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A Walk from Crested Butte
Drew Smith writes about using public transit to make the travel to, from, and between trailheads more sustainable.
Drew Smith writes about using public transit to make the travel to, from, and between trailheads more sustainable.
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If one of your objectives in selecting a windshirt is eliminating moisture vapor, your selection should rely more heavily on Moisture Vapor Transmission Rate (MVTR) than Air Permeability Measurements (APM / CFM).
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Backpacking Light Theme Music (Look for Me in the Mountains)
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Credits:
Title: Look for Me in the Mountains
Type: Music
Written by: Chris Cunningham and Ryan Jordan
Performed by: Chris Cunningham (acoustic guitar, lead and harmony vocals, harmonica), Chad Langford (upright bass), and Tom Murphy (mandolin).
Produced by: Basecamp Studios in Bozeman, Montana
This music is commissioned work that is owned and is Copyright (C) Beartooth Media Group, Inc. d/b/a Backpacking Light. Distribution and licensing inquiries: publisher@backpackinglight.com.
Join us live online at our 2023 Tenkara Speaker Series with Karin Miller of Zen Tenkara. We’ll chat about catching big fish on tenkara, Zen Tenkara history and products, industry trends, and what’s next in the world of tenkara, and end with a live audience Q&A!
The live stream of this event is open to the public. In addition, the recorded version will be made publicly available here for about 24 hours following the event. After that, the recorded event will be available to all enrolled participants in the Backcountry Tenkara Masterclass.
Join us live online at our 2023 Tenkara Speaker Series. The second event will feature Karin Miller of Zen Tenkara. We’ll chat about how to land big fish on a tenkara rod, Zen Tenkara history and products, industry trends, and what’s next in the world of tenkara, and end with a live audience Q&A!
James Montavon discusses giving back to the trail community through his experience volunteering with the Colorado Trail Foundation.
In yet another heroic feat, our Toyota Corolla made it all the way up the rocky road to the trailhead. However, there was no chance of us driving into the campground, so we grabbed our packs and walked into camp. We met Glenn, a veteran trail crew leader for decades, and the camp cook, Betsy. We set up our tent in a small clearing surrounded by mushrooms. We met our neighbors – downstream was Pat from Kansas City, and closer to the road were Natalie and William from Boulder. Everyone meandered to the pair of big canvas tents as a light misty rain started- rain that would stay with us for most of the next week. We met more of our fellow crew members, a mix of first timers, like us, and some who had joined a crew or two every summer for decades.
I first hiked through this exact spot two years earlier on my thru hike of the Colorado Trail. Near the end of the Collegiate Peaks Wilderness Area, I had arrived at the trailhead to find beautiful trail magic of cold drinks, fresh fruit, and conversation with a trail angel. I resolved then to come back to this spot and pay it forward to future classes of hikers, and had returned with my wife Liz to give some trail magic the year before. This time, however, we were joining a volunteer trail crew with the Colorado Trail Foundation (CTF) for a week of rerouting switchbacks, clipping willows, and building a new bridge. We were aiming to complete a realignment before the already-announced Grand Opening at the end of the week.
Once the whole crew was gathered, Glenn gave us all the brief, going over our goals and plans for the week, as well as logistics like camp chores and meal times. We went over the basics of trail maintenance, with a safety brief and set of instructions for each tool.

The next morning, we split into two groups – Brooks, another trail crew leader, would take eight volunteers to clip back the willows and redig the drainages for a section of trail. The remaining dozen climbed up to the top of the pass to rework some eroding switchbacks. My wife and I were in the second group, so we donned our green Colorado Trail Foundation helmets, grabbed a pair of tools, and started up the 3.5 mile trail from the campground to the 12,000 foot pass.
We climbed an old railroad grade up the side of the valley to the old tunnel, then up steep switchbacks the last half mile. We dropped our tools and caught our breath as the crew leaders showed us what they envisioned for our work. Once ready, we grabbed our tools and started moving some dirt.

A well built trail must contend with its arch nemesis: water. The area which we were working had recently failed the test of summer rains and snow melt, turning into a flash-flood carved mud canyon dropping steeply down the side of the mountain. This can happen when the angle of the trail is too close to the fall line – the path water takes when flowing downhill. Our mission was to create a new set of switchbacks which would live in better harmony with the watershed of the pass, allowing water to flow over the side of the trail instead of flowing down the middle of it.

We started on the grassy section, building a new track that sloped in just the right way to allow water to run off the trail rather than run down the trail. We removed the spongy organic matter, then filled in the tread with mineral soil from a “borrow pit”, a hidden hole we had dug for such a purpose. Pick mattocks and pickaxes cut the sod, shovels and Mcleods moved dirt and pounded in the new tread, and rockbars removed the rocks in our way. All the while we filled in the old water-worn tread. While we had learned the terminology in the brief, we began to understand the big ideas of trail maintenance: the proper angle for the backslope, the necessity of a well built critical edge. Our crew leaders helped us get the right angles and taught us the tricks of the trade – if you can’t stand your Mcleod on the new tread, it’s too steep!

We soon had extended our new track to the rocky section, the spot the former trailbuilders were no doubt attempting to avoid with their original steeper path. Our progress slowed considerably as we wrestled with the granite and found a way around the biggest boulders. By the time we had established a foothold in the rocks, it was time to take advantage of some brief sun and break for lunch.

After some afternoon progress into the rocks, we stashed most of our tools in the bushes and hiked back down to base camp, admiring the willow-cutting work of the other team along the way. After accounting for people and tools, we broke for the afternoon. Liz identified the mushrooms around our campsite with her foraging books as I read in our tent. Soon enough the dinner bell rang, and we all lined up to receive the meal Betsy and her helpers had for us.

Trail maintenance is in many ways the antithesis of backpacking light – a base camp full of camper trailers, heavy equipment, low miles. We spent four or five hours working, plus an hour commute each way, then spent the rest of time hanging out with the crew in camp. I was expecting more Colorado Trail finishers, but our group was made of people of all walks of life. Most had volunteered with multiple crews before but had little to no experience backpacking on the trail. However, everyone seemed to share the same sentiment: “How lucky are we, that we get to spend a week in this breathtaking place?”
We continued working on the new switchback, pounding a pair of flat rock steps out with various hammers before turning the tread back into the sod. We cut drainage spouts, so any water that did take the trail would only go a few feet before escaping off the side of the mountain. One morning, we watched and listened to a herd of elk move along the ridge on the opposite edge of the valley, and we were joined at the worksite every day by Yellow-bellied Marmots, Magpies, Ravens, Pika, and even a glimpse of some species of mustelid, likely an American Ermine or Long-tailed Weasel.

After three days of work, our new switchback was complete- and not a moment too soon. As soon as we had picked up the last of the flags and tools and started our trek back to base camp, a thunderstorm rolled up onto the pass and chased us down. We tossed our iron tools and ran for the treeline, huddling under the biggest spruce trees we could find. Glenn claims he set the world record for Mcleod Toss when he heard the first thunder crack directly overhead. I felt like a turtle retreating inside my shell as the hail pelted my helmet and backpack.
The storm was as short as it was intense, and soon we were cautiously making our way down again. We collected the tossed tools and accounted for everyone, then hiked into camp, still buzzing from the adrenaline rush. We passed a group of Continental Divide thru hikers who had set up a tiny tarp to weather the storm and invited them down to camp for dinner. As much as I love backpacking, it was very nice to have fresh, dry clothes and a good hot meal waiting for us. Over dinner we swapped stories of how we each experienced the storm. Soon, whiskey, wine and beer were produced and shared around the fire.

On Wednesday, the crew took our midweek day off, with almost everyone choosing to soak at Mount Princeton Hot Springs just down the mountain. A popular resupply and zero-day spot for thru hikers, we saw many backpackers laying their gear out to dry in the sun in the large lawn in front of the resort. Built just at the mouth of the canyon, there were various sizes of warm and hot man made pools. Some were built with kids and families in mind, with water slides and diving boards, while others were restricted to adults and had names like “Relaxation Pool.” We could also climb down into the rock pools, where ice cold Chalk Creek mixed with the hottest of the spring water. Moving your body a few inches left or right could change the temperature drastically, and there was an art to stacking the rocks to get just the right balance of hot and cold. As we basked in the sun and hot water, we watched cumulonimbus clouds build and burst on our worksite.

Thursday morning we drove back up to camp early in order to arrive before the food was packed up. While it was our third time driving up the canyon that week, we still marveled at the Chalk Cliffs that were created by mineral deposits from water heated by the same geologic feature that had heated our soaking pools the day before. We passed the ghost and semi-ghost towns, the mine tailings and abandoned equipment from the gold prospecting that had first carved a road up into the high country. We arrived at camp in time for a light breakfast and packed our snacks and sandwiches – me a peanut butter, banana and honey sandwich, Liz a more conventional PB&J.

