{"id":23479,"date":"2020-08-12T20:00:07","date_gmt":"2020-08-13T03:00:07","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/community.nrs.com\/?p=23479"},"modified":"2020-08-12T17:56:41","modified_gmt":"2020-08-13T00:56:41","slug":"the-things-we-carried","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2020\/08\/12\/the-things-we-carried\/","title":{"rendered":"The Things We Carried"},"content":{"rendered":"

We carried river gear. So much river gear. At the Boundary Creek Boat Ramp, kayaks clattered down from roof racks, inflated rafts rolled off of trailers, and un-inflated rafts scrolled out of tiny hatchbacks. Frames were assembled and strapped to the rafts. Bundles of oars and paddles appeared alongside the boats. Duffels and drybags full of tarps and tents littered the ground. Water jugs lined the road like blue pylons. Cars, trucks and vans disgorged boxes and bags, which carried even more gear. Straps were piled in heaps. The gear snaked, in ragged lines, along the road to the boat launch, where it disappeared into boats or was carried, Sherpa style, down the switchbacks to the river.<\/p>\n

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Photo: Sarah Giles<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

We also carried anxieties: some of the common pre-trip variety, and some unique to our own circumstances. We also worried, even if we did not admit it, that one or more of us carried the Coronavirus. Consequently, we carried hand sanitizer. Lots of it.<\/p>\n

We were a ragtag group, built out of family connections, far-flung friends and internet invites. Ages ranged from 15 to 72. A list of our occupations read like the beginning of a joke or a nightmare version of Noah\u2019s Ark.<\/p>\n

There were a pair of doctors, a couple of lawyers, a trio of teachers, a school counselor, a couple of students, a raft guide, a cabinet maker, a carpenter, a nurse, an art gallery owner, a retired journalist and political consultant, a sawyer, a wetland\u2019s biologist, a demographic consultant, and a retired insurance agent.<\/p>\n