze-blown grasses we spotted a lone elk that took off before we could get a closer look. We also saw plenty of swallows — which tended to swarm when we floated beneath their muddy homes under various bridges — along with redwing blackbirds, ducks and one great blue heron.

The Little Deschutes, which begins in Klamath County, flows through Crosswater Golf Course here. The water is clear, and shallow spots enable you to see all sorts of things, from the occasional darting fish to a great many golf balls resting on the bottom.

Along one stretch of grassy bank, we beached the canoe and partook of lunch. As usual, Map Guy, when he wasn’t trying to identify scat piles, mocked everything from my height to the purportedly high pitch of my voice. Map Guy can make fun of me all he wants, because he shared his almond butter sandwich with me, and complimented my choice of outing.

Map Guy encouraged me to imitate the high-pitched warble of the “Barry Gibb Talk Show” sketch from “Saturday Night Live,” which got him doing more laughing than criticizing. I’d like to take this opportunity to apologize to any golfers who may have been teed off due to a terrible falsetto coming off the Little Deschutes.

Map Guy did most of the rudder operating the entire way back. Rather than end our trek any sooner by helping paddle, I lazed in the boat and soaked up rays and scenery.

What had amounted to an hour and a half, including lunch break, of upstream paddling became just a 20-minute float back to Spring River Road. Once we disembarked, we decided to move the van closer to the canoe rather than lug the 17-foot beast across the busy road.

Checking the odometer in the van, I noticed that we’d driven just 15 miles from my house to the boat ramp. That’s close enough that I think I’ll hold off on a move to the area just yet, but the thought is tempting.