Today we had a different job breakdown for the crew. With the switchback finished and the willows cut back on the rail-to-trail section, we had three groups. Glenn has a reputation for crews that build outstanding bridges, so he took the main group to replace an ailing bridge. A CTFÂ pickup met them with the lumber and heavier tools. A second group walked the realignment set for a Grand Opening on Saturday, removing stumps and cutting back trees. The standard for the Colorado Trail has horseback riders in mind, who require a much wider and taller tunnel than us bipedal trail users.
I went with the last group almost all the way up to the new switchback. The four of us worked our way downhill, fixing the areas that had been flagged by our crew leaders. We dug borrow pits to fill in holes in the railroad bed to the tune of Pika screams and Marmot whistles. The week of on-and-off rain showed areas where water was not draining off the trail as desired. We cleared old drains clogged with sediment and built new waterbars.

After fixing the last flagged spot in our jurisdiction, we met up with the group on the realignment and helped them finish up. This section of trail moved the Colorado Trail travelers off of the more trafficked rail-to-trail section earlier and removed the need for a tough road walk. We prettied up the section for the VIPs that would be coming on Saturday for the Grand Opening before returning to camp.
Glenn and friends soon returned from bridge building, and we hung out for a last night in camp. We had originally planned to work Friday and attend the Grand Opening on Saturday, but the crew had finished all necessary work by Thursday afternoon. Some stayed to hike in the area and attend the ribbon cutting, but we helped break camp and drove home early after receiving our Trail Crew Volunteer certificates and handshakes from Glenn.

There is something about looking back at your work and seeing the progress, seeing day hikers and thru hikers using the trail you helped build, that is good for my soul. I look forward to my next trail crew days this coming summer. Spending a week with people who love the outdoors enough to spend a week doing unpaid manual labor is a special opportunity. I encourage anyone who has a special connection with a trail or natural area to see what opportunities they have to give back- it may just be good for your soul, too.
How does vapor pressure differential influence condensation in tents?
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In this episode of the Backpacking Light Podcast, Ryan discusses ultralight first aid kids for backcountry use.
In this episode of the Backpacking Light Podcast, Ryan discusses ultralight first aid kits for backcountry use.

This article explores the benefits of backcountry fishing (especially tenkara), including the incorporation of fish in your diet and potential food weight savings.
“Many men go fishing all their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” – Henry David Thoreau
Fishing (also, hunting and foraging) has been part of the backcountry experience since the dawn of humanity. For some, it connects them to their ancestral roots. For others, it allows them to connect to the natural world on a more visceral level. For me, it’s both the feeling of self-reliance and a deeper appreciation of how nature nourishes us, both metaphorically and physically. In addition, I’ve always been a bit of an adrenaline junkie. And the endorphins (happy hormones) released following the adrenaline rush of catching a big, wary trout have a profound impact on my enjoyment of the backcountry.

In addition to these benefits, fish are a healthy source of protein, omega-3 fatty acids, and essential vitamins and minerals. Cold water trout, in particular, have unusually high concentrations of vitamins D, E, and A, deficiencies of which can have notable impacts on the performance, recovery, and injury risk to long-distance endurance athletes (source). Admittedly, eating one or two trout per day may have a negligible impact on nutrition or performance during a short backcountry trek. However, it’s well-known that eating cold-water fish, including trout, can have profound positive impacts on one’s long-term nutritional health (assuming they were sourced from pristine and uncontaminated water sources or farms).
Consuming fresh fish in the backcountry can also provide a welcome break for the palate that’s accustomed to dehydrated, freeze-dried, pre-packaged, or processed backpacking foods. Enjoying a plate of fish tacos while watching the alpenglow fade on a nearby wilderness peak is admittedly, one of my guiltiest culinary pleasures in the backcountry.

But fishing requires some additional gear and unique skills. A deeper skill set, and some experience, is essential if the backcountry traveler is going to rely upon it for part of their caloric sustenance.
That’s why debates about the practicality of fishing and its ability to reduce food weight are not uncommon within the community of enthusiasts who call themselves ultralight backpackers. Therefore, the primary purpose of this article is to explore the specific question: can backcountry fishing save carried food weight?
In order to answer this question, I’ll follow this process:
The basic elements of a fishing kit include the rod, the reel, line (including leader and tippet), and either bait, lures, or flies.
For the purpose of this article, we are going to focus on fly fishing. A conventional fly fishing kit includes a fly rod (which is protected in a cloth rod sleeve and carried in a rigid tube), a fly reel, backing line, the fly line, leaders, tippet spools, flies in a fly box, a vest, and a few tools (hemostats, nippers) and supplies (split shot, strike indicators, and floatant). In addition, it’s not uncommon for backcountry anglers to bring a landing net, but they rarely bring wading gear (e.g., waders, wading boots).
In most of my interviews with anglers who practice conventional western fly fishing into the backcountry, the following gear list is representative of their kits:
A conventional western fly fishing kit can be lightened up by making a number of compromises that would be appropriate for most backcountry fisheries:
In my experience, I’ve been able to reduce the weight of a western fly fishing kit down to about 12-16 ounces, recognizing that such sacrifices result in the inability to fight extremely large trout, which fortunately, are not common in the backcountry. The reason for this is that I’m carrying a lighter rod, less line, and a smaller reel. In addition, there are some sacrifices made in fly boxes and fly selection, which to be honest, I’ve never found to limit my ability to catch enough fish in the backcountry for reliable meals.
Finally, at the lighter end of the range, one can assemble a minimalist tenkara fishing kit, which eliminates the weight of a fly reel and fly line.
And at the ultralight end of the spectrum, a tenkara kit can be minimalized to an extreme by including only those essential items required to catch small to medium-sized trout – e.g., rod, line, tippet, and flies.

Whether or not you catch fish every day depends not only on you and your skill, but on the level of cooperation of the fish! Specifically, the probability that you catch a fish will depend on you finding the fish, the fish wanting to eat, and you being able to catch the fish.

Whether or not you find fish depends in part on your skill, and in part on whether or not there are fish in the area where you are hiking. The latter can be mitigated by doing research prior to your trip. Fishing reports from local fly shops, trip reports from backcountry users, and stocking reports (or fish population inventories or surveys) from land and fisheries management agencies can all be used to determine which lakes and streams are most likely to support populations of fish. Once you have identified a water body that houses fish, then your skills come into play. Understanding where fish lie and feed in the waterbody makes your fishing efforts more efficient. Otherwise, you may just be casting into water in the hopes of catching a fish that may never show up.

Fish feed in response to a variety of conditions. Seasonality, environmental conditions and the activity of food sources are the two most important. Sunlight (or cloud cover), wind, barometric pressure, lunar phases, water temperature, and air temperature may have an impact on both the activity of food sources and whether or not fish will feed on them. In one of my favorite headwater streams in the Montana Beartooths, I know with almost absolute certainty that calm, sunny, fall afternoons result in a Dicosmoecus gilvipes (October Caddis) hatch that makes trout go into a feeding frenzy.
Finally, once you’ve found the fish and are confident that they’ll eat, you still have to present your line, leader, and fly to the fish so as not to spook it and have them sense that you’re a predator. And assuming you hook a trout that takes your fly, you have one more step ahead of you: land the fish so you know that it’s going to make it into your cooking pan!
Now that you’ve caught your fish, let’s figure out how much nutrition it can provide. The following table shows the relationship between the size of a trout, how much edible meat can be harvested from it, and the macronutrient profile of that meat.
| Length (inches) | Weight (ounces) | Edible Meat Weight (ounces) | Protein (g) | Fat (g) | Carbohydrates (g) | Calories |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| 6 | 1.1 | 0.6 | 3.2 | 1.6 | 0 | 24 |
| 8 | 2.7 | 1.3 | 7.6 | 3.8 | 0 | 57 |
| 10 | 5.2 | 2.6 | 14.7 | 7.4 | 0 | 111 |
| 12 | 9 | 4.5 | 25.5 | 12.7 | 0 | 191 |
| 14 | 14.3 | 7.1 | 40.5 | 20.2 | 0 | 304 |
| 16 | 21.3 | 10.7 | 60.4 | 30.2 | 0 | 453 |
Assumptions:

This question can be answered using the previous table (above) as a reference.
My normal backpacking diet has a caloric density of about 120 Calories per ounce, and a macronutrient profile of approximately 20% protein, 50% fats, and 30% carbohydrates.
For the purpose of this discussion, I’ll focus primarily on Calories. Since I’m consuming trout for only one meal of my day, I usually try to catch a hearty portion for a meal, i.e., four 10-inch fish (444 Calories) or some combination of larger and smaller trout that provide me with 400 to 500 Calories.
To keep the math simple, let’s assume I’m targeting 480 Calories for my trout meal. That means I might leave 480 Calories out of my packaged (dry) backpacking meals, which equates to about four ounces of dry food.

