The Willamette Bikeraft
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Last weekend marked the completion of our first 2022 microadventure: The Willamette Bikeraft. While an adventurous spirit is a prerequisite for any of these undertakings, this one required an extra helping of grit due to the freezing fog that enveloped us for the better part of our journey.
mi·cro·ad·ven·ture (noun): an overnight adventure that begins and ends at home.
First - what the heck is “bikerafting”? In short, bikerafting is a multi-sport adventure that involves biking on land with an ultralight inflatable raft strapped to your bike (or carried in a backpack) and then paddling on water with your bike strapped to the raft. If you’ve ever done any river floats you may be familiar with the logistical nightmare that is car shuttling. Bikerafting cuts out the need for any shuttling and turns you into an amphibious superhero.
Like all microadventures, our trip started at home. River access is just a couple of miles away, and I estimated our camp to be a one hour paddle from the put-in, which turned out to be spot on. One minor detail that I had not considered in the planning stage was the fact that the beaches I’m familiar with in the summer are under water in the winter. The winter river flow is several feet higher (and swifter) but we were lucky to find a small eddy at the base of the trail below our intended campsite. We dragged our gear up the steep muddy trail, found a lovely campsite with a fire ring, and had just enough daylight to set up the tent and get a fire started.
Immediately all of our gear started to collect a layer of frost, and the fog hadn’t even rolled in yet. The fire kept us warm-ish (and cooked our foil dinners), but I was already thinking about and planning for the cold, wet morning. With all of our gear stashed inside the tent or under the rain fly, we fell asleep under a crisp starry sky with the sound of the river lulling us into our half-sleep.
As expected, the starry sky was replaced with a thick layer of fog in the morning. I hung around camp long enough to drink a hot cup of coffee and pack up, anxious to finish the next two legs of the trip and get home to a hot breakfast. It was immediately obvious upon getting back on the water that I was under-dressed - my hands and face were painfully cold. But not painful enough to detract from the eerie and beautiful solitude of the river. The limited visibility and birds appearing and disappearing out of the fog was magnificent. I alternated between paddling hard and swishing my gloved hands in the water to warm them up. After an hour of this we made it to the take-out and I set about transitioning from a paddler to a cyclist.
The fog followed us onto land, and we pedaled the 10 miles home along country roads that seemingly stretched to nowhere. We passed horses & goats, saw the occasional Sunday driver, climbed up and over hills, and eventually rolled into town and arrived back home.
All in all we were gone for about 20 hours and spent 2 hours in the boat and 1 hour on the bike. I’m sure the temperature dropped below 25°F, and the fog (aka atmospheric lake) made it even colder. Why go out at all in these conditions, let alone overnight? If you can look past the physical discomfort, there is something very special and unique about winter overnights. It doesn’t take much to get a sense for this - just go out for a hike at night in the dead of winter. It’s piercingly quiet and beautiful. You’ve got the place to yourself. There’s a sense of accomplishment for overcoming the allure of your warm home to experience something different. Would I do it again? Absolutely - I’m already looking forward to February’s microadventure.
Trip Stats
Bike: 12 miles, 500’ elevation gain
Paddle: 10 miles, flat water
