{"id":17836,"date":"2018-10-26T13:00:00","date_gmt":"2018-10-26T20:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com\/?p=17836"},"modified":"2022-01-06T07:50:37","modified_gmt":"2022-01-06T15:50:37","slug":"pack-it-in-packraft-it-out","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2018\/10\/26\/pack-it-in-packraft-it-out\/","title":{"rendered":"Pack It In, Packraft It Out"},"content":{"rendered":"

September\u2019s equinox moon blotted my calendar like a deadline. The twilight of seasons had stirred up an urgency to satiate summer\u2019s wanderlust; my mind and body itched for more sun, more miles, more waves. Like any worthwhile finale, I wanted mine to be grand.<\/p>\n

I grew up exploring the terrain surrounding my hometown. My family has always been a pack of land animals\u2014hiking, biking, skiing\u2014and I\u2019m just beginning to decipher the rhythms of river life. However, joining the NRS family has widened my perspective. As I stared at the two empty, adjacent squares on my calendar, a smile grew when I considered that land and water activities don\u2019t have to be mutually exclusive. The NRS PackRaft<\/a> had been teasing my imagination ever since I laid eyes on it, but now the hook was set.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

Schemes and questions alike unfolded as I scanned a topo map of the familiar Snake River Trail segment winding upriver from Pittsburg Landing to Kirkwood Ranch in Hells Canyon. How well would I be able to scout the river from the trail? What conditions could I predict this late in the summer? How many rattlesnakes would I have to stare down? How thick would the poison ivy and cacti patches be? Had the creek crossings dried up? Could I even convince anyone else to buddy up on this fool\u2019s errand?<\/p>\n

By the Friday evening before Saturday\u2019s pre-dawn departure, I had recruited my good friend Stephen to run the river with me. We wrestled new backpack configurations to accommodate the packrafts, four-piece Werner paddles, PFDs, and HydroSkin for the river. The bundles weighed in under ten pounds each but displaced about half of our packs\u2019 volume. My wife Rachel and I have refined a few methods of divvying up our tandem gear, but this new twist complicated the equation. She had agreed to backpack both ways as long as she didn\u2019t have to hike back alone, so we recruited two other friends as well. We finally settled on an acceptable arrangement and quickly dozed off.<\/p>\n

After a few hours\u2019 sleep, Stephen pulled up in his Subaru with Jen, Anna, and their gear. We finished the game of Gear Tetris and squeezed in, double-fisting coffee and breakfast burritos. The dimness gave way to an overcast sky as we ambled along Highway 95 south. Parked at the trailhead by 9am, we took a moment to soak in the wild sunflower perfume and cathedral views of the corridor, then shouldered and belted our packs for the half-day hike.<\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

The trail deteriorated quickly into a thin, rocky footpath overgrown with crackling grasses, spiny cacti, and ominous poison ivy. In contrast to the smooth, wide river below, our trail contorted over, under, and around the topography of the canyon\u2019s eastern wall. A few inconspicuous rattlesnakes punctuated our trek with adrenaline-pumping surprise.<\/p>\n

Stephen and I did our best to scout the river features we could see from our eagle-eye viewpoints, but much of the river was hidden below the cliffs. The stoke-meter amped up when we spotted two other packrafters down below!<\/p>\n

We descended the steep last half mile into Kirkwood Ranch eager to stake our tents and unpack lunch before the flotillas of rafters could beat us to it. The property surrounding the log cabin museum offered rewarding bounties of wild fruit and manicured lawns for yoga and naps. Rejuvenated and unburdened, we jaunted out on an afternoon hike to Suicide Point. The day\u2019s last surprise\u2014a portly skunk\u2014sniffed his way into camp as we started cooking dinner.<\/p>\n