The answer to that question depends on the weight of my fishing kit. Here’s a case study from a recent 10-day summer wilderness trek in Colorado, where I ate an average of one hearty trout meal per day (480 Calories).
My fishing kit included the following:
Summary:
Total Net Weight Savings = 0.41 lb + 0.56 lb – 2.25 lb = 1.28 lb

This is not a substantial amount of weight savings over the course of a 10 day trek. For sustenance alone, it would be somewhat difficult to justify. For the backcountry hiker that doesn’t find any entertainment or meditative value in fishing, the time spent fishing, dealing with gear, cleaning and cooking fish, etc., won’t be worth the savings of a pound or two.
However, it’s refreshing to discover that not only can you save pack weight by bringing a fishing kit, you can also have all of the benefits that come with fishing (as described in the introduction to this article).
Keep in mind that the analysis in this section involves a relatively lightweight kit based on a tenkara-style fishing rod. This, of course, is one of the most compelling reasons to fish tenkara in the backcountry.
The following chart illustrates a case study showing different starting pack weights for 3, 7, 14, and 21-day treks for different types of fishing kits.
Assumptions:
Conclusions from the chart above:
Fishing isn’t for everyone. In terms of a backcountry activity, fishing is similar to photography or painting or climbing a snowy couloir in that it may (or may not) be the primary focus of a backcountry expedition, but requires additional gear to enjoy the activity.
However, unlike other ancillary backcountry activities, fishing has the potential to impact your pack weight by reducing the amount of carried food weight. The purpose of this article was to illustrate that point using a quantitative analysis.
For me, I’m a passionate fishing enthusiast, and am particularly passionate about tenkara-style fishing. Using an ultralight tenkara-style fishing kit allows me to not only enjoy that activity in the backcountry, but also to maximize the amount of benefit that comes from reducing carried food weight without adding much extra gear weight.
Finally, when thinking about the questions “can backcountry fishing save carried food weight?” and “can backcountry fishing provide me with a high level of enjoyment that makes it worth the weight of extra gear?” I always gravitate back toward the venn diagram above that asks:
Inherent in the answers to each of these three questions is the presumption that you have some level of skill as a backcountry angler. Gaining angling skills and experience can be difficult. Western fly fishing is intimidating, and requires an enormous amount of casting practice and study to be proficient at it. This is part of why I like tenkara fishing. It’s not only lighter, but it’s simpler and easier. In addition, the skills barriers required to become a very proficient tenkara angler come with less practice and less experience. This was a large part of my motivation to develop the new Backcountry Tenkara Masterclass. My hope is that experienced anglers see the benefits of tenkara and can transition quickly and easily, and that new anglers achieve tenkara casting and fishing skills quickly.

Join us live online at our 2023 Tenkara Speaker Series with TJ Ferreira and John Geer of Tenkara USA. We’ll chat about Tenkara USA history and products, industry trends, and what’s next in the world of tenkara, and end with a live audience Q&A!
The live stream of this event is open to the public. In addition, the recorded version will be made publicly available here for about 24 hours following the event. After that, the recorded event will be available to all enrolled participants in the Backcountry Tenkara Masterclass.
Join us live online at our 2023 Tenkara Speaker Series. The first event will feature TJ Ferreira and John Geer of Tenkara USA. We’ll chat about Tenkara USA history and products, industry trends, and what’s next in the world of tenkara, and end with a live audience Q&A!

The recorded version of this live stream is now available in the Backcountry Tenkara Masterclass.
Drew Smith journeys from the Mojave Desert to Badwater Basin finding beauty in a seemingly desolate place.
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An introspective account of what one can learn about themself through the story of crossing Saudi Arabia’s Hejaz region.
Sheets of torrential rain pelted the group as lightning flashed in the dawn. We headed to the steep lava spur we would have to climb that morning, timing the flashes and sounds to gauge the lightning’s distance, “One, one thousand, two, one thousand, three, one thousand… one kilometer away.” The decision to break camp at dawn was an easy one: a cluster of tents in the open desert is no refuge in thunder. The storm rapidly grew closer as a stiff westerly off the Red Sea brought the squall inland. Then we were in it. We labored forward but were repeatedly pushed back by the force of the gale as thunder bolts struck the ground a few hundred meters away. We knew then that this would be no ordinary desert hike.

Just in time we managed to take shelter in an empty farmhouse, soaked minutes into that day’s twelve-hour march. The roughly 300 mile (482 km) off-trail desert crossing across the Hejaz in the Arabian peninsula was continuously flanked by lava tracts, mountains, and craggy hills. We were advised against using camels and cameleers because of the difficulty of crossing the occasional highway or railway. With scanting present-day knowledge of wells, we would have to resupply in town, and because we were on foot, water resupply points would have to be no more than 2 or 3 days apart. We decided on a 17-day foot journey that we hoped would provide some pace and rigor and, in the vast cleanness of the desert, would ultimately provide some spiritual insights.
The spiritual benefits of a hike often come weeks and months later. During the hike itself one is occupied with the more prosaic physical aspects of basic survival: water, food, fatigue, and exposure to the elements.
One is often thinking beyond the usual simple binaries typical of modern life: hot or cold, hungry or full. Rather, one is thinking about countless nuanced variables. For example, how the summation of those dark clouds on the horizon, the direction of the wind, and our compass bearing towards the mountains forces us to think about flash flooding in the wadis when we pitch camp tonight. Or given this morning’s warming temperature so-and-so should preemptively apply breathable tape to the hotspot on his toe to avoid blistering, or how we need to improve ventilation tonight to reduce condensation next to these pools.
However, for purification of the self, there are few things better than a hike. The rigors throw into sharp relief shortcomings in one’s character and become a means for sublimating the lower self: in the extremity of narrow circumstance when group safety is paramount, annoyance must turn to cheerfulness, pride to humility, cowardice to courage, and anger to forbearance. Newcomers soon learn to accept with equanimity the howling of wolves at night, the feeling of thirst when an unexpected fence blocks a resupply point, encounters with packs of dogs, and the suffering of blisters. No hiker expects to be coddled, nor can they be frozen by the events of the day.

Boxed inside the four comfortable corners of the small screen, car, cubicle, and house, character often atrophies. Moreover, we unthinkingly accept the many absurdities of modern monocultures as they slowly bend our nature. Repeated over months and years, across generations, it is no wonder that modern man is now a mere shadow of his former self, far from nature and far from his own nature. One researcher termed the modern malady of disconnection from the natural world Nature Deficit Disorder.
As a means for reclaiming one’s primal nature, there are few temporary expedients—truly effective pattern interruptions—more powerful than a distant walk of a few days somewhere natural and remote. Hiking in beautiful, desolate surroundings, living on nothing but what one carries, being vulnerable to the often terrible vagaries of weather, and making but human-scale progress in the wide expanse of a rich divine tapestry, are all a means to pass beyond the created world into the presence of a higher power.
We experienced a variety of terrain and weather conditions that included baking basalt fields reflecting heat, lava tracts impassable except by traversing hand-and-foot over boulders, miles of mud so soft that a misstep could pull a shoe off, windswept gravel plains gray in the gloaming, sandstorms so fierce that we were forced to put our sunglasses on before sunrise, hours of dune chains so maze-like that the group stayed together to avoid losing a companion, and camps pitched on the lee side of berms as cold winds pounded our shelters under brooding clouds on desolate flats. But it was not all hardship. There were broad swards of lush green, cool date palm groves, and shaded pools of fresh rainwater in which to bathe.

