Once we included Mike Schonhofen’s
new internal X frame panel-loading packs in our Early Winters direct mail
catalog, the sales ramped up so fast we couldn’t keep up with the orders. More
accurately, Mike couldn’t keep up with the pack orders. He was still sewing
them all himself in his tiny little shop in the U District up on University
Way, and even though he worked long hours, there was simply a limit.
Nicolai had used Mike’s pack on our
1976 Ptarmigan Traverse, where we field-tested our first and the world’s first
Gore-Tex fabric mountain shell garments. And that pack, having proven itself to
us in the inclement weather of that difficult trip, was added to our product
assortment. We featured the Schonhofen Design panel-loading packs in our 1977
mail order catalog, and in short order, with a big assist from our customers,
created our little inventory problem.
Mike knew that I’d come knocking to
talk about our mutual problem. He wasn’t happy about the situation either, but
we had to work it out and agreed to meet at a University Way coffee shop. Over
eggs and bacon, I suggested that the expedient and perhaps ideal solution would
be to find another small shop that made packs with similar weight fabrics and
with similar sewing machines, a shop with some excess capacity that might
welcome some additional production work. That way Mike wouldn’t have to ramp up
with a bigger shop and more sewing machines.
Mike listened thoughtfully and,
without hesitation, concurred. The only such shop that came to my mind was
Rivendell Mountain Works. Rivendell made the Bomb Shelter Tent and the Jensen
Pack, a climber’s pack made with the same Cordura fabric that Mike used. That
Rivendell was already a well-respected outdoor company helped Mike agree to the
concept. I made a cold call to Larry Horton, the owner of Rivendell.
Fortunately, Larry was interested,
so we verbally outlined the basic plan and agreement. I booked our flight to
Rivendell. It was no ordinary flight. We regarded Jay Kelly as our designated
freelance small aircraft pilot for light and fast Early Winters flight
missions. I hired him and his Cessna 210 for the journey from Boeing Field to
the tiny airfield at Driggs, Idaho. Mike and I joined Jay, with a fourth
passenger, a 60” wide bolt of forest green Cordura pack cloth, and we lifted
off from Boeing Field and headed east towards the Tetons.
Our feelings on the flight ranged
from a measured calm to giddy anticipation. We looked forward to the potential
for success in the pack contracting venture. And hoped for the chance to see
the magnificent Tetons from a small plane. We planned to fly close to the
jagged snow-covered peaks. That would come later after we talked shop.
We landed at the rural airport in
Driggs, Idaho, where Larry waited for us with his red Honda Civic. Greeting us
warmly, Larry helped us struggle the big bolt of nylon Cordura cloth into his
tiny car. Mike and I both noticed the interior of the Civic. The seats were covered, reupholstered with
the same burnt orange corduroy fabric that Larry used on the body-facing side
of his Jensen Packs. Very distinctive.
We expected that Larry would drive
us straight from Driggs to Victor, Idaho, and the Rivendell Mountain Works
factory. Larry sped away from the airfield and then, several miles later,
suddenly lurched to the side of the road and stopped. He opened his door and,
without a word, jogged into what looked like barren farmland.
Mike and I sat and looked at each
other dumbfounded as Larry squatted down and began digging in the dirt.
Completely perplexed, we both began having serious doubts about the whole
endeavor. Without a sound, his digging produced some brown objects that he
gently cradled in his hands as he made his way back to the car. They were
farm-fresh Idaho potatoes, handpicked for our dinner. We breathed a sigh of
relief.
On the way to the shop, Larry made
another stop. He headed over to his house to drop off the potatoes, and as we
pulled into the driveway, an attractive, athletic blonde-haired young woman was
tossing a pair of skis, Larry’s skis, from her car into the front yard.
Our first encounter with Betty,
Larry’s live-in girlfriend, perplexed us both. She barely acknowledged us as
she turned, whipped open the door to her car, got in, slammed it shut, and
peeled out of the driveway. She was angry about something, but it didn’t seem
to impact Larry. He seemed completely unperturbed.
After that incident, we finally
arrived at Rivendell Mountain Works, world headquarters, housed in a small,
repurposed white wood-frame structure that had once been a country church. It
no longer sported a tall narrow steeple, just a modest front portico that
welcomed us. The pews were long gone, now replaced by a long cutting table and
two aisles, each flanked with an array of specialty industrial sewing machines.
Completed Jensen Packs hung on the back wall where the altar and religious
artifacts once lived.
With five windows along each side of
the building and a dozen lamps hanging over the workspace, it was a well-lit
and cheerful space. We liked it immediately. Larry introduced us both to his
head seamstress, and we all gathered at the cutting table as Mike unfurled his
tag board pack patterns. A focused discussion of construction steps and methods
commenced.
Meanwhile, Jay was making some extra
money at the Driggs airfield. After getting checked out on the local tow plane,
he spent the better part of the day towing local glider pilots aloft.
Our production work at Rivendell
Mountain Works continued. The plan was that Larry would send sewn samples for
our approval and then commence production. After our work session, we rejoined
Jay to fly high in the Cessna and take an up-close and intimate aerial tour of
the Teton range.
The afternoon sun glinted off both
the snowy Teton peaks and the steady wings of the small white aircraft. The
weather was calm and accommodating, which allowed us to skim near the
shimmering white forms. Partially cloaked in snow and ice, the sharp granite
peaks dramatically pierced the cloudless cerulean sky. They appeared mythic and
magnificent. Jay flew closer, so close we could almost touch them. Breathless,
I imagined myself climbing them.
Little did I know that sometime
soon, Larry and I would climb the Grand Teton by one of its most famous routes.
But that was yet to come, beyond the present moment, but definitely on the
horizon.
This is an excerpt from ‘Flying to
Rivendell,’ an adventure story from my recently released memoir, Banquet
of the Infinite, which is now available as an eBook on Amazon, Barnes
& Noble, and Kobo.
