UpNorthica

Spend a few days with the Gear Junkie, and you’ll become inspired to experience the outdoors actively, to accept challenge eagerly, and to live your life superlatively. Kinda like how they do in them crazy 80’s Mountain Dew commercials (see this, this, and O yes Lord! this.)

The final day of our Choose Your Own Adventure vacation with the Gear Junkie, proves to be the perfect launch pad for all that extremey inspiration. We’re kayaking ginormous Raystown Lake in the heart of the Alleghenies, and you’ve voted that I should pull a stupid stunt, just like in those vintage Dew ads.

So throw on your Daisy Dukes and read on for the full story and an ice cold 12-pack of pics!

We’d spent our last night at the cozy log-built Bittersweet Lodge. Though enjoying the sunrise from our picture window, I’m still a little wistful about not seeing any wild boar during the trip. Suddenly, I spot a large grey fox loping across the meadow! I get a good, long look at him and marvel at the timing, the providence of this moment. Living superlatively, indeed.

Our travel companion Todd Lepley drives us into town. Todd’s career is as a writer for the agency promoting the area’s outdoor attractions. He’s known as “Mister Alleghenies,” in fact. But his real life is spent out here in the mountains; fly-fishing, paddling and hiking every square inch of the region. Todd has been great company to us all; he’s one of the most affable, genuine guys we’ve ever met.

We grab breakfast at a local diner. Highlights include fried potatoes, sweet potato pancakes, a cookie-dough latte, and that most regrettable of Pennsylvania Dutch delicacies, scrapple. Think liver paté, crossed with a Jimmy Dean sausage patté. I eat most of it, and Stephen (the Gear Junkie) takes a bite too — you know, accepting challenges eagerly and all that.

Awaiting us at Raystown Lake is Paul Dunkelbarger, our paddling guide from Rothrock Outfitters. I’m excited about doing my stunt, and I’ve already done my homework on that.

Yesterday, I’d asked about potential locations: Are there any rope swings overhanging the lake? Any precarious cliffs from which to recklessly hurl my body?

Oh yes, we’ll pass some cliffs perfect for that. There’s one spot about 50 feet high; just below it is a white pine that juts out 9 feet or so. Leap out far enough, and you’ll feel the needles tickling your back as you plummet downwards.

AWESOME! YES! That’s just the kind of imbecilic feat I’m looking for.

We set out to explore all we can on our last day. The still waters mirror the soaring hillsides and mists high above. Far below us, we’re told, are the remains of a small town abandoned when the Army Corps flooded this valley in ’73. Later, I also learn that lurking somewhere below is Raystown Ray, a legendary Loch Ness creature. I imagine he’ll be hankerin’ for fresh white meat on this day. Maybe a nice soft drink to wash it down…

Paddling leisurely, we admire stratified rock formations and watch ospreys dive after fish. Paul gives helpful tips on paddling form as we trace the contours of the shoreline.

Then I see the cliffs and I’m done being leisurely.

“Yeah, that’s the spot, up above that tree sticking out.” says Paul. From down at water level, it looks more than cool; it’s downright Country Cool. AWESOME! YES! I clamber up a rough billy goat path, nearing the ledge almost a minute later.

“No, you gotta go back around and up; it’s higher…” he shouts from below. Kinda way-y-y below.

I finally reach the spot. I peer over the edge and immediately drop a DEWce in my shorts.

AWFUL! NO! I’m more like 60 feet up and the tree reaches closer to 11 feet out from the cliff wall below. Cameras are rolling and the pressure’s on. But then I think of my wife. My kids. My man parts. Straddling that pine is only one of a dozen deaths that are flashing before my eyes now. I am literally afraid for my life, here.

“That’s pretty high up, Andy.” says Stephen. The gravity of his simple comment sinks in. Paul throws me a line, suggesting I try the 35-foot jump over yonder, which with its pretty rocks is more photogenic anyhow. I take the bait, but wonder how to ‘extremify’ that option a little more.

“Does anyone have a Mountain Dew they can toss, that I can maybe catch in mid-jump?” Of course they don’t.

Just then, I notice the silver metallic glint of something discarded under a nearby tree. And there I find it: the true Badge of Dishonor for all good ol’ boy shenanigans gone wrong.

A can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. YEE-HAW!

As I take flight off the stony crag; as my body sails through the frosty November air, glistening can in hand; as I anticipate colliding with the icy, jewel-toned waters… there is a song in my mouth.

Not a ludicrous song about “Dewin’ it Country Cool” or PBRing me ASAP. It’s about experiencing the outdoors deliberately, come freezing weather or stifling heat. About taking the challenge before you, even if the jaws of unknown monsters are gaping beneath you. It’s a song about living superlatively and tilting your head way back to drink the last drop of goodness from each day.

I like to think of it as the Gear Junkie song — my Gear Junkie song. And it sounds something like this:

“EEEEE-YEEEAAAAAAAAHHHAAAAARRRRRRRRGH!”