Such is the blessing of walking, that elemental and irreducible of all primal activities, that time expands. Days feel like weeks, and weeks like months. The group sometimes walked in two’s or three’s, but more often we would string out across a couple of hundred meters, alone in the desert until the next break. We were under open cloudless sky or a canopy of stars, in intimate contact with the texture of the land, across vast clean sands stretching to the horizon all around, amid the metronomic patter of our steps.
We soon settled into a routine in which everyone played their part: navigator in front, pacer at back, as well as a timekeeper, wood collector, fire man, reader, and so on. After sleeping 8 or 9 hours, the day began after a “camel up” of 1 or more liters of water and we would be on the road, headlamps dancing in the night. Using our standard 50 minute walk, 10 minute rest routine per stage, we walked three stages before stopping for a 30 minute breakfast, four more stages before a 1 hour midday break, and several stages in the afternoon depending on the distance to our next landmark.
Ten minute breaks were always over before we expected. We had just enough time to remove shoes and socks to cool our feet, take a few sips of water, lie down, usually on sand or rock, and prop up our feet on our packs. We were all motivated to keep hourly breaks brief because we knew the math: long breaks reduce miles per liter of water, and mean carrying heavier packs between resupply points. In order to maintain the forward impetus and ensure self-discipline, every minute of delay after a break subtracted a minute from our breakfast or midday breaks or added a minute of walking to the last stage.
Breakfast varied but beans, sardines, cheese, dates, and nuts were our high-calorie staples. Midday breaks were taken at resupply points or rain water pools where we filtered water for the next 24 to 48 hours. Campsite selection began just before sunset, but often at night. With wood collected and shelters pitched, a fire was made and we would gather round for a dinner of more beans, sardines, cheese, dates, and nuts, adding pasta when water supplies permitted. We were famished so every meal was delicious.
The most challenging part of the entire expedition was a three day crossing to a landmark 16 feet (5 meters) wide 56 miles (90 kilometers) away, the edge of a dead end road, reached by orienteering through a vast expanse of barren sands, gravel pans, rocky outcrops, lava fields, and towering mountains. Along the way there would be no roads, no shops, and no smartphone coverage to fall back on. Just a compass and a paper map. GPS had proven fatefully inaccurate by several kilometers earlier in the trek so relying on it was not seriously considered. In some sections there would be no shade from rock or shrub, only our packs propped up on trekking poles to lie down beside and hide our heads under for a brief respite from the sun.
To add to the challenge, the landmark we would have to set a compass bearing for was a dead end road pointed straight at us, nestled deep inside a labyrinth of mountains. And because the edge of this road was surrounded by such hostile terrain, it precluded the luxury of “aiming off” our compass by bearing slightly off-target and yawing into the length of the road. A single mistake would force us due east on half rations – an unwelcome prospect. We planned for water consumption based on exertion levels, temperature, and 12 to 14-hours carrying a load. This provided for roughly half a pint (284 ml) while walking and a quarter pint (142 ml) otherwise during waking hours, which allowed for a margin should our speeds fall below 2.5 mph (4 km/h).
On the second day of the crossing, we hoisted on our fully-laden packs in the dark and began the day’s journey under a beautiful waxing moon. The sawtooth range soon silhouetted the twilight sky in the east as we descried three rows of mountains looming on the horizon, each rising higher than the next. As the light gathered, the last one, towering menacingly above the rest, sat shrouded in the mist some 37 miles (60 km) away. “Our next water resupply point is at the base of that.”

Among the many blessings of walking is that, even after setting our compass bearing for a distant landmark such as a mountain peak, we would have to select a new landmark every few hours because the previous one had come too close. By midmorning we could not see where we had set off from. We drew an important life lesson from this: even something small like a single step, done repeatedly, takes one great distances in less time than one imagines. Walking taught us something about the rewards of patience.
On the morning of the third day, the edge of the dead end road sat before us. We celebrated that evening in camp, safe in the knowledge that the most logistically challenging section of the journey was behind us.

The hike taught us something about abstemious eating. Regardless of how much one tries to eat on such an endeavor, one is always in a calorie deficit. But because we were mostly in a fat burning state, we were assured by the knowledge that a lean person has over 100,000 calories stored as fat while less than 2,000 calories stored as glycogen. We learned the lesson that one needs a lot less food than one imagines. A 17-day hike smooths consumption patterns after the first few days and one learns a great deal about one’s actual physical needs, putting the lie to the standard received wisdom on the need for daily calorie replacement.

We had estimated 2 lbs of food per day which, at a caloric density of about 125 calories per ounce, works out to 4,000 calories per day. However, based on an approximate 400 calories per hour walking 2.5 to 3.7 mph (4 to 6 km/h) steadily over difficult terrain carrying a full pack, 200 calories per hour pitching and breaking camp, 150 calories per hour sitting, and 100 calories per hour sleeping, our caloric expenditure was much higher.
Looking at the last 4 days (28 mi (45 km) of walking 2.5 mph (4 km/hr) for 3 days, or 11 hours excluding breaks, and 34 miles (55 km) of walking 2.5 mph (4 km/hr) for 1 day, or just under 14 hours excluding breaks, which meant less overall time for rest), this worked out to 6,000 to 7,000 calories per day. Without a doubt, we were not eating this much. We experienced ordinary hunger, but no one in the group experienced weakness due to lack of food. In fact, with our standard fare of beans, sardines, cheese, dates, and nuts, we were likely eating far less than 4,000 calories, a caloric deficit greater than 2,000 to 3,000 calories per day. Judging by how we felt, if we had been forced to go with half as many calories, we might have done so. Hunger, as it turns out, is mostly just habit, and eating sparingly, even during something as demanding as a journey of many days on foot, suffices most.
The traditional people of the Hejaz we met along the way were of all kinds, but all were special. There was the date farmer who invited us for dinner, gifting us all black and white checkered scarves. There was the teacher who drove his car alongside us in the noon day sun insisting all the while that we come for lunch. When we reached the shop to resupply, he paid for everything without question.

On another occasion we had been trying to find shelter for a break after battling a cold sandstorm from dawn to sunrise. The small town was quiet but, quite miraculously, we came to an open door in which an august man sat before a wood burning fireplace. He invited us in and, with sand still grinding at our teeth, and cold from the morning, it was bliss to drink warm milk and eat dates. We politely declined  breakfast as we did not have the hour or so it might take. Later, he would send a packed breakfast to our next break.
There was the man in the dilapidated truck who paid for our lunch and drove off. There were the migrant workers who would try to hand us money thinking we were poor, on one occasion an entire day’s wage and on another occasion bringing us a welcome hot lunch. There were the factory workers who gave us access to their kitchen and bathroom, all a much needed luxury after days on the trail. And there was the police officer who had said with a smile, “If you need water or food, just call 911.”
Alongside the route, sometimes in the middle of nowhere, there would be tiny mosques the size of a room, or rest houses, invariably with the key left on the outside. These were a welcome relief from the elements and a reminder of the generosity that embodied these people. Hikers are a rare sight in many parts of the world, so it is often an exciting spectacle for locals to see nine vagabonds tramping across the desert.
On the last day, we slowly made our way towards the end of our journey, walking into town, a patina of ochre lava dust on our packs, shirts discolored by sun and cuffs tattered by terrain, faces weather beaten. We found something in the desert beyond ourselves; something that gave new meaning to our lives; a new perspective transcendent beyond mere materiality.

Amid this introspection to lift our horizons and see beyond this world, a lady walked up to us and asked, “Did you just come across the desert?” Nodding wearily, “Yes.” “Did you walk the whole way?” “Yes.” And then she mentioned the unmentionable. “You guys are all over Tik Tok.” A mocking riposte. And a sobering reminder that we were back in the world.
In this episode of the Backpacking Light podcast, Ryan discusses the 12 Stages of backcountry Tenkara fly fishing.
In this episode of the Backpacking Light podcast, Ryan discusses the 12 Stages of backcountry Tenkara fly fishing.

This episode is targeted to the backcountry angler who may be new to tenkara fly fishing, to help them understand (1) how tenkara fishing fits into the overall backcountry experience, and (2) the process of stalking, casting to, and catching fish.
An essay on how day hikes and trail runs can enhance our outdoor experience when the wilderness isn’t accessible.
“There’s no altitude here,” I complain to my friend. He grunts some mild form of agreement, mostly out of politeness. Rob is a professional climber who teaches at a gym in Rancho Cucamonga. For him, altitude, in one form or another, is a prerequisite for daily life.
We met on the Devil’s Backbone near the summit of Mt. Baldy, a stretch of trail notorious for consuming greenhorn hikers. It hugged the ridgeline, boasting 2,000 foot (600 m) drops to either side. The bolt anchors fixed into trailside boulders did nothing to ease my nerves.
Rob had approached me from behind, lean and sinewy as a mountain goat and very nearly as agile. In his sixties, he had somehow bypassed the tedium of aging. Rob lived in Azusa for the express purpose of summiting Baldy twice a week. His students found this admirable. I found it flat insane.

No wonder then my protest as to accessible altitude fell on deaf ears. At any given moment Rob was likely strapping on a harness and crampons. For me “accessible” meant carefully marked trailheads, bluebird skies and a chance of rain considerably below 20%. Having grown up in Southern California, where heavy weather meant thick smog, snow was not part of my repertoire.
Yet following a summer season which saw me tromping the Sierras with daily gains in excess of 5,000 feet (1500 m) and distances surpassing 20 miles (32 km), the casual day hike over cooperative terrain sounded a bit, well, pedestrian. I had fostered a strong-willed dependency on altitude. Maybe it was the pleasant tingle of oxygen deprivation and its simultude to a double shot of vodka before it hits. I was managing withdrawal from the trail poorly, guilty of certain lapses. I had cold-soaked trail food in my kitchen out of nostalgia and had taken to wearing my Altras, replete with gaiters, about town. Each morning I awoke to break down camp at 4am only to discover myself confined to the abundance of a California King. I had not yet stooped to the marital death-knell of a sleeping bag laid at the bedside, but I could not be very far from it.
I rise early on a Wednesday, and as the thought is first materializing I am already cramming my pack with water and health bars and instant coffee packets. I am out the door and in the car before the notion fully surfaces, Maybe I should try a day hike… Yes, it’s true that I looked down on them as nouveau riche for transit buses, but I had also heard that legendary mountain athlete Kilian Jornet had run 56 hours out the front door of his house. He did this along the high spine that links the local fjords of Norway in a practice known delightfully as “skyrunning.”

