Packrafting in October

October is a weird transition month for me. For some reason (waiting for the snow to fly perhaps?) I don't get outside much in October. Right now the mountains are cold and snowy, but not snowy enough to ski . In years past I've spent time in the Utah desert but not this year. Instead, I decided on a late season packrafting trip on the Upper Colorado River.

The original plan was to drive to the river, lock my bike at the take-out, drive to the put-in, float 14 river miles back to my bike, bike 14 miles back to my truck, drink a beer, and drive home. Sometime during the drive I decided to switch things up and leave my truck at the take-out and bike to the put-in. I'm very glad I did.

I parked my truck at Rancho del Rio, a funky little riverside "resort" that caters to boaters. The "resort" consists of some rental cabins, a gear rental shop, a tiny liquor store (which conveniently sells single beers), and a campground. It also hosts an awesome music festival every summer, complete with a floating stage (this video shows what it was like when I went in 2010).

I loaded my boat, paddle, PFD, warm clothes, and rain gear into my pack and hopped on my bike. I very quickly realized that the ride was going to be much more difficult than I had planned. The road was unpaved and featured what seemed (to me) like Tour de France worthy hill climbs. I was on the last major uphill, spinning in my lowest gear and breathing heavily, when a passenger in a passing car stuck his hand out the window and raised his fist in recognition of my struggle. This provided just the spark I needed to power up the remainder of the climb (thanks man). I was riding to the put-in, which by definition is higher elevation than the take-out (rivers flow downhill!), but there were several long, gradual descents and a few short, steep ones. The short steep ones were particularly frightening because the loose rocks on the unpaved road impacted my ability to maintain a straight line while at the same time severely reducing my braking power (imagine riding a bike down a dirt road covered in ball bearings). I consider myself lucky to have made it to the put-in without crashing!

I locked my bike at the Pumphouse put-in, inflated my boat (a red Alpacka Yukon Yak) and geared up. It was sunny and unseasonably warm but it was late October and one must dress for the water, not for the weather. I wore river shorts, rain pants, neoprene socks and trail runners, plus a short sleeve shirt, puffy vest, rain jacket and wool ski hat on top. My gear worked well - on past packrafting trips I wore a long sleeve shirt, but water tended to drip off my paddle blades and under my rain jacket cuffs so the sleeves got wet quickly and remained wet for the whole day. This time I managed to stay mostly dry, although on the few occasions when I lifted my arms over my head cold water ran from my rain jacket sleeves down my torso which was unpleasant. The one thing I would do differently next time is bring gloves - I was in the shade in Little Gore Canyon and when my hands got wet they got really cold, but most of the run was in the sun so it wasn't much of a problem.

I saw a few fishermen along the bank during the first mile or two, but after that I had the river entirely to myself (aside from the bald eagle that followed me down the river corridor). This was very different from the last time I ran this stretch (on a Saturday in August), when the river was full of drunk tubers (not that there's anything wrong with that!), private boats and commercial rafting operations.

Most of the run is class II, with some class I flatwater stretches and two class III rapids - Eye of the Needle Rapid in Little Gore Canyon (go left or right, just don't hit the rock!) and Yarmony Rapid in Red Gorge. The river was running about 1,000 cfs so neither rapid posed much of a problem.

The last stretch of flat water was excruciatingly slow. A late afternoon upstream wind intensified (why does this always seem to happen - does the anabatic wind dynamic also apply to the gradient of a river?) which meant I needed to paddle or else get blown back upstream. Packraft hull speeds are frustratingly slow, so I paddled hard to make modest downstream progress. I finally reached the take-out, threw my boat in the back of my truck, cranked the heat, and enjoyed a can of New Belgium Ranger IPA.

Reflecting on this trip, I can honestly say that this was one of the best Mondays I can remember. Granted, I used to spend almost every Monday in a cubicle but the combination of a challenging bike ride, a relaxing float on a river I had all to myself, fall colors along the banks of the river, snow on the peaks, a delicious beer, and a spectacular red sunset over the Gore Range combined for one special day.

I've been hesitant to bring my camera on river trips (I ruined my previous camera when it got wet in a freak hailstorm while climbing two Fourteeners a few summers ago) so I don't have any pictures to share, but Annie thought my post-trip attire was ridiculous enough to photograph it. I don't see anything wrong with short shorts, slippers, a fleece, and a wool hat with pigtails. Do you?