I took a bazillion pictures on this trip. Most of them are evidence that I was totally immersed in the enjoyment of the trip rather than the photo documenting of it so most of them suck- disclaimer right up front. I think I might have enough decent ones to string along a somewhat passable contribution in two or three parts though I reckon.
The day before the trip commenced I picked up a Drakian/Floridian whom I'd never met before from my local airport and invited him to stay at my house that night. He's supposedly some kind of big time salt life guy and, just as I've come to expect from such encounters with members of this chat room, he was a fucking huge douchebag. Complete dick. Intolerable. Nonetheless we went shopping and out to dinner and so forth and had a huge gear explosion in my garage, one of many to come over the next few days.
We ended up getting along OK I guess. He told me I could fuck his sister after it was all said and done so that's something I suppose.
Before long I get a text message that some other douche is rolling in early from New Mexico that night and wanting to crash on my couch. Whatever. He brought a shitload of more gear too but also had a pretty sweet rubber bote and a Z-drag kit with him so we let it play out.
Now, in my experience with these here bake type deals the guests usually show up with packages, you know, gifts. GED showed up with a credit card that didn't work and Bruiser showed up with the finest piece of artwork I've ever laid eyes on, and yes fellas, it is 3D. Eat your hearts out.
The three of us got all shit schnokered as you do and passed out. Woke up the next morning, had some breakfast and awaited the arrival of two other cocksuckers from just over the hill a couple of hours away. These fuckers show up in a fucking Lesbaru wagon hauling a bote and even more fucking gear, including what GED apparently thought was about 2000 rounds of 30 mm NATO ammunition (hereafter referred to as the Grover).
So these two dickheads start talking about putting their bote on top of Bruiser's bote on his trailer along with all their shit, including all of our shit inside of and towed behind my truck plus the 5 of us in the cab for the 3 hour drive through the desert to our put in. Fuck it, they had the Grover, the fire pit, fire blanket and some other shit I forgot. Oh yeah, the precious dish water strainer and some carne asada. So we let it play out. My rig was sitting down pretty hard on departure so we loaded up some cold ones in the cab for ballast.
We (I) drove to the put in campsite and, upon arrival, while I spoke with "The Man" the rest of those douchebags set up camp and got all comfy in their foldy chairs. These fuckers have a serious sticker problem.
Pretty soon a couple of dirty hippies rolled in from the West, right on time surprisingly, and we all settled in for a big adventure. The hippies turned out a righteous meal with the best Salmon I've ever tasted and some really good other hippy side dishes which I asked for the recipe to make and learned that Dibs actually grew most of it in his hippy garden.
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Pretty soon the tales and lies started coming really easy and we found ourselves in a decent groove.
Next morning it's rise and shine for "rig to flip" and inspection by the NPS Ranger. Dibs was cranking James Brown. The big day we'd all been waiting for. I'll admit I was a bit nervous about all of this. It was amazing to see how some team work, ambition, determination and just good, solid know-how came together to turn enormous piles of unorganized and useless(?) shit into something that would float and pass inspection.
Good Omen as we embarked on our journey- a golden eagle putting on a show for us in the canyon.
Dib's craft evolved throughout the trip. Almost like some sort of magical Ice Cream Truck floating along with you that produced new, unexpected treats and goodies each and every day. Here we see a bottle of margarita mix carefully stowed for Class III or IV whitewater.
When you bring a salty metrosexual along on a troot floot you never know what you might get but we damned sure got a solid, funny mother fucker who can throw a tight loop while standing on the dry box through some heavy white water.
And you're real happy when the first brown he lands is decent after coming all that way.
Before you know it we landed at an appropriately named camp site that evening. We will, however, be petitioning to have it named Pot(S) Creek. More appropriately. Here we really got into our groove and the days started moving easy.
In fact, I think it might have been here that everyone except Bruiser agreed to let the Squaw fish thing go and just float and be happy.
I'm glad we brought a river map along because it turned out to be useful for our lurker buddy to spin doobies on. He rolled joints like the Pope prays every day.
Real easy. Real good.
The NPS has some naziesque rules on this float that we mostly abided by, adhered to, skirted around and/or somewhat complied with for the most part. One of which revolves around fire. Fuck it, we had a fire every night. All legal like too. On this particular night we said "fuck it dude, let's throw some horse shoes and cook some flank steak.
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Ben has no memory of this but he turned out some damn fine flank steak dinner with a little help from his friends.
Afterwards we sat around a fire and did those things you do while sitting around the camp fire. Each one of us sleeked off to our tents in our own time at our own pace knowing tomorrow would be an easy day of sleeping in followed by a casual breakfast after which we'd pack up slowly, catch a big buzz and float easy to our next camp at our own easy pace. Easy day, easy trip.
More to come.[/report]
"girls with eating disorders will usually let you come in there in butt." -Jhnnythndr
"...my grandmother’s Tang always tasted like rusty water and dirty socks." - Average Joe
"with some limited exceptions steelhead live where the lady selection is sparce." - MTG