I set out to achieve a poor man’s imitation and find the Pacific Coast Highway oddly tolerable at 5am, lacking its daily droves of surfers who vault across four lanes of traffic to catch a primo wave or a fender. Hang a right on Yerba Buena, just after Neptune’s Net, and it’s twenty minutes up the mountain to the Mishe Mokwa trailhead. I have been told Mishe Mokwa means “white man’s trail” in the Chumash language and, contrastingly, that Mishe Mokwa was a great bear in Chippewan tribal mythology. Both these explanations were furnished by outspoken white men. I have yet to ask the bears about it.
By the bright glare of my headlamp I take a first glance at the map. My aim is to string together a series of peaks to form a bracelet. It looks feasible enough with the peaks laid out neatly in a clockwise fashion: Sandstone Peak, Bony Peak, Exchange Peak, Tri Peaks, and Big Dome. Admittedly, I’ve done no research to ensure they do in fact exist or are indeed worth the effort, but I’m too joyful to be bothered. For the first time since winter barred me from the Sierra I am back in pre-dawn darkness, choking down a cold-soaked sludge of varied grains which tastes mildly repulsive and fills me with fibrous pleasure. The sun lifts slowly to paint the sandstone. The landscape here, flushed red and rumpled, would not be out of place either in Sedona or a post-terraformed Mars.
Sandstone Peak proves to be an uncomplicated uphill jaunt. It is the highest point in the Santa Monica Mountains, which is much like saying Moe was the smartest of the Stooges. It is also called Mount Allen, enjoying dual title much as Mt. Baldy does as Mt. San Antonio.
Boney Peak (which upholds this tradition, known also as Boney Mountain) is perhaps the most loved of the bunch. It is a longstanding holy site of the Chumash Native Americans, and out of respect I circumvent it. That and I completely miss the turnoff.
Adjacent Bony Peak stands Inspiration Point, a place no more or less inspiring than any of the countless outcrops the trail has already provided. It vies for hikers’ attention by sporting an oversized and tarnished compass set into its crest onto which passersby set their loose change. This is either for good luck or because our currency is digital.

Next up: Exchange Peak with its sprawl of shrubbery stymying the hesitant explorer. One must simply attack the mountain, bushwhacking through a veritable cheese grater of undergrowth. Trending west will help avoid the sheer eastern face, which is a challenge best suited to those with a high tolerance for falling. On summiting the prominence (from the west) a celebration is in order. I suggest some variety of nut bar, which pairs nicely with a sports drink packet of the raspberry variety.
Then comes the long slog through a gravelly wash during which I convince myself I am undoubtedly off-trail. I am not, of course, but in seeking out the trail I promptly lose it. The sun reaches its zenith and a parfait is in order. I have not packed a parfait, of course, nor a cold beer, nor chocolate ice cream. A central feature of desert hiking is the craving for cold food. I have heard rumor of an ancient Chumash village excavated in these parts, and as I meander about, I wonder if it might have a soda fountain.
I fail to find the village, but by luck alone I stumble on a signpost for the trail. It is here that the distinction between trail and wilderness becomes purely theoretical. I scramble up dusty slopes that show no reasonable adherence to the green line on my map and am often reduced to waving my GPS as a divining rod before me. I commit myself to trail ducks, which are sort of micro-cairns; neat little heaps of balanced rocks meant to orient the hapless wanderer, placed by others who were presumably at least somewhat less lost then I am themselves (although the false duck is not unheard of.)

I end up following these trail ducks to a bladed cusp of sandstone. If this is indeed the trail, the word itself is worthless. I note with trepidation the exposure now beneath me. I’m not gambling with my life just yet, but certainly my ankles. A fall would splinter them to kindling – in Sierra-talk, Class 2.5.
At this point, while considering a tumble down the mountain, I realize I do not miss the High Sierra whatsoever. Just as Kilian did not miss the Matterhorn (which he ran) or Kilimanjaro (which he ran) or Everest (…you get the picture) while traipsing along his local ridgeline. It is the old adage of the young prospector who sails around the globe only to happen on the goldmine buried just beneath his home.
My treasure, it becomes apparent, will be at best a golden leg splint. I am gingerly lowering myself down jagged chutes and narrow rifts. I toss my pack beneath me at each drop to test the distance. My thinking is if the pack explodes to dust on impact, maybe I shouldn’t follow.
By slides and tumbles and falling backpacks, I round the north face of the Tri Peaks where finally my course bears eastward and the terrain loses its malice. I reconnect with the Mishe Mokwa trail and begin a long and lovely section of extravagantly maintained trail. Now this is proper trail, thoughtless trail, steady and even, where one can ease into a rhythm and lose themself to time completely. Until now the course entailed a degree of constant vigilance. By comparison, Mishe Mokwa is no more demanding than a couch.
I trace a scenic gully and enjoy the long-tufted pipestems that fringe the trail. They seem to nod shaggy agreement, though are ruthless if ingested. Proud foxtail and budding anise make select appearances, but the main show is the sandstone. I pass Split Rock and Balance Rock which are exactly as expected: a massive chunk riven in thirds, another roosted on a crag. The trail gains some, then descends, intersecting with the Backbone, and a brisk 300 ft. beneath me gleam the parking lot and trailhead.
Five hours. The Tri Peaks bracelet. A morning passed in the local mountains. Do I recommend it? Sure I do. If you can’t get to the Sierra.
In this episode, we’re going to address stove system performance and specifically, flame power vs. fuel efficiency.
In this episode, we’re going to address stove system performance and specifically, flame power versus fuel efficiency.

A curated guide to Backpacking Light resources on ultralight backpacks – gear, skills, podcasts, forums, research, education, product recommendations, and more.
There is a wide variety of ultralight backpacks to choose from. Different packs are better suited to various trips, seasons, and styles of backpacking. There are specialized backpacks for thru-hiking, fastpacking, week-long trips, multi-sport trips, and more. Lightweight backpack style, volume, and material inform decisions on the rest of your gear, so choosing the right pack is integral to your backpacking experience.

This article is one of Backpacking Light’s curated gateway pages (a trailhead, so to speak). Here, you’ll find information and resources about backpacks for ultralight backpacking. We’ve got resources for what size pack you need for ultralight backpacking, how to pack an ultralight backpack, and even how to make an ultralight backpack.
About this Trailhead: Curated and maintained by our staff, this Trailhead page includes an overview of the topic and links to information and resources at the Backpacking Light website. Those resources may consist of gear reviews, technology and testing, research, skills articles, online education (webinars, masterclasses, or other types of online courses), podcast episodes, forum threads, product recommendations, and other discovery tools, including our Gear Finder, Gear Shop, and Site Search engine.
Table of Contents • Note: if this is a members-only article, some sections may only be available to Premium or Unlimited Members.
What separates a backpacking pack from something you’d carry to a coffee shop or a college campus?

Many traditional backpacking packs work best for weekend or weeklong trips and range in volume from 50 liters to 80 liters. While these packs certainly work to carry low-volume, lightweight gear, the pack’s weight (anywhere from 3 – 6 lbs / 1.3 kg – 2.7 kg) would comprise a disproportionate amount of the weight carried.

The lighter your total gear weight, the lighter a pack you can comfortably use – it’s a positive feedback loop. Having a lightweight gear kit but using a pack designed for carrying heavier loads doesn’t make much sense once you’re committed to the idea of lightweight or ultralight backpacking philosophy.
Of course, there are exceptions when needing to haul heavy loads:
For this Trailhead, we will be focusing on backpacks designed for ultralight backpacking.
If you want some more info on ultralight backpacking philosophy, read this primer:
Ultralight packs on the market currently typically meet the following criteria:
Our community discusses the usability of ultralight packs in this forum thread:

If you are in the early stages of assembling your backpacking kit, we recommend that a pack be one of the last items you buy. Ordering your purchases in this manner allows you to buy a pack that fits your gear. Discovering that your bear canister and your pack aren’t compatible is annoying.

