Round two...

I went out and tried the paddle from
Washburn to the beach, a five mile paddle I had tried earlier this month. Last time, I was turned around by the wind.
I was feeling optimistic about this trip. I thought I might make it to "the beach" early and ride the Pugsley down the 3 miles of loose sandy beach were I was going to camp. My Epic frame bag fits both my 20" Pugsley and my Modified 1x1 so I swapped it over and strapped a dry bag to my custom Pug-sized rear rack. These bags held my camping gear, food, and bike tool kit. My backpack held all the rafting gear: packraft, patchkit, inflation bag, paddles, life jacket, and throwbag.


An old railroad grade leads to a hike in point that I decided would be a bit more adventurous to take. A few locals commute by bike on the trail, so it is in pretty good shape. I cruised at a good clip and reached the giant ravine I was going to hike down in a matter of minutes. Later that day on the ride back, my dry bag came unlashed from my rack and rolled into the bushes. As I unpacked my gear I thought about how I had really gotten this "going light" thing down. Why didn't I just put the raft stuff on the rear rack? It's seems wierd I didn't even use the rack. Oh shit, that's because there was a dry bag there earlier.

















My Pugsley awaits me and my backpack at the bottom of the ravine. I had to carry the bike down first and then climb back up to get my backpack.
















Clambering over the beautiful sand stone, lichen coated boulders. The small valley was hot and humid and full of mosquitoes. I was being whipped in the face by pine saplings and poked in the eye by sticks. Falling in the mud from slippery rocks, and stepping in stagnant sinkholes. The hike in was taking a lot more effort than I had anticipated.






















After about 45 minutes I reached the
put in point. I relaxed for bit, soaking up the scenery and eating some granola. Once the raft was inflated and packed up, I began wading through the inlet towards deeper water.


















It was a calm day. Or so I thought. Once again as I rounded the corner the wind was just as intense as before and waves began piling up. "Here we go again". I got the hint, turned around, and headed back. No use beating myself up over something I can bike to in 15 minutes.

















The inlet I left from on the way back. I decided to get out at a different spot than I got in. I didn't want to have a repeat bushwhacking session if I didn't have to, and I knew of a point another mile up I could get out at.
Here's where it got interesting. As I approached the rock that was my get out point, totally pooped and hungry as hell, I began to notice there were people on it. As I got closer I recognized the flesh tones of bikini clad women. Yes. 6 of them. I was tired as shit but I managed to straighten up my spine, puff out my chest, and come paddling up to that rock like I was the world champion packraft/ bushwhaking/ bike man from Timbuktu who had everything these chicks wanted, including welts from saplings, mosquitoe bites, and sun/ wind burn. As I climbed up onto the rock I was welcomed with wine and fresh veggies. Was I hallucinating from fatigue and too much sun? I can't quite remember...