Nothing good can come from buying a pack raft

I wish someone had warned me.

I’ll admit, I was drawn in by all the Instragram photos, blogposts and dirtbag articles detailing the adventures. I like adventures. I like pretty places where I can take pretty pictures. So the logical conclusion was I should spend my good, hard-earned dollars on a pack raft. And to make matters worse, I convinced a bunch of my friends to do the same.

Just like that I was headed down a slippery slope into the put-in of packrafting despair.

Reason #1: Adventure Requires Pain

The smiles to miles ratio is skewed. It’s almost impossible to not be smiling at the moment of transition.

The bikes are heavy, laden with a boat, paddle, PFD and whatever else we think we might need for the day. We have been pedaling for a bit climbing a slow grade through a seldom used dirt track that is soft. The scenery is astounding. There are tall white sandstone walls hovering around us flanking the shelf we are riding up. We know there is a “river” below, but we haven’t seen it since we left camp. Its cliff borders keep it from our eyes.

The bench we are traversing is slowly rising. The river is below having cut through this layer and is eroding what remains. We continue our pedal until this shelf becomes the shelf the river is still cutting through. A small, steep cut in the bank made by bovine gives us the access we came for. The bank below only allows for a couple of people at a time. The rest of us spread out on the shelf above and begin the process of metamorphing from bike to boat.

It’s akin to reaching the top of a climb, you know that there is going to be a reward, the coast back down, the drop in, the bumps, the rocks that make you go woah. The good stuff. You might be breathing hard, it may have hurt to get where you are at, but you are smiling in anticipation of what is about to happen.

This is the point of transition.

It’s the point for which you came. The whole point in most cases and what makes these funny little boats so dangerous. You see, they suck you in with the idea of adventure, but adventure is impossible with this many smiles. I’m sure there is a legitimate case to be made for false advertising here. Someone should look into that.

Info Box: What the hell is a pack raft?

For those uninitiated in the ways of the Alliance (if you bare the scars of initiation skip to the next photo), these little boats are known as pack rafts. Which if you break down the name, is exactly what they are. Boats that are small enough and, more importantly, light enough that you can roll them up, throw them on your bike or back and carry them (why anyone would want to do this, is beyond us) into your put-in on the river. They transform the logical endpoint of a trip at water into a means to get from Point A to Point B. If you’ve ever looked at a map and felt that the squiggly blue line was a perfect place to end a trip, well, pack rafts transform that destination into a transition point and now the whole damn map has no terminus.

They turn lakes into transfers, rivers into roads, and ephemeral desert creeks into the thing that keeps you watching (like a four-year-old with an iPhone) an hourly updated internet-connected gauge in the middle of nowhere on the odd chance that you might be able to float through a canyon that is only runnable 2-3 weeks in just as many years. It’s an insufferable addiction.

Reason #2: While incredibly Instagrammable, Canyon Hopping isn’t that great

It’s no secret that we enjoy spending as much time as possible in desert canyons. Places with huge sandstone walls that are off the radar and mostly untouched by the unwashed masses (anyone who leaves toilet paper in the desert should be considered part of the unwashed mass and avoided at all costs). These canyons were often out-and-back adventures giving us the ability to see the area in both directions. You would be surprised at what you miss when you only go through a canyon in one direction.

Once pack rafts were introduced into the mix, it didn’t take us long to realize that a quick paddle from the bottom of one canyon would get us to another. In the same amount of time required to explore one canyon, we could now explore two. Canyon hopping, while it doesn’t have the same adrenaline-inspired allure of rafting rivers, is by far one of the worst things to do with a pack raft. Instead of taking your time in the canyon enjoying both directions, you are now hurried. Get to the water, get to the next canyon, do the thing, get out. High fives.

I mean, if you do it enough, you might end up here. You might think this is incredible and that you will soon be an “influencer,” but seeing you only came up this canyon you don’t have the good sense to realize you are only a couple miles from where a car can park.