Gear compatibility is less of an issue with larger volume packs (over 55 liters). Still, for persons using packs under 40 liters, it is best to have your backpacking kit assembled first. Then you can experiment with different packs to see which ones best accommodate your specific gear.
If you are a more experienced backpacker or interested in a dissenting opinion, here’s an article to check out:
It is still somewhat rare to see ultralight, low-volume packs in brick-and-mortar stores. This rarity is because:
In other words, the people using ultralight packs are usually experienced backpackers with dialed-in, specialized gear and the specialized skillsets to use that gear.

But some larger companies like REI Co-op are starting to break into the ultralight pack market. The advantage to consumers with this new development is that these packs are easy to find and try on. Here’s a review of one example:
Here’s what you need to consider before buying a low-volume, ultralight backpack:
If your total load for a trip is usually less than 25 lbs (11.3 kg), transitioning from a traditional framed pack to a low-volume, ultralight backpack makes sense. Depending on your body type, musculature, and trip type, you might be able to make frameless packs work for loads up to 35 lbs (16 kg).

Here’s what our community has to say about pack volume:
Consumer Advocacy Warning: Be wary of listicles written by bloggers or media outlets with titles like “Best Frameless Ultralight Backpacks” because they are often little more than canned, formulaic articles (sometimes written by AI-bots or outsourced to SEO contract writers) filled with affiliate marketing links. They seldom offer performance analyses based on extensive experience in the field. We’re not going to recommend any ultralight backpack that we think is best for you. Instead, we want to give you the knowledge and skills that empower you to make the best possible decision on your own. Backpacking Light is in the business of sharing information between its members, educating consumers, and consumer advocacy – not in pushing you to buy gear. When we make a product recommendation – always consider that the product may not work for you.

The type of landscape that you most often backpack is an important consideration:

Here are some articles on specialized gear or use-cases to help you get your kit dialed in:
And here’s a forum thread on another specialized use case that will inform your pack choice – fastpacking:
The less volume a pack has, the lighter it tends to be, and the less gear it can fit. Less gear means less weight.
Using a low-volume backpack with an ultralight backpacking kit is an enjoyable, elegant mode of travel. It has significant appeal for people looking for an efficient and unencumbered means of moving through natural landscapes.

The needed pack volume will vary between seasons and locations. Factors such as insulation or auxiliary equipment (i.e., ice ax, crampons, bear canister, etc.) come into play as well.
Most ultralight backpackers on three-season week-long trips can get by with a 40-liter pack. If you are only out for a few nights or have a low-volume kit, you can utilize an ultra-low-volume pack in the 25 – 30 L range.
People needing extra volume due to low temperatures, long water carries, or more than a week between resupply points might need a 50-60 L pack.

Suppose you need space in a pack for extended periods between resupply points or carrying bulky technical equipment. In that case, higher volume packs of 60 L or above might be necessary.
Here are reviews of five backpacks we’ve looked at recently. They represent a spread of volumes suitable to all the above use cases. We’ve sorted them by volume from lowest to highest:
It’s worth taking a moment to examine how gear companies arrive at volume numbers. Generally speaking, when a company claims their pack is X volume, X refers to the total possible volume. This number includes external pockets and fully extended roll-top closures. Don’t count on getting 40 liters of gear into the primary compartment of a 40 L backpack unless a company specifically says you can. The fluidity of such standards is the subject of Rex Sanders’ Standards Watch series. He talks about backpack volume standards here:
A properly fitting pack is the most critical factor in your comfort while backpacking (other than weight). No amount of bells and whistles or super light fabrics will counteract the misery of using an ill-fitting pack. The standard measurement used to select a pack is torso length.

A safe generalization is this – ultralight backpacks offer fewer features than traditional backpacks. But many in the ultralight community would clarify that ultralight backpacks offer fewer needless features.

Telemark ski bindings or AT ski bindings? Clipless cycling pedals or flats? Ford or Chevy? Statler or Waldorf? In the ultralight backpacking world, the binary question is this – framed or frameless?

A few key things to note about frameless vs. framed packs:
Here are some recent reviews of some of our favorite frameless packs:
Here are reviews of a few framed packs:
A hip belt has three purposes :
There is a reduced need for hip belts in ultralight backpacking because light loads (sub 25 lb / 11 kg) put much less strain on the shoulders. For this reason, many, but certainly not all, ultralight packs lack padded hip belts. Some have minimalist unpadded hip belts to aid stability or provide pocket/gear storage space. Some ultralight packs have removable hip belts so that you can adjust your strategy as your use case changes.

Load lifters are adjustable straps that run between the top of the shoulder strap and the frame (internal or external) of a framed pack. They pull the weight of a pack further or closer to one’s body, further alleviating shoulder load.
Compression straps cinch down across the sides, top, or front of a pack to create a more compact, stable load and prevent shifting within the pack. Load lifters and compression straps have less practicality on ultralight packs because you generally carry less weight.
Here’s a review of a pack that has an internal frame that interfaces with load lifters when needed but is removable for lighter loads.
Ultralight pack makers have more-or-less settled on a standard three-pocket design when it comes to the main body of the pack:
Increasingly you may find additional pockets:
Some gear makers claim that their side pockets – which many hikers use for water storage – are accessible on the go without removing the pack. In practice, this is seldom the case. To reach gear in side-pockets, they must be cut and angled so that a hiker can reach around behind their torso at an awkward angle to remove the object. The more drastic the pocket angle/cut (and easier it is to reach gear), the less secure that gear is. The upshot is that vertical side pockets that are easy to reach sometimes let water bottles slide out when a hiker scrambles or bends over to tie a shoe.

The solution is to reserve side pockets for gear that you don’t need on the go and store your water somewhere else. Check out this article that explores the issue fully and provides a wide variety of solutions:
Here are reviews of two packs that do a good job of providing access to water (Hint – the trick is shoulder-strap pockets) or demonstrate modularity:

Or read this review of the Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50, a pack that approaches the issue in an imaginative new way.
Some gear – like ice axes or closed-cell foam sleeping pads – are too sharp or bulky to fit inside a pack’s main internal compartment or primary pockets. Many packs have daisy chains, shock cords, hook-and-loop closures, or other attachment methods to accommodate bulky or sharp gear. Look for a pack that includes external gear storage options that match your needs. Increasingly, cottage industry pack makers will be willing to work with you to modify a stock pack to match your kit.

How best to access gear while on the go is an old question.
Modular utility pouches (third-party or pack-specific) are ideal for managing small-but-crucial gear that needs to be accessed quickly. Check out this article:
Developing a consistent system for packing your pack is an easy way to spend more time enjoying your backpacking trips and less time looking for misplaced items. The specifics of how you pack your backpack will vary depending on:
Conventional wisdom says:

But a lot of gear weighs much less than when the backpacking community developed its traditional packing dogma.
The upshot is that most backpackers these days tend to pack their backpacks in ways that make the most sense when unpacking them at camp. They store items that aren’t needed during the day further down in the pack, often with food meant for later in the trip. They also store sleeping gear towards the bottom. The shelter is usually packed towards the top to allow for quick setup after arriving in camp. Items needed while on the trail (like water filters or snacks) are packed in external pockets or at the top of the pack.
As for where to put those tent poles – well – there’s a reason so many ultralight backpackers use trekking-pole supported shelters.
We talk about packing system philosophy more in this article:
And here’s a review of our favorite stuff sacks for internal organization.
Pack covers have generally fallen out of favor with lightweight and ultralight backpackers because:

Instead, most users incorporate a trash compactor bag or specially made pack liner into their system. Others use waterproof or water-resistant stuff sacks or compression sacks. Some people create redundant systems and use a combination of the two.
We recommend starting here:
The list below is not comprehensive, but it does represent a good starting place. Some of these companies focus solely on lightweight backpacks, and others have various products to offer.
Since choosing a backpack with the proper fit and features for your hiking style is so use-case-dependent, it is best to cast a wide net. Look at (and more importantly, try on) several different backpacks before deciding.
Link Disclosure:Â The brand links below link to our brand gateway pages, which provide an index to articles, gear swap listings, and member reviews related to that brand. Likewise, all links on this page will direct to original content created by Backpacking Light. You may find affiliate links elsewhere on our site (read our disclosure letter here), but we don’t use them on this page.
These recent forum threads contain discussions about lightweight and ultralight backpacks and related topics.
If you found value in other related resources at Backpacking Light that you’d like to share with our community, please post them in the comments section below. No external links or resources, please – there are other places in our forums appropriate for that.
Musings about backpacking in grizzly bear habitat.
Most of the landscapes we backpack in have pretty clear-cut answers regarding which Potentially Hazardous Animals (PHAs) one might reasonably expect to encounter in the backcountry. PHAs are one of backpacking’s newest three-letter-acronyms (TLAs), for those In The Know (ITK), just FYI.
Humans, unfortunately, seem to exist as PHAs in every landscape desirable for backpacking. Rattlesnakes, scorpions and venomous arachnids have a fair degree of landscape coverage, while alligators occupy a considerably smaller landscape. Black bears cover a wide swath of the appealing backpacking landscapes in the continental United States, with grizzly bears occupying smaller and more sharply defined areas of habitat.
As someone who backpacks extensively in areas that are on the fringes of the expanding habitat of grizzly bears, the lack of certainty of exactly which apex predator might be ambling along the trail in front of me creates an interesting mix of apprehension and awe.

