John Day River Trip – In January!?!?!

This blog has been quiet. I haven’t had any epic or not so epic extended adventures to chronical…and honestly I can’t seem to access the wonder, words, or desire to write extensively when I have a million distractions in the “real world.” Nature tends to even me out, smooth down the sharp pointy reminders of my to-do list, and leave me with the space to let my mind wander over the scenes and musings of the day. I need at least an overnight excursion to shake off the incessant access to the information superhighway and my weak resolve to find focus in a day filled with distractions.

I must go outside.

And here I am. Outside. A brewing cup of french press coffee waits outside the tent in the early morning darkness as a rising John Day River expands its capacity to hold all the water from rain and rain on snow.

It’s raining in January. In fact, it’s 50 degrees in January. It has been a disconcerting winter so far. One of warmth, ice, snow, rain on snow, then cold…thus more ice. The skiing has been dismal. And as we were looking at another depressing warm spell in the mountains, Kirk and I went to the river.

To our favorite section of our beloved river. In fact, you visited it with me last year on the Columbia Plateau Route….well, not this exact section… a hike is never the same as a river trip. They are entirely different trips in the same geography. A reason to visit a place more than once.

As we floated today, I pointed out all the places that I had packrafted or hiked in the canyon.

Our friend Brian had joined us. And it was his first time down this stretch of the river; I could see the effect of this magnificent place on his face and in his voice. It was simply too grand for photos. There was too much to take in; you could only sit back and grin.

I needed this trip so badly. I have been working from home now for almost a year, and the dreary winter kept us home more weekends than not over the past few months. I haven’t had any big trips, and paired with several ice storms and gray skis that practically shut the state down for weeks, I was bursting at the seams for a change of perspective.

We knew rain was on the menu for the weekend, but there was also the hint of sun and 50 degree tempatures. It could be positively balmy out there.

As we drove in, the muddy roads gave a little warning of what awaited us ahead, and clumps of snow still wedged in deep cracks of rock and shady folds of the earth gave the eye a bright how-do-you-do in the browns and gray of the darkening day.

It was dark by the time we parked the truck at the top of a muddy and washed-out grade down to the river, and we walked our packrafts and gear to a lovely little camp below.

Flash forward: putting up the tent in the rain and mud is a test of patience and relationships. Fortunately Kirk and I passed the test….by a slim margin. We tried to make the best of bringing half the wet and mud with us inside. Of course we could be at home in a cozy bed instead of in the mud, but this was way better. This was living… finding comfort in the uncomfortable. We were soon dry, though…as long as we didn’t move from our sleeping-pad islands.

We played cards and went to bed when it felt late. It had been dark for hours, and we had no time to keep. But one glance at my airplane-mode pocket computer showed some glowing numbers starting in the 7s.. Sunrise is about 7:30am, so we were in for a long night.

It rained and throughout the dark hours we slowly turned over and over in our sleeping bags, settling deeper into our muddy nook of a campsite; the sounds of the rushing water working its way deeper into our dreams.

Shortly after the day lightened, the rain stopped.

We broke open from our long night and started the river prep.

But first coffee.

Bags in bags, drysuit gaskets stretched, and packraft zippers zipped. River shoes and pfd’s on, and when all the pieces and parts were assembled, we had liftoff.

And really, isn’t boating like flying?

The feeling of weightlessness and smooth speed immediately depressurized my brain a few notches. I was so full of ideas and conversations and planning and budgeting and contracts and taxes, that I desperately needed to open a release valve in my brain to let that excess mental heat out. An overnight trip could only accomplish a fraction of the relief needed; a long hike is the better cure, but I had to table that carrot for a while. It wasn’t time for the type of trip where I could really shake off the excess. And there is so much excess in the world right now. Ok, excess isn’t the right word. Maybe weight is a better word? The weight of war, climate change, injustice, the upcoming election, ice storms, gray days…all the things.

What this weekend indicates is that I need to be better about taking these short bursts of joy and freedom so that I don’t blow a gasket from going too hot for too long.

Noted!

Words fail us here. The sun came out and we floated the day away with giant smiles on our faces.

Camp had a view of an intricate basalt wall and mountains all around…but then all the campsites do out here.

Tents drying in the sun, camp chairs, and puffy coats. Ahhhh.

An afternoon stroll up to a ridge hundreds of feet above the river helped me relax into the day even more.

I think a river trip is one of the most calming things out there. The rushing river acts as metronome to the day, and tends to smooth out most frictions.

Did I say Ahhhh yet?

The trip is too short, but has once again proved that the more time I spend outside, the better. I’m better.