Alpacka packrat
Is the Alpacka Raft the real deal? by Eugene Buchanan first appeared in June '07 Canoe & Kayak
“Cool tent,” said my friend
Bill Gamber. “Who makes it?”
His interest in the rolled-up UPS parcel
was natural; he runs a tent company
called Big Agnes, and the 4-pound bundle
of nylon in my office was lighter than many
of his offerings.
“It’s not a tent,” I answered, unfurling
the contents over the floor. “It’s a new type
of raft.”
Spilled onto the carpet, the raft’s crinkly,
lightweight material didn’t look suitable
for life outside the kiddie pool, let alone
the wilderness. But I knew differently. Designed
by an adventure-minded Alaskan
grandmother named Sheri Tingey, the ultra-
light Alpacka raft is opening the backcountry
to unprecedented exploration.
"I was a full-grown man wearing a bathtub in public"
In 2005, five climbers packrafted into the Yukon Territory’s
famed Cirque of the Unclimbables, carrying everything they
needed—from provisions to ropes—for a 20-day dual-sport adventure.
And this summer, Erin McKittrick and Brent Higman will
take pack rafts on a 4,000-mile hiking/packrafting/skiing journey
from Seattle to the Aleutians. “You can’t carry a kayak over a
mountain,” maintains Higman, who also used the boats on a 450-
mile tour in Alaska’s Bristol Bay.
But paddling is believing. So I concocted a plan to see if this
Lilliputian craft is as burly, packable, and nimble as all the converts
claim it to be. Problem was, I was operating on a half-day
Dad window, it was March, and the Colorado mountains were still
covered in snow. Then the lightbulb flashed: a first-ever skate ski/
raft circumnavigation of my hometown’s lesser-known ski area,
Howelsen Hill, out my backdoor—just the sort of wacky trip for
which the Alpacka raft was designed. Itinerary filed with the appropriate
authorities (my wife), I loaded my drysuit, raft, PFD, and
breakdown paddle into a backpack and skied southeast from my
home over a nearby ridge. Once off the groomed Nordic trails, I
traversed off-piste down to the river.
I felt dorky inflating the Alpacka next to a couple of earlyseason
fishermen, and dorkier still lashing my skis atop it and
climbing inside. There was no way around it: I was a full-grown
man wearing a bathtub in public. Like most newbie packrafters,
I couldn’t help but giggle, not so much from the absurdity of my
adventure but from the craft’s cartoonish looks.
This, of course, is part of the pack raft’s appeal. “There’s something
almost childlike about them, like a glorified inner-tube you
can actually control,” says Tingey, who is as surprised as anyone
at her invention’s rising popularity. “People tell me they take them
back to feeling like a kid again.” Tingey, an experienced seamstress,
invented the Alpacka in 2000 when her son, Thor, asked
her to build an ultra-light, packable, high-performance boat for
a trip in the Brooks Range. She built Thor his boat, and stitched
about 30 more as word spread. In 2002, she began outsourcing
production. Vancouver’s Feathercraft makes them now, and the
packraft I was wearing is a fifth-generation vessel.
I bounced off a few snowbanks as if they were aufeis in the
Arctic, testing the durability of my raft’s urethane-coated nylon
skin. My main concern is that the craft has only one air chamber,
but it paid the abrasion no mind. Next, I scraped over some
cobblestones in the shallows to test Tingey’s claim that her rafts
draw only three inches of water when loaded. Charlie’s Hole, a
frothy, riverwide hydraulic near the town library, provided the final
challenge. Fisherman gawked and people on the bike path rubbernecked,
but I made it through just fine.
Circumnavigation accomplished, I rolled up the raft, shouldered
my skis, and hiked the two blocks home. I had traveled a
circle of about five miles door-to-door. It was a far cry from Dial’s
exploits, or the ‘round-the-world packraft trip being undertaken
by Thai Verzone, but it proved to me, at least, that Alpacka rafts
are the real deal and packrafting is, indeed, a legitimately novel
way to explore new waterways.
It proved it to my friend Bill, too, who happened to be
driving by while I was hiking home. “Way to go, Eug,” he
shouted from his window. “Looks like people really are taking
those things everywhere.”
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