If you’re planning a backpacking trip to Glacier National Park, Yellowstone National Park, or the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex, your odds of seeing a grizzly bear in its natural habitat are far greater than anywhere else in the Lower 48. Each of these areas have long-established regulations by their respective land management agencies to prevent human-bear conflicts, with the parks featuring dedicated infrastructure and/or explicit instructions on how and where to store food, sleep, and eat at the designated campsites. To a certain degree, I’ve found some comfort in these preventive rituals when backpacking in Glacier and Yellowstone and knowing that there’s a better-than-average chance that the previous occupants of the campsite did the same thing and, presumably, made it out of the backcountry alive.
In the national forests of western Montana and northern Idaho, where I do the majority of my backpacking, grizzly bears have begun to venture in from the Northern Continental Divide Ecosystem (to the north) and the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem (to the southeast). Part of their historic range, the Bitterroot, Pioneer and Beaverhead Mountain ranges have been absent of sustained populations of grizzly bears for over a half-century. Food storage regulations and cultural norms for those recreating outdoors in this area are well-established in regard to preventing bear and human conflict, but it is also not terribly uncommon to come across a campsite where it is abundantly clear that those who stayed there did not follow the letter, or even the spirit, or basic “bear aware” camping. Scraps of food in the fire pit (which is seemingly always annoyingly located right next to the best place for a tent) and bits of trash (of both the micro and macro varieties) around the campsite periphery can cause a bit of justifiable unease if you’re planning to stay there that night.  You can control what precautions you take, but you can’t control those of the people who camped there before you.

As grizzly sightings become more common on the fringes of the established grizzly bear ecosystems, the notion of seeing one on a trip into my local Selway-Bitterroot Wilderness and nearby public lands becomes more pronounced. When backpacking solo, as I often do, the mind tends to wander just a bit further when pondering the source of a mysterious noise outside the tent at night than it does in places without the chance of encountering a grizzly bear.
I once gave two Continental Divide Trail thru-hikers a ride on my way to a five-night bikepacking trip in the Beaverhead Mountains. They shared with me that they’d seen a grizzly at a lake I would be passing by on my trek, and resultantly I found myself scratching it off my list of places I’d plan to camp.

Black bears are common in Great Smoky Mountains National Park and food-conditioned bears can cause headaches – or much worse – for backpackers and other park visitors. This young black bear was photographed in Cade’s Cove, GSMNP. Photo: Douglas Wielfaert.
On a trip to the East Pioneer Mountains two years prior, a lake just over a ridgecrest from where two friends and I camped during a four-day fall fishing trip had been the location of a grizzly bear sighting and rumors that it had gotten into food stored improperly at a campsite. This information added a slight bit of initial tension to the trip, which was further punctuated by a large bear track we came across in fresh snow. Fortunately, the tension dissipated after stellar fishing at the alpine lakes and cold beers around the campfire. With the peace of mind that our food was stored properly, our eating area was far enough away from camp, and after seeing no signs of bears at the lake we camped at, we knew that we had taken every precaution we reasonably could.
But reason often doesn’t enjoy a primary role in managing our fears. And with backpacking, “packing our fears” is something that is best avoided. Even if the weight is only a mental one, it can have nearly as detrimental an impact on a trip as an extra few pounds in the backpack. Like most people who spend significant amounts of time outdoors, the calmness and serenity that tend to wash over me when in uncrowded and profoundly beautiful places are one of the reasons why I keep returning to wilderness areas.
Practicing proper food storage and not adopting the attitude of “there’s only black bears here, so it’s not a big deal to sleep with my food” – that seems to be distressingly common among some ultralight backpackers – is doing a good thing for both myself and any bears around – grizzly or otherwise. Once a bear is food-conditioned, the likelihood of it injuring humans and eventually having to be euthanized becomes a sad reality. Making the risk mitigation of proper food storage and not cooking too close to camp part of my habits don’t cost anything or add too much of a hassle as it is, so adopting them sooner rather than later seems most appropriate.
When asked about what they like about the landscapes they backpack in, a common refrain among hikers is to praise the “pristine” or “natural” state they believe it to be in. The mountains aren’t manicured to meet a certain image determined by an algorithm to be the most stunning; the forest floor isn’t maintained by a landscaping crew to create an illusion of lushness; the water levels of a waterfall aren’t adjusted to create maximum effect – these aspects just simply exist (Note: Indigenous inhabitants had profound impacts on landscapes that we are only now beginning to acknowledge, however that topic is beyond the scope of this essay – for conversation’s sake, we won’t spend time dispelling this erroneous notion among many backpackers but will instead address its relationship to the topic at hand). And few, if any, backpackers would probably prefer to backpack in an area that was specifically designed to cater to their whims, fancies, and specific tastes in natural splendor. After all, who would really want to hike in an area that is the equivalent of a soulless Spotify playlist? Isn’t the lack of personalized, taste-specific curation part of the allure of the outdoors? There’s a bit of nuance involved in that most people choose to backpack in the areas that resonate with them, but that’s an entirely different animal than backpacking in an area that is managed specifically to resonate with you (which, hopefully never becomes an option – Metaverses and Outside, Inc. NFTs be damned).
However, when the topic of grizzly reintroduction comes up there is often ambivalence – if not downright opposition – from some outdoor recreationists who are reluctant to share the natural landscape with another apex predator. But isn’t denying the return of grizzly bears to their historic range akin, at least in principle, to a ludicrous request that some natural arches in Kentucky be curved just ever-so-more to be more visually appealing? Or that rattlesnakes should be removed from Utah to allow for more care-free canyoneering? It’s saying “we like it natural, but not that natural”.
Learning to quell, or at least manage, the low-level anxiety that comes from backpacking solo in soon-to-be grizzly habitat – with the possibility of running into one becoming higher each year – helps me to view the situation less as a potential hazard and more as an opportunity. Like lightning, unbridged creek crossings, and unstable talus, the wildlife we encounter can be unpredictable but risks can be largely mitigated. While no risk can be eliminated entirely from the pursuit of life, liberty and the bliss of backpacking, we can recognize that the reward – witnessing the return of an amazing animal to its historic range – inherent in that risk can add a more holistic context. Although it might not help you get back to sleep any better when you awake after hearing something scratching on the whitebark pines outside your tent.

An account of a trek through Nepal’s Central Himalayan Nar Phu Valley and Upper Mustang region near the border of Tibet via an ancient trading route.
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See how backpacking and forest ranger work in the High Uinta Wilderness and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument influenced Ben Kilbourne’s record, Unresting Event.
I cinched shut the pack collar, flapped the red brain over it, clipped the buckles, and tightened the straps. I hoisted the beast (a 115-liter Dana Designs Astralplane) onto one shoulder, threaded the other arm through the other strap, and buckled the hip belt. With eight days of food, a book, a satellite phone, paperwork, and a full three-season kit, a wilderness ranger’s pack is heavy.
As if that wasn’t enough, I selected from among my potential weapons the seven-pound shovel that I’d wield against boy scout poop, clogged water bars, and illegal fire rings. Then pulled my final item from the truck bed: a small guitar inside a black fabric case. I threw the strap of the case over my shoulder and let the instrument drape in front of me. It was four and a half pounds of pure extravagance on top of the 50 or so pounds I was already carrying for work and survival.
My colleagues naturally thought I was crazy. They also appeared to be gifted with some ascetic tendencies of which I was often jealous. They were content to work all day and then simply eat and sleep afterward. Physical comfort during the day would have overridden any desire they could have had to create. I carried my burden with some combination of sheepishness and pride, like some sort of secret task I had to see through. While I was envious of my fellow rangers’ ability to live simply I was also aware that I was who I was: an artist, musician, and creator. I was someone who didn’t feel content leaving experience untalked about.
I am not a guitar player, by the way. I play better than someone who has never picked one up, but that’s not saying much. Most guitar players would not recognize me as kin. This makes it seem extra strange that I was willing to add four and a half pounds to my total pack weight. But I did.
Week after week I hauled my little guitar through half-dead lodgepole and carpets of whortleberries. Crumbly white and red rock passed under it mile after mile where it swung like a slipping saddlebag from the belly of a riderless, deranged, and lost burro. Its contents could have been useful for someone, somewhere, but probably not me, probably not here. The first of the day’s clouds shuffled steadily east on an invisible conveyor belt in the sky and I hauled my burden forever onward. When it rained, I pulled a pack cover over the case and then plodded dripping under dripping trees the final miles to camp.

