September 4, 2007: Ross Lake, Washington

Taking a miniscule inflatable raft loaded with four days of supplies and camping gear for a two hour journey on one lake, a mile portage, then another two hour ride on a second lake to an out-of-the-way campground seemed like a good idea at the time. Pleasant, even. In my mind I pictured Diana in a bikini sitting in the bow of the boat under the hot sun squealing in mock terror as the occasional wave misted over the bow of the boat while we roared across the lake, a huge rooster tail in our wake. Like a music video set in Miami. The fact that we were on the opposite side of the country from Miami, had a 3 horse Johnson outboard, and that Diana does not, under any circumstances, "squeal" in mock terror did nothing to dispel my fantasy. Too bad the reality almost turned into our version of the Perfect Storm.

Every Memorial Day weekend a group of Diana's friends makes their way to Ross Lake in Washington -- a National Recreation Area requiring passes and accessible only by boat or hiking. Hemmed in by 10,000 foot peaks on the eastern side of the Cascades, Ross Lake is a narrow, 21-mile finger of water pointing into Canada. There are no cars, no houses, and no Costco on the corner. Other than the motorboats rented by a small lodge, no engines can be heard. Ross Lake is, understandably, popular with the canoe and kayak set.

Most people hike the mile in (downhill) from the highway holding their boat of choice aloft, or hire a boat from the lodge which will also taxi people to and from the various campsites. In an effort to avoid both hiking and paying the extortionate rate for a water taxi, we chose the more adventurous option of boating across a neighboring lake and portaging over to Ross Lake. With an inflatable raft and outboard at our disposal, why not?

Why not, indeed. It took under 5 minutes to inflate the raft with a foot pump and over 2 hours and 5 minutes to try and make everything fit in it. The raft was clearly 10 feet too small. In the end, we perched precariously on the pontoons and set off -- hours behind schedule.

Not quite a pleasure yacht:
It was a glorious voyage until we rounded the corner of the dock and were promptly assaulted with gale force gusts. Wind was whipping the lake into a frenzy of white peaked waves that broke over the bow of the raft, soaking us with spray. Our little motor barely provided enough power to move through the surge and was completely helpless against the gusts that pushed the inflatable to right angles of our intended course. It was like trying to drive a bathtub across the high seas during a hurricane. Except for the small detail that the high seas were mere 6-inch wavelets.

The raging wavelets were still high enough to crash repeatedly over the bow, however, and my toes soon became squishy as an alarmingly large amount of the lake collected inside the raft. We had no bail bucket, of course (no room for one, anyway). Thinking fast, Diana grabbed my beloved Death Ride water bottle which I carry everywhere with me and started bailing. It was a bit of a David vs Goliath contest. In a moment of clarity I realized how ridiculous we looked: two people perched on a tiny, overloaded raft blown around by a light wind in oversized ripples using a water bottle to bail out the boat. I couldn't help laughing when a light rain started falling.

It was funny for the first 20 minutes -- especially when we found ourselves locked in a dead heat with a two person kayak (they must have been incredibly annoyed with the whine of our straining motor pacing them). As 20 minutes stretched into an hour then 2 hours and we were wet and cold and had not even made it halfway, it was a lot less fun. Just about the time we were considering returning to the dock we rounded a corner into a gorge that led to the portage site and found ourselves mercifully protected from the wind. Hallelujah. I was just excited that I could open up the motor full throttle.

Forty-five minutes of blessedly calm water later, the engine started to sputter and ran out of gas. Luckily, we a) had a small gas can with us and b) were about 100 feet from the portage point. We hauled out the oars, discovering to our chagrin we made much better time rowing then we did using the motor. At least we had made it halfway!

After a 20 minute search to find the alleged "conveniently located phone" to call about a portage, we settled in to wait for our transport. A couple of kayakers turned up and admired our raft. "Great idea!" they exclaimed, apparently not noticing that we were soaking wet and shivering. They were clearly excited about the concept of a motor. I gave a non-committal grunt in response, deciding not to point out that the shape of a kayak is much more efficient in water than a tiny outboard motor attached to a bathtub. I got some satisfaction out of hearing them grunt when they helped load the raft onto the transport truck -- it was quite a bit heavier than their sleek kayaks.

Remarkably, Ross Lake was mostly calm and there was even a little bit of sun when we arrived after a slow mile in granny gear on the portage truck.

No raging waters here!What a difference a mile makes! Energized once again, we fired up our deathtrap and headed toward our campsite, trying to mentally block out the obnoxious whine of the motor in the stillness by looking at the scenery.
It was with a huge sense of relief that we finally docked at our campsite in late afternoon.

Evening views from the campground dock:

We had managed to survive the storm, arrange for portage, and, most importantly, we had not lost a single beer. I promptly opened one in celebration. Let the weekend begin!