Reason #3: You’ve already got too much gear

Let’s just be frank. We all have too much shit. Now you’ve got a new thing that requires more stuff, paddles, PFDs, dry suits, helmets, dry bags, etc. That’s right. You can’t just buy a boat and go paddling. They come incomplete. You will have a hell of a time without paddles. Let it be a word of warning. Mama Bear and I own 8 sets of paddles at this point. Really. Really? Yes.

Every piece of gear in your shed should be seen as a tool. Like most things in life, the more diverse your toolbox is, the more capable you become at getting the job done. Adding the ability to continue across water ways to your repertoire should only be considered if you don’t already have too much shit. A pack raft will never be in your kit for every trip, but once you have the boat and other necessary gear, you will have to figure out how to store and care for it.

That’s right, boats require cleaning, storing, prepping. You know the kinds of things that you wish you weren’t doing when all you want to do is get out of fucking dodge.

Most importantly, when your toolbox is full, stop buying tools!

Reason #4: Pack Rafts will seriously screw with your sense of ROI

In our lazy state of floating, we slowly transition around a giant red alcove. The alcove in itself is amazing, Huge walls, deep breadth, the river lapping at its edge. We know we are close.

As we round the bend out of the alcove, the arch appears. It’s huge. Sits on top of of the canyon like the eye of god looking down on you. I’ve seen it many times before, but this one was special. We were just ending our first multi-day trip in these little boats and we had been giggling for most of the trip (reference Reason #1). Once the arch was in view, it stayed there as we slowly approached. Seeing it from different angles slowly growing in front of us. I’d be lying if I said it was anything less than a spiritual experience.

Now, you might be asking yourself, how is that a bad thing? Well, that benchmark became the point of reasoning for justifying the expense of owning a pack raft. I would have been happy with my purchase had I slipped, cut a giant hole in my raft and that was it. One trip, worth it. That is a fucked up sense of ROI. These boats aren’t cheap and I’d spend the money all over again just for one trip? Yup. That’s a problem. A problem that can only be traced back to these little, funny boats that we somehow always end up carrying.

Reason #5: God, they’re cliche

It’s nearing 11 pm. It’s Cami’s befday and we somehow are convincing a couple of friends that they should join us for a float. We only have one extra boat so naturally it makes sense for them to share it. Convincing them to meet us at the time in the morning when everyone is asleep, drive something like 5 hours just to float a 15ish stretch of a creek that can only be ran every few years.

Somehow, everyone who said they would, shows up. We make our way to the put in. With eyes a bit crossed from the night before, the drive and the rough-as-shit dirt road, we begin the float. There are lots of “river folk” milling about. Our pack rafts are a novelty. We see no one else floating these little boats that are perfect for this type of float and almost everyone we passed, asked us about them. What the hell are those?

Our two friends in one NRS raft somehow got through. We may have had to wait around almost every bend for them to drag each other through what we could float and they may have popped said boat about 1/2 mile from the take out which resulted in people running back and forth, messages coming from upstream, but they got through, we all drank ourselves silly and then drove another 5 hours back home the next day.

Fast forward two years. Same river, same time of year, minus the two people in one boat. The “river folk” contingency has exploded. Where we saw 30-40 people on the river for the entire day, we now saw triple that just hanging out at the put in. Instead of people asking us what the hell these little boats were, they were everywhere outnumbering the rats in duckies.

It was a pack raft train all the way through the canyon. It was clear that many of these poor bastards hadn’t spent much time in their boats, flailing around, clueless to basic ethics. Even to the point that one jumped in at the entrance of a small rapid knocking an Alliance Member off line and into an otherwise easily avoided strainer.

The Alliance certainly didn’t pioneer any of this, we followed, but it would seem things have gotten a bit out of control the last few years. Just check out the ‘grams. I rest my case. It’s cliche and you should definitely stay away from these little rafts.

I’ll end this little PSA with the cop out that you have now been warned. Don’t let the “influencers” on Instagram fool you. You don’t want a pack raft because nothing good will come from it.

Please spread the word.

P. L. and R.