{"id":36081,"date":"2025-06-01T00:00:57","date_gmt":"2025-06-01T07:00:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/?p=36081"},"modified":"2025-05-29T15:22:20","modified_gmt":"2025-05-29T22:22:20","slug":"a-blind-adventure","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/community.nrs.com\/duct-tape\/2025\/06\/01\/a-blind-adventure\/","title":{"rendered":"A Blind Adventure"},"content":{"rendered":"

“What the heck is that?\u201d I asked, pointing at a metal contraption I\u2019d never seen before. We were unloading our raft gear by the light of our headlamps in a deserted parking lot. Despite being a professional river guide, I was feeling like a first-timer. I\u2019d already asked about a long black PVC tube (for our poop), and the conspicuous lack of a cooler (insulated dry bag).<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s our frame,\u201d Kyle said with eager anticipation. <\/span>\u201cYou have a frame?!\u201d Eyes wide, I stared at the conglomeration of metal, then back at Kyle, \u201cYou\u2019re <\/span>rowing<\/span><\/i> a 10-foot boat?!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d he said simply, \u201cyou are.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

My jaw dropped for a beat. Then a slew of incomprehensible syllables escaped me. Finally, a wide smile settled over my features. \u201cSick,\u201d I said, nodding.<\/span><\/p>\n

Three hours before this conversation, I was cowering under a metal awning at Big B\u2019s Orchard in Paonia, Colorado, scarfing gluten-free chicken nuggets. Voice raised above the pounding rain, I paused long enough to ask, \u201cWhat exactly are we about to do?\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

\"\"<\/p>\n

My focus had been singular in the month leading up to our trip through Gunnison Gorge. Survive river season. In the last five minutes: savor nuggets. At no point had my focus been, “learn about the river you said yes to floating.” I had a singular piece of information: the put-in is at the bottom of a one-mile hike. Other than that, I showed up blind. <\/span><\/p>\n

I never do that. If anything, I\u2019m more of an <\/span>over-<\/span><\/i><\/a>preparer. But after running my backyard rivers all season, a part of me relished the idea of knowing nothing. I had zero expectations. I was ready to fully absorb the unknown.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWe\u2019re about to run the greatest river in the world,\u201d Kyle said with his signature lack of inflection. I quirked an eyebrow questioningly. I didn\u2019t know the length of the river, the class of the river, the crafts we had packed. Nor did I know the terrain, and I barely grasp Kyle\u2019s sense of humor, so I certainly didn\u2019t know how serious he was being. \u201cYou\u2019re gonna love it.\u201d That I did believe.<\/span><\/p>\n

Armed with no further knowledge (but lots of intrigue), we dropped a car at the take-out and carpooled to the put-in. The sun sank as we turned off a nondescript highway and down an unlabeled dirt road.\u00a0 What marvels was the darkness shrouding? What experiences were waiting for us when the sun rose?<\/span><\/p>\n

The final few miles of the drive were harrowing. Kyle shifted his rig to 4WD and we crawled over road-wide rocks and dropped over terrifying lips into the dark abyss. My excitement accelerated. When we arrived, we shuffled our gear under a picnic shelter to inventory before our first lap down to the river. That\u2019s right. We would be <\/span>carrying<\/span><\/i> all of our gear down into the black canyon. It never occurred to me we would carrying a rowing frame.<\/span><\/p>\n