By Laural Ringler, published in Adventures Northwest magazine, Fall 2008
We took to kayaks because the mountains wouldn’t have us. A trip-breaking combination of zero visibility above tree line and foggy rain even in the forest denied us Monogram Lake and forced an overnight bivouac on some decaying logs. We abandoned the planned three-day trip and headed down. Back at the trailhead, we discovered the car had been broken into and some spare gear stolen. We limped back to Bellingham in a foul mood—and discovered coastal sunshine. “Let’s kayak the bay,” my trip partner said suddenly, “Right now. We’ll get out today and still have a trip.”
Trip time allotted is a sacred thing. Carved out between family responsibilities, work obligations and trip partner availabilities, that arrowed line on my calendar is hallowed time to be outside and away. So in this circumstance we paid attention to where the weather was and switched adventures. My friend called around to borrow me a kayak, even as I spread rain-soaked gear in the backyard. We dried out for a few hours, and then paddled away before dinner from the public boat launch near Marine Park, camped at the DNR site on southeastern Lummi Island, and the next day circumnavigated Bellingham Bay.
We could have gone home after filing that report with the park rangers about the broken car window and stolen items, and stayed home grumbling about the way we wished the trip had gone. Instead, we chucked the backpacks, grabbed the kayak paddles, and went out even though we only had twenty-four hours left. It was a salvaged trip within sight of home, and it was glorious.
Heading into a different Cascades backpacking trip, we were several hours down Highway 20 toward Harts Pass when my trip partner said, “You grabbed the tent, right?” Nope. Neither of us had packed the tent when we’d loaded the car. We discussed alternate plans, since the weather was iffy and we thought a tent necessary. Yet forgotten items are sometimes a reminder that you can get along without most anything for a few days, so we kept to our itinerary and went anyway. We were certainly colder, and damp in the mornings, but it was memorable. While I now pack with a list, I was less thorough in the past. There have been bicycle trips in the San Juans without a spare tube or patch kit, mountaineering trips without my down vest, and of course the tentless trip. As long as there is not a serious safety consideration, it all just adds another element of adventure.
Changes have been needed on family trips too. One summer my family of four planned a bicycling trip to explore a rails-to-trails route near Coeur d’Alene. Then my 11-year-old son phoned from a friend’s, sounding strained and teary, “I crashed scootering, Mom. Barefoot.” He’d gashed his Achilles tendon. I managed to refrain from reminding him of our shoes-and-a-helmet rule both during the trip to the emergency room and after. And since the crash experience he has always worn shoes scootering, without any parental reminders. While the injury nixed pedaling, he still wanted to go on a family adventure, so again it was kayaks that saved the trip. Since we have access to a triple kayak, we were able to switch to kayaking as a family and explore Ross Lake for five days (a trip detailed in Adventures NW’s summer 2008 issue).
Weather changes, gear forgotten, and injuries may have creative resolutions, but I’ve found the sudden loss of a trip partner daunting. A couple nights backpacking Excelsior Ridge were suddenly gone when a friend I was introducing to backcountry hiking called in tears over a home improvement project gone awry. While later she joked about the incident as “Colonel Mustard did it in the bedroom with the yellow paintbrush,” at the time she said she had to set things right and could not possibly see heading out on the trip. Without a deep Rolodex of possible partners to sub in for her, I was lost. Until I realized the solution was to go alone. Not my first or second choice, but the alternative was to stay in town and chafe at not being out. So I shortened the trip, added a good book, and went.
Outdoor adventures require skill and knowledge, but also flexibility and creativity to work out solutions when you’re miles down the road, or days from a road. Use that flexibility and creativity even before you go when weather, gear issues, injuries, or trip partner changes come your way. Make changes, adapt, and hold on to your trip time. Don’t not go.
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