Gorpcore's Older, Dirtier, Rambunctious Brother Should Be Your New Style Inspiration.
I went rafting down the Grand Canyon: I didn't intend to find fresh new style inspiration, but what I found was enthralling.
Hi everyone!
It’s been a minute, hasn’t it? I’ve got good reason for disappearing; a college friend, Ash Pales, won a coveted noncommercial permit to raft the Grand Canyon and enlisted yours truly as one of her 15 companions. I intentionally didn’t bring my phone, computer, or any sort of electronic device. I wanted to unplug, get some space from some issues that plague my daily life in New York, and enjoy being in one of the most incredible places in the world.
I rowed boats and paddled kayaks across rapids that destroyed other trips; I shot across a rapid called Bedrock in an inflatable kayak (we called them Duckies) 30 minutes before the next trip took a haphazard line. A poor understanding of physics caused a med-evac: a man’s femur shot into his pelvic cavity after that same man thought he could stop a boat from running (at speed) into an enormous chunk of hardened metamorphic and igneous rock. I do not know how the man fared.
I swam (read: flipped my ducky nearly immediately) a class 4 rapid. I spent a terrifying few seconds being churned in the swirling blackness of the rapid before surfacing thanks to my personal floatation device (PFD). I, more pissed that I didn’t successfully ride the rapid than scared, swam through the rapid to my flipped vessel before the water could claim me or — more embarrassingly — someone came to save me. I learned that I’m more preoccupied with doing some right than I am with self preservation. Not too great but a cool realization.
I hiked to Mooney Falls and back in a thunderstorm; I ran down increasingly muddy trails as rain pounded me and the two others who had braved the 13 mile round-trip. We shivered — safely! — in the boat as the Grand filled with silt-filled, ochre water from the surrounding desert. We sang Umbrella by Rhianna as we made our way to camp to keep spirits high while my fingers and toes turned blue.
The Grand Canyon demands your attention. My not thinking about clothes shouldn’t come as a shock to anybody who’s visited the national park.
In New York, my usual routine in the morning does include a ten-to-fifteen minute consideration of an outfit; my routine on the Grand was to throw on the same stinky (everything I owned literally smelled like shit) shirt and pants and head off to shit in a bucket (hence the shit smell).
I wore a total of 11 pieces of clothing over the trip: this article is a love letter to those pieces and a discussion of a severely under-represented “style” within the current fashion landscape in the form of Gorpcore’s older, proto-hippie, adrenaline-junkie sibling, a style I’ll refer to henceforth as River Au Courant (get the pun? Like River Currant? I’m really good at this.)
Let’s start it off: what did I wear? Would I recommend any of it? Will any of it make it to my everyday rotation?
The Shirts:
Kuhl Drifter Shirt ($99):
Alright. Let me level with you. Nobody’s wearing these on the river except for the “newlyweds and nearly-deads”. I looked like a dork. That being said, this dork doesn’t play around about skin cancer. I wore this for the first 10-12 days of the trip until it started splitting. Is it a fantastic shirt for keeping the sun off of you? Yes! Is it easy to wash and quick to dry? Also yes! Will I ever wear it outside of a safari or a hike? Nope. I didn’t go on the trip to look cool, but I also should have packed more sunscreen and gone shirtless.
Mont Hiking Shirt ($79 back in 2019):
I got this while working on cattle ranches in Australia: see my previous comment about skin cancer, an affliction so common that most rural towns have a dedicated clinic. It works wonders as a hiking shirt and is fantastic as a fishing and rafting shirt, but makes you look like a tenured archeology professor (sans glasses). Again, function over form. I’m very happy I brought it, but would have done things differently had I done a few more river trips. More on this later.
Vintage 90’s Patagonia Beneficial T ($10, eBay):
This is my good luck charm. If I ever worry about catching a fish, I throw this on under my waders. It proved to work on the trip: I caught a ton of fish. It’s now covered in wine, toothpaste, fish scales, blood (both mine and not mine), dirt, and various food. Couldn’t be happier with it.
Vintage TNYA shirt ($4, Housing Works):
I think there’s some irony in a dude from the City flipping in his first 3 rapids and throwing on a “Team New York Aquatics” shirt around the fire as he battles hypothermia. Call it fitting, I call it a stellar grab from the Upper West Side.
All in all: pack sunscreen and a good skin cleanser instead of a ton of shirts. All the coolest people on the trip either ran the entire river shirtless or in vintage basketball jerseys (I’m serious, more on Brandon Roy later).
Pants/Shorts:
Patagonia Baggies ($69):
These are a fantastic short. Sorry, I won’t hear otherwise. They dry fast, you can freeball if you don’t rip out the mesh (don’t wear underwear on the river), and they’re comfortable. I threw these in my bag as swimming shorts and ended up wearing them on a couple of days.