The Forest Service issue tent at the time was the Big Agnes Seedhouse SL2, which I pitched often in dumping rain, my guitar leaning against a tree nearby. I entered backward, peeled my rainjacket off, then my boots, and fell back into the tiny dome of protection.
After pouring boiling water into the freeze-dried lasagna bag, I slipped off the sopping cover, unzipped the case, and remove the badly out-of-tune Baby Taylor. Under the steady patter and thwap of rain falling on the tent fly, I tuned the tinny instrument to itself, turning my head and leaning in close.
I searched for a chord or two or three that would fit the day, the dripping canopy of trees around me, the afternoon thunder, the steaming lakes, and the humanlessness of it all. Being alone out there. I opened my notebook to see what I wrote that day or the night before at a different but similar campsite.
I sensed the trees around me: spruce, fir, lodgepole. Sliding the capo up to the 6th fret, I strummed an A minor shape with the pad of my thumb, a D-sharp minor in that position. The trees around me were both community and individuals. Pulling my first finger off the B string, I imparted the 9th on the D-sharp minor — a sense of mystery. Letting the melody descend but land hard on the 5th, I tried to match it to something I recognized in the stone beneath me. Quartz sandstone exists in an unfathomable timescale and because it’s beyond comprehension it feels eternal, unresolved, and unresolvable.

Even though I spent 70 nights per season in the High Uintas Wilderness, I was still just visiting. I repeated the same plucking pattern and then resolved it to a C-sharp major chord. Even when I’m not present, the trees are always there battered by winds, basking in sun, and standing silently in January drifts. A rhythm developed and on the second round of D-sharp minor pull-offs, I resolved to a B-flat minor: a sense of doom settling in like fog and distant thunder among the resolute beauty of the mountains themselves. The chord paralleled the sentiment of knowing there are things one will never know.
Through this process, I began to clearly see how badly I want to be more than a visitor in the more-than-human world. Now I read in my words a yearning to be part of a community predicated on nothing but its selfsame desire to be. Today I hear in the music heavy tones that link this desire to the words.
I was lamenting my daily immersion in objects and ideas that, to me, didn’t feel real. I was saddened by being beholden to an economy, what I saw as a completely made-up idea that not only had nothing to do with the mountains but is built on ideas that might run counter to them.
Listening now, I hear myself swimming through a world founded on what I perceived as lies while looking for the truth. And I hear myself believing that the world of the Uintas — or any wilderness — is fundamentally true. The complexities of wilderness may be a different discussion for a different day. For the purposes of this essay let’s agree to see it as I saw it when I was 27.
I also hear myself trying to nearly disappear into the gestalt of the wilderness: the trees, the fog, and the big skies. As I sat in my tent, the music took over, and the billboards and bright lights of the human world faded away, the real magic started to happen. Songs slipped from my control and started to do the work for me. Before I knew it, the raven — that everywhere bird from cities to deserts to tundras — came to tell me that I was still me and always would be no matter where I might go. I was just like him. He told me that this big truth applies to everything that exists. You’ll never be anything other than what you are.
But it’s not that simple. He also functioned as the voice reminding me there was value in my attempt to fully immerse myself in the land. He validated my effort to share the desire for this attempt with others. Was it really the raven who burst into my song squawking these affirmations? Or was I telling myself what I needed to hear? In a way, it doesn’t matter. Writing the song unearthed something special.
The process is essentially a form of praise. It’s going to church, paying my respects. I’m asking the land to give me the strength to live the community values I see in it. In the mythology given to me by this particular landscape, the raven is the liaison between human and more-than-human worlds. He acknowledges both prayer and action.
The land is where all of our metaphors come from. What other world is there? It’s the source of all mythology. Raven (Knows Its Worth) is a song born of the Uintas. The landscape was the medium I used to build a narrative which I didn’t become aware of until I started singing. Stories exist out there, just waiting for someone to unearth them. Once stories are written down, put to chords, and sung, I find myself emphasizing certain parts. I accentuate particular words and draw out others. Through this practice and repetition, I learn more about myself and the place alike.

When mythology develops, I can use it as a language with less effort. Raven appears again and again, both in the trees above me as I pass alone through dense woods in the late afternoon and in subsequent songs, dying without attaining all her ultimate desires, for example. (It’s a fear we all have, and an inevitability.) I see myself coming to terms with it by letting the more-than-human world experience it in a song. For if the real world too dies still wanting — I must have reasoned deep down — it’s the truth. Through this songwriting process, I find myself accepting my own mortality more easily. I find community and camaraderie out there. I wrote the album Unresting Event and several other digital releases and hundreds of unrecorded songs using some variation of this landscape-inspired process. And I’ll probably continue doing so.
Throughout that time I worked other field jobs, so not every song on the album Unresting Event was written in the Uintas. I spent time crossing Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument with that same Dana Designs pack on my back. It was filled with quinoa, dried beans, dried milk, dried cheese, masa, and tuna packets. The wilderness therapy staff’s rations. That year, I got used to sleeping on a foam pad under a flat tarp strung between junipers. I felt like I was inching closer to the limits of human need.
Below the gray and pink cliffs and above the white cliffs I plodded with a large group through the piñon and juniper. High desert imagery seeped into songs like the red mud that stained my clothes and skin. Monsoons, wet sagebrush, dozed junipers, and the cows that prompted the shredding were the mediums that later became arranged into music. The landscape tells its story and I place it in a human framework so I and a listener can relate. Sometimes I let it stand on its own to question human and non-human differences.

The primary theme in the Escalante region turned out to be the same as it was in the Uintas: a desire to never have to leave. I hear myself wondering if it’s possible to learn to subsist — the ultimate form of praise. Just by learning how to sleep on a foam pad and needing no more than a 45-degree sleeping bag and a blue Wal-Mart tarp, I feel close to the possibility. Of course, I am not close. Deep down I know this. But I hope that at least I can listen well enough to be rewarded with some intimation of the mystery that’s held within the place.
The first nighthawks appeared in May, the last in September. All summer long, I came to expect them every morning and night. Nighthawks first peent, an almost feeble sound that reminds me of my desires for the unattainable things I write and sing about. Then when they dive, the wind rushes through their primary feathers, producing a roar I mistook at first for a vocal growl, but rightly grasped as a metaphor for trying.
That first May nighthawk fell roaring, snagged some invisible insect out of the air, swooped skyward again, flapped teetering into the lavender distance, and I opened my notebook and wrote:
Nighthawks at dusk came with their two calls
With the one like loss and the other like light
My site held both, neither one alone
I could make one stay make one go
I wish I had written, “one like desire and the other like trying,” for that’s what I was really getting at. But the realization is the same; I have the agency to dive for that insect. I too can try. That was the message I needed to hear at the time, so it was the metaphor I found in the world. It’s not the only metaphor, of course. But that’s the beauty of the creative process. We find truths in the world we couldn’t invent on our own and form them into roadmaps that will guide us. And that’s where this process intersects with backpacking or any nature-immersion activity. The more we’re out there, the more metaphor we come to have at our disposal.

Unresting Event is now 7 years old. I listen to it now and wish much of it was different, but overall it holds up all right. Without the band, I don’t know what it would be. During my off days in the summer of 2013 I presented the songs to my friends and through a blending of drums, bass, electric guitars, and our voices in harmony, we made them into more than the sum of their parts. Melodies take the actions of the raven or the nighthawk and plot them onto memory. The drums put them in motion. The bass anchors them to the gut. In this way, both the players and listeners of Unresting Event get to revisit the landscape and the human walking through it over and over again in a form that is pleasurable. Through this process, we don’t forget what’s out there: the source of all metaphor and the only world there is.
Author’s note:
Credits for the musical numbers in Unresting Event go to:
- Songs, vocals, electric guitar: Ben Kilbourne
- Drums, acoustic guitar, harmonies: Matt Laser
- Bass, pump organ, harmonies: Wren Kennedy
- Recording: Jesse Ellis
The Yama Mountain Gear 1P Cirriform Min Tarp ($210 in silpoly) is a one-person, 2-trekking pole, side/end-entry full-perimeter tarp shelter.
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In this episode of the Backpacking Light podcast, we’re going to examine some of the principles of Leave No Trace in the context of winter backcountry travel, with a focus on planning, pooping, and campfires.
In this episode of the Backpacking Light podcast, we’re going to examine some of the principles of Leave No Trace in the context of winter backcountry travel, with a focus on planning, pooping, and campfires.
