The High, The Hangover & The Healing

PART I: The High

As an angler, I am extremely wary of absolutes but as a writer, I often work in the ambiguous, and instances when these two schools of thought collide are most intriguing to me. I think we all come across such moments but it could be that I’m especially disposed to discovering or discussing them. If it wasn’t clear by now, the title of my email newsletter - The Best Fly Fishing is Everywhere - is a direct play on this.

Having said all that, I will now say this: multi-day, overnight river float trips are the best thing you can do on the water. These trips have it all and bluntly challenge the assumption that too much of a good thing is a bad thing.

Typically these multi-day floats are in the wilderness and out of cell phone service and this particular detail helps set the stage for complete immersion in the riverine ecosystem and also with the fine folks you’ve chosen to float with. Only focused on what’s in front of us - the upcoming rapid, setting up camp, cooking dinner, sitting in a circle and talking - we’re relieved of the stressors and obligations that our normal routines inject. Without these distractions, our attention lies firmly on the now, and in this, we find more of it and, in following, more to enjoy.

The multi-day float also enforces the notion that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; with our comrades, we find this to be especially true. Relationships formed on or reinforced by float trips have a distinct quality; that of the shared experience. Because the float trip isn’t easy, isn’t always comfortable or luxurious, and often involves the unexpected, the bonds between floaters are very strong. Because float trips require a lot of work, more hands than one’s own, and a dividing of tasks, the friendships are of mutual respect and reliance. A good degree of privacy is also given up, which probably speeds up the getting-to-know-you time; we’re all pooping in the same bucket, after all, and I mean that literally. By the end of the float trip, the LNOTR, sitting in the circle of chairs, you know your friends, old and new, in a different way and you value them more than before. When you pull into that take-out, you can smile at each other and proudly say, We did that together!

So, how do you go on a multi-day float trip? You’ll need a permit. Or, in our case this year, a good friend with a permit. The rest, while definitely NOT easy, does kind of just happen. That’s to say, someone does this, someone else does that; someone brings these things, someone else brings those things, etc., etc.

Stacey and I were fortunate to be invited on a Rogue River Wild & Scenic float - 34.5 miles of southern Oregon river bliss, filled with Class II and III rapids, one class IV, endless views that call for a camera, and riverside campsites that make one sad to leave after a single night. It’s a river that’s special to us both for a variety of reasons, some the same and some unique, and we’re lucky to have floated it a few times now.

This trip, we were joining two families, composed of old friends and new ones, across two generations. A dozen of us in total, spread across three rafts, launched on a Friday morning amidst blue skies. Pushing off into the current at the start of a multi-day has that great, exciting, anxious, there’s-no-turning-back-now feeling to it: you know what’s ahead is going to be generally good or, more likely, completely awesome, but you also know that you don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. Letting out a holler helps cut the tension.

I won’t try to put the details of this particular float into words for now but will instead say that my prior opinion - that multi-day, overnight river float trips are the best thing you can do on the water - holds. In some ways, it’s impossible to explain to someone who wasn’t there. If you’ve been on one of these types of trips before, you know. If you haven’t been on one of these types of trips before, I hope you get to know.

PART II: The Hangover

Unfortunately, unbelievably, unintelligibly, these trips do eventually come to an end.

At the take-out, break down and pack up is lengthy and laborious. We’re coming down, slowly, and the reality of the end is palpable. The final packing job, getting everything in everyone’s vehicles for the ride home, is tedious - some things are wet, some things are broken, some things aren’t where they’re supposed to be - but covering it all is a slight feeling of Just throw it in and I’ll deal with it later. Which is fine, until it is later.

When everything is packed and keys are in ignitions, the final words are shared. Again in a circle, arms locked, someone says something and everyone else listens, eyes locked on theirs, smiles abound. Hugs for everyone. One last round of hollers, followed by car horns as we depart the parking lot, headed for home.

On the drive home, it’s easy to be convinced that a treat-drink or snack or Dairy Queen stop is appropriate. Anything to make the river trip feeling last a little bit longer. Thoughts of tomorrow start to creep in but are pushed aside by recent memories from the trip shared out loud. Recounting has officially begun and it may never officially end. (May it never!)

At home, the task is at hand and it is daunting: unpack and put away. Most things are wet and/or dirty, which then leaves the task of drying and/or cleaning before putting away. A back yard is a blessing, as is sun the following day. Our back yard turned into a yard sale, albeit one that I would happily shop. Again, apathy takes over and, for now, the best we can do is place gear and clothes into a place that would dry them, should it be sunny soon.

Finally in bed, sheets feel great and sleep is near but the mind must wind down. Scenes from four days of a movie I’d watch over and over again replay. A smile and soft chuckle at a memory or a one-liner. The body must too become ready. Any final instances of disembarkation sickness come and pass, even though they may remind us, momentarily, that we’re still on the river. A muscle flinches, as if making an oar stroke or stepping from raft to rock. If we’re lucky, we dream of the river.

In the morning, there’s no more escaping that the trip is over. Responsibilities await, and they don’t look or feel so good. The significance of emails, so-recently so-low, now take priority and we read them now with a slight feeling of disdain. Audible sighs. Eye rubs. Another, another cup of coffee. I see myself in the Zoom meeting and I am clearly the odd one out; I should’ve used more sunscreen on the river or maybe shaved this morning. It’s the longest 9 to 5 in memory.

But, there’s hope and healing.

PART III: The Healing

Fortunately, fittingly, finally, another day on the water.

Another multi-day river trip is the only true cure but seeing river friends is close and another day on the water is even closer. We make a plan and ready the boat but it’s clear that the fatigue from the last trip hasn’t yet passed because doing so is more tiring than it should be. Even though we’re moving slow, we’re gaining momentum and soon, we’re staring at it again: the river.

Long time no see. You look good.

We splash the boat, ditch the truck, climb aboard, and point it downstream. Hands are dry and cracked. When they grab the oars, they are at first tender but quickly find their fit; a muscle memory hopefully never lost.

I spin the boat, point the bow at the boat ramp and the stern into the current, pull twice on the oars and we are gone.

The healing begins.