Speeding Ticket

In 2012, I had my first experience packrafting in preparation for and during Untamed New England. I researched extensively and, unwilling to spend as much as we’d need to for the Rolls Royce of Packrafting (Alpacka), Abby and I settled on packrafts from Flyweight a respectable, lightweight boat that sounded like it was one small step down from Alpacka.

One long four day race later, we both said we’d never race in anything but an Alpacka again. The Flyweight wasn’t a bad boat, but as it turned out, nothing compares to an Alpacka, nothing. Especially when you are racing and time actually matters.

So it was that Abby and I settled on investing in a new packraft for Expedition Alaska. We elected to go all in this time and we began saving for our new boat back in the winter. Finally, this past week it arrived, the incredible Alpacka Gnu, a two person raft…or rather canoe…black as midnight, sleek as our dog Lupine, a true marvel of maritime engineering.

I had actually pulled out the old flyweight a week before for a training day, in which I logged just about 2.5 miles in 95 minutes or so. I had a blast, but I was eager to see how the Gnu would perform by comparison.

So, yesterday, after finishing work, I walked out behind my school, inflated our new boat and jumped in. I had no idea what to expect, and I had about 4 hours maximum before I had to come back to pick Zoe up from daycare, so I had staged my car a ways down-creek unsure if I could make it all the way home, a distance of 8-9 miles by boat and another couple of miles by foot home once I’d packed up (turns out, I could have done it).

Immediately I knew we had invested in the right boat. Even without Abby in the bow, I was moving like a hare compared to my old boat, and the bow tracked as easily as if I was paddling a standard touring kayak. The Gnu took the small rapids on the creek easily, it responded instantly and precisely, and less than 50 minutes after starting, I’d covered the same distance I had in my old boat the week before.

Two hours later, I floated across the boundary of Wissahickon, the iconic urban park in the northern limits of Philadelphia. I had been having a blast, and as I floated within 100 meters of my car, I elected to continue on for a while longer before returning to the car by foot. I also happened to notice a park ranger’s SUV stopped on Forbidden Drive, the all-purpose trail perched above the creek. For a moment, I paused, something telling me to pull off and get out.

No worries, I told myself. If the ranger was concerned he or she surely would have already called out. I continued my journey down the beautiful Wissahickon creek.

But half a mile later, there were the rangers, one of them beckoning me to shore.

A long questioning ensued:

“Where did you start?” the lead ranger did a double take when I told her I started 6 or so miles up-creek.

“Where are you getting out?” she didn’t seem to care that my car was within a few minutes of us at that moment.

“How long is your boat?” she inquired, eying my strange, inflatable craft. I swear she was willing it to grow to 14 or so feet when I estimated it at seven or eight.

“Do you know people die in here all the time?” I nodded, privately steaming as I know that’s not exactly true. Every few years, yes, people die…jumping off a cliff. Something I’d never do under the specific circumstances surrounding the local swim hole, “Devil’s Pool”. And every once in a while, someone does die boating…in the Schulykill River…when they go over the dams…I wasn’t on the river. And I don’t particularly like paddling over dams.

Still, the writing was on the wall, so I merely nodded, quietly apologizing as I said I was not aware boating was not allowed within the confines of Fairmount Park. I really didn’t know that.

And then she asked me for my PFD. My whistle. My throw bag. I stared at her. I had a whistle, even tooted it for her. But the rest? Nope. I knew I was in trouble with the PFD. But the throw bag? I guess if I fell out I could have thrown it to myself…

And so, I was issued a 75 dollar ticket. When I asked the second ranger, who seemed chagrined as his colleague brusquely read me my rights to either accept the charge or contest it, an action necessitating an appearance before a judge…When I asked him in a deflated voice if a warning wouldn’t cut it, he responded sheepishly: “Sorry, you don’t have a PFD. You could have killed yourself. Have to give you a ticket.” Shame on me. I almost asked him if I could simply pay myself since I owed it to myself not to be so brash. Instead I bit my tongue again.

He was nice enough. He was genuinely impressed with both the distance I’d paddled but also by the boat, it’s inflation bag, the fact that it fit in my backpack. He wanted to chat. But I think he could see that I wasn’t exactly thrilled with the bill his partner was filling out for me, and he finally ambled back up to the truck.

I felt about as deflated as my brand new packraft, which was, by this point stashed away in my pack with my paddle and the rest of my kit. I sat on the grass, eating a bit of food, pondering a world where a solo boater gets ticketed for simply enjoying being outside. I wasn’t hurting anyone, and in fact, from looks and questions I get from bystanders when I boat (anywhere, in any boat) most people seem enthralled by the daydream of drifting down local waterways in watercraft, an escape so few people actually get to enjoy.

Instead, I was read my rights, fined and sent on my way with lectures about drowning, hypothermia, and risk-taking.

I regret not having the PFD. I understand that laws exist saying boaters must have them in the same way that a passenger in a car must wear a seat belt. But to be treated as if I had committed a crime (maybe I did technically?) when I was simply basking in the great outdoors? I was left fuming for the rest of the day. Fuming and depressed.

But then I’d remember how wonderful the Alpacka was and how wonderful it will be to race with it in Alaska where people encourage you to get out there and enjoy the natural wonders, big and small, that the world offers. As much as I enjoyed my old Flyweight, the Gnu is something else, and it’s oh so fast. And now I’m wondering if that’s why the state rangers pulled me over. I was just floating too damned fast.