Kuhl Deceptor Hiking Cargos ($99):
Stellar hiking pants. They look like something a dad would wear. Take that as you will. You will not catch me dead in these in New York given the pasty nature of my thighs and the knobby nature of my knees.
Daiwa Pier 39 Cargo Sweatpants ($160 in 2021):
I’m proud to say that these rock. I went through a MASSIVE Daiwa Pier39 phase in 2021/2022 and still stand by SOME of what they make. I think it’s the best company for cool fly fishing gear that isn’t vintage. The fabric choices are technical, seams are generally taped, zips work beautifully, and I haven’t managed to break a single pair save for a pre-owned pair of shorts I got off of Grailed for $40. I wore these every night and every morning on the trip. They’re cozy, have more pocket space than I knew what to do with, and look cool. Will I wear these out and about? Absolutely not. People that wear athleisure or sweatpants outside — or, even worse, to dinner — “gave up”, an adage passed down through my family and one that I still hold dear.
Shoes:
Reese Cooper Gore-Tex Uggs (I was gifted these, so $0):
I got these right before I left for my trip. I was skeptical. Gore-Tex Uggs sounds like something a drunk designer would come up with while playing Mad Libs. “Fuck it,” I figured, “worst case, I’ll give them away or donate them.”
I was blown away by these. Seriously. They’re a half size small (my fault), but they’re warm, actually waterproof, and saved my feet. I was the ONLY person on the trip to escape without scabs on my feet, cracking, or some form of damage. Putting these on after a day on the water was wonderful. I really cannot believe I’m saying this: these are a wonderfully functional shoe that well out-performed expectations. I’m sure other fashion dudes have worn them around the city, but I’m the only one to wear them through the Grand Canyon and sing their praises. Go show love to Pierce (the designer behind Uggs’ special projects) and Reese (the designer).
Astral Brewer 3.0 Water Shoes ($135):
Dork ass shoe. Saved my toes from breaking multiple times. Wear the dork ass shoe.
Salomon X Ultra Hiking Boots ($170):
I got these in 2022 when I decided to stop wearing Trail Runners. I couldn’t be happier with their performance. ~500 miles of trail later and the plastic is starting to peel, probably because of the rapid wetting and drying cycles moreso than the build. My advice: go get fit for shoes. Ask the old dude what he suggests. Don’t buy fashion boy hiking boots if you really want to hike in them. Anybody spending money on “luxury” hiking boots is a poser. You’re paying more to get rid of important function (in most cases, but not all), and you’re robbing yourself from the best thing about hiking boots: running around like a crazy person on hikes. I swim in these boots, hike in these boots, sleep in these boots (alcohol-induced cat nap, not voluntary), and love these boots, even if they aren’t the trendy pick of the moment.
Fits Wool Socks ($21):
I will sing the praises of Fits socks until the cows come home. They’re a stellar merino wool: comfortable as hell, warmer than a bowl coming out of the microwave, and versatile as anything else I own. I get shit for looking like Oliver Twist when I wear my wader socks with anything that shows that they go allllll the way up (calm down, ladies and gentlemen). They also last forever - I got my pairs in 2023 and wear them religiously.
That’s everything I wore on the trip. Seriously. Two hats not included, but who’s counting.
So, what do the dyed-in-the-wool River folks wear? What is River Au-Courant? Who are these people?
Ash linked up with a group of professional rafters to round out the group of 16. They’re talented, confident, and kind people who care just as much about everyone being safe as they do about having as much fun as possible. They’re quick with a joke and faster with a dirty one. They’re unabashed about their love for Miller High Life, Keystone Light, and Coors Light (“it’s fun to drink a lot of beer,” explained Reed, one of the guides when I asked him why he didn’t get my beloved Modelo). I don’t think any of them give a single shit what Hedi Slimane is doing right now.
They wore some really cool shit.
Josh, one of the guides, wore a vintage Brandon Roy Blazers jersey he’d pulled from the lost and found. The letters fell off and the jersey reads “RTLA 7”. There are no letters on the back.
It’s one of the coolest jerseys I’ve ever seen.
All of the guides use flip lines or cam straps as belts; again, function before form. Leather wouldn’t work (even though they got a lot less wet than I did) and you’re bound to lose weight over the course of the trip. The adjustable not-belts-but-belts make it easy to keep shorts up, are easily accessed if a boat DOES flip (not a single guide flipped a boat for a total of 6 Golden Runs), and provide an easy way to tie up to fiends without having to dig through bags for straps.
Fishing shorts are popular. Huk and Salzinger tennis shorts until they started falling apart from overuse, impact, and stress from damage accumulated over previous trips. I saw a lot of ballsack and butthole as crotch stitching gave way. One of the guides, Chris, wore a pair of Bucee’s shorts for almost the entire trip.
