The Journey is Half the Fun

I arrived in Chattanooga on the 19th, just in time to catch the end of my nephew's baseball game. The weather was perfect and the 4 hour drive through the bright green, rolling Tennessee mountains was made even more enjoyable with the windows rolled down and the music turned up. Chattanooga was where my path crossed with Alden and we would be taking her car on the remaining journey. We wouldn't leave until the next morning, however, and the evening was spent with family and more than a few visitors from my brother's church. That evening, my nephew, Caleb and I spent the night in our 4-season tent in his backyard. He had a great time and in the morning we were packed and on the road a little after 10 am.

Before we left, we stopped by a Guitar Center and I sold some musical equipment that I had wanted to get rid of. We also met JB, the guy who contacted me about my rideshare post on Craigslist. He would be riding with us all the way to Denver, returning home after attending the music festival Bonaroo. He was a pleasant man and he slept at least 90% of the trip.

The route we were taking to Denver was over 22 hours and we were driving it in a straight shot. In Missouri, we briefly said hello to Anna and had an amazing dinner with Liana, who I had met at school in San Diego. We ate at an authentic German restaurant/bar and the schnitzel was delicious. It was a good break after 9 hours on the road, but we still had the longest leg before us. Alden had a BMW 5-series and the ride was smooth. I took over driving near midnight and drove the empty highways of Missouri and Kansas until the morning. We made good time on the empty roads and we were in Denver by mid-morning.

Garden of the Gods, Photo Credit: Alden King

After dropping JB off and making a quick stop at REI, we drove south to meet Mike in Colorado Springs, his ultimate hitchhiking destination. While we waited for him, Alden and I visited The Garden of the Gods. This free park right outside of Colorado Springs featured towering, red sandstone spires hundreds of feet high. The park was a popular climbing location and the only thing stopping us from climbing it right then was our lack of time and the fact that it was over 100 degrees outside. We picked up shortly after noon and headed north to Boulder where we were meeting a former University of Florida student, Rachel. She had some friends going on a rafting trip and had invited us along. After meeting in Boulder we drove nearly two more hours to a campsite on the Poudre River (pronounced poo-der).

I don't know if you have been keeping track of the hours, but 22 to Denver, plus 5 more driving between Denver, Colorado Springs and the Poudre meant we had been driving over 27 hours straight. Needless to say, as soon as dinner was over, I was fast asleep in our tent.

In the morning we ate a scrumptious breakfast of eggs, bacon, and grits and loaded up the trucks. We; Mike, Alden, Rachel and I, would be the first group down the river. Our guide, Ryan, had guided in Oregon, but had never been down the Poudre. Jesse, another guide who had been down before, was kayaking alongside us and giving us directions. It was a warm, cloudy day with bright sun intermittently disrupted by a passing cloud. The beginning of the river was rather tame. A few decent rapids got us sufficiently wet and since the river was swollen with snowmelt, it was quite cold in the shade. The scenery was well worth the chill, however. The canyon was steep and rocky with huge spires that looked perfect for climbing. Brown rock and evidence of forest fires gave it a desolate feeling. Soon, however, things started to get a bit hairy. Our kayaker had to make a wet exit and the river was quickly becoming technical and rocky. At one point our guide was ejected from the raft while he was standing to get a better look at the oncoming rapids. Alden was also knocked out of the boat but a well placed leg kept her anchored in until we could pull the rest of her body back to safety.

Photo Credit: Mike Davlantes

Not long after that, I noticed that Jesse had once again been forced to wet exit, this time in the middle of a serious rapid. I shouted to Ryan that we had a swimmer. Our boat furiously paddled towards an eddy halfway down the rapid that was not as calm as we hoped. While Ryan tossed Jesse the throw bag, I held on to two large branches anchored to the riverbank. The current was still strong though and because of the heavy boat, it took a great deal of effort to hold the boat still. Everyone who was near a branch also grabbed on and I hooked my calves over the baffle in the middle of the raft. Eventually, Jesse was forced to let go of the line but he quickly found a calm area so we were able to paddle over and pick him up. He had lost his boat and paddle and was very frustrated. Luckily, we found his boat further down the river, but the missing paddle would never turn back up. The situation did not improve much after that, either. Many large rocks were just hidden well enough that the next time Ryan stood up to review the river, he was launched over our heads. I quickly grabbed his extended paddle and yanked him in the boat amidst the white, frothy spray of churning rapids. The unpredictability and technical nature of the river made the trip very intense. We had little idea what was coming next so we were all on our toes expecting the worst. Finally we reached the crux of the river, a class IV - V required us to scout the rapid and plan our line. To our surprise, the rapid was uneventful, other than the big hole that folded our boat in half. After that we took out at the next boat landing and we were soon heading back to camp.

Big hit on the Poudre!

After a quick rest, we packed up our camp, said our goodbyes, and headed off towards Wyoming. It was mid-afternoon and we had a 10-hour drive ahead of us. The vast expanse of Southern Wyoming laid before us and we reached the pine forest of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem in the dark. The shadows of steep, massive peaks towered over us in stark contrast to the plains we had just driven through. We found a campsite some time around midnight, down a gravel road, nestled in Bridger-Teton National Forest. The night was cold and we pitched our tent quickly, knowing we had an early day. With the morning sun would come our first visions of the Tetons, and I was eager to behold the mountains I had so long desired to see.