There were cult-favorites in the rafting community as well. Every guide had something from the in-person-apppintment-only Melanzana, the Leadville, CO-based company who might have want you want, doesn’t take online orders, and will discontinue fan-favorite colors without warning or fanfare.
Many of the guides had pro deals with Astral or Kokakat or NRS. Despite the access, gear was rarely anywhere close to deadstock, adding to my admiration and appreciation (if you’re new, I LOVE clothing that’s been beat to shit). Some cool items may not be able to be worn outside of the river, adding to their weird allure: water shoes like these from Astral have soles that grind to nothing.
There’s something interesting in knowing you couldn’t remove something out of its intended context. Gorpcore is attainable, with or without engagement of the activity. Office siren or office-core is easily mimicked (provided you have the money) by those who don’t work in financial services or advertising. River-wear necessitates participants to get wet, get drunk, and get blasted by the sun: it’s incredibly obvious when someone’s a weekend warrior.
The only way to gain respect from the guides is to run rapids, take risks, and party your ass off. The clothes — or lack thereof — don’t look good unless you’re tan, sun-scorched, and coming off of an adrenaline rush. I firmly believe that the guides looked cool because the last thing on their minds was the ‘fashion’ of it all. The strict, obsessive, laser-focus on the river, rapids, and getting absolutely faded to the point of eyes being unable to focus (after the work was done) trumped any preoccupation with color combinations, “trompé lœil”, or pant/shoe interaction.
At the core of my love for this is a deep respect for those who truly commit to something and let their clothing serve them rather than the inverse. Passion is cool. Talent is cool. Pantomime isn’t cool. Pretending isn’t cool.
Clothes aren’t the only things I noticed. Accessories are cool when they aren’t just silver jewelry. Reed and Sonja, a couple, wore one-of-one Māori hooks made from jade that had been blessed on the Tongariro (if memory serves) in New Zealand and guaranteed safe passage over water. Both of them never came close to flipping a boat. Cool sunglasses are a must; everyone either had a time-honored pair or a relatively new pair — one guide, Jeremy, had four different pairs of Pit Vipers. Costumes are also essential. We threw over eight theme nights ranging from “Catalina Wine Mixer” (white shirts, bagged wine, and a lot of screaming “POW!”) to Caturday (meow). Guides brought dedicated costume bags for these nights.
What am I saying here? “Why do we care about clothes and accessories that we can’t really wear?” readers may wonder. “How can I look cool with a new niche fashion style?”
My answer, dear reader, is that you might not be able to use any of the items here without — as I think I did — looking like a goober. However, you can go out and experience the beautiful national park system. You can apply for the Grand Canyon permit and have the experience for yourself (if you’re lucky). You can nearly drown yourself and reckon with death, hike to a barely-visited waterfall, see a great blue heron, and get fried by the desert sun. You can change your outlook on the world, get some perspective on your life, and care a little bit less about how dirty your clothes get, just as I did.
What did I focus on, if not what I wore? What else did I learn? What grand revelations did I have while in a deeply sacred, beautifully preserved, near-holy land?
I could wax poetic about how I feel more calm than ever before, how magical it is to truly unplug, or how incredible rowing a boat feels. However, I’ll leave you with the craziest, most shocking one: I like light beer now.
Guides like to party. They have a deep reverence for both the river and the outdoors. They like taking drugs, drinking beer, country music, and encouraging one another. They have a disdain for anyone who “cheats the meat”, a practice where one skirts the heaviest part of a rapid in hopes of a dry or safe run. They’re a wonderful, warm group that loves what they do and looks cool because they love what they do.
It’s honestly shocking to me that they haven’t been covered for a style profile before. Within the rafting community, there are cult figures (like the legendary Tommy Guns, who everyone seems to know), iconic looks (again, like Tommy Guns), and wardrobe staples (like Melanzana). These guides are much more fun, much more entertaining, and much more likely to be doing something wild while still doing it with skill than their hiking, skiing, or climbing counterparts.
Don’t believe me? I watched as a boat of guides rode a class 4 rapid while one shotgunned a beer, one twerked, one “surfed” (stood up on the boat while getting slammed by the rapid’s waves) and the last recorded the entire thing on a phone that somehow stayed dry.
I’m proud to have shared the river with some of these guides — I couldn’t operate on their level (they party much harder, take their craft more seriously, and have a bond deeper than most people and groups I meet in New York, and I’m not joking) but I do appreciate why they’re so fiercely protective of their passion and lifestyle. I write this article in hopes that others might discover the pastime rather than blowing up the spot and directing the locust swarm of fashion posers to the shiny, untouched source of fashion: if you read this, go outside, get dirty, and go for a swim.
glad to see you found ways to mew in the grand canyon