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.
Sunrise over Sandstone.
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.”
Red rocks and empty roads.
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.
The compass dial atop Inspiration Point, with loose change left my recent passersby.
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.)
Ducks of questionable provenance.
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.
Related Content
For another perspective on day trips and trail running, read Ben Kilbourne’s Lessons from Moving Fast.
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Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
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A curated guide to Backpacking Light resources on ultralight backpacks – gear, skills, podcasts, forums, research, education, product recommendations, and more.
Welcome to the Backpacks Trailhead
Understanding Ultralight Backpacks
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.
About this Trailhead
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.
Navigating this Trailhead
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?
Backpacking packs carry the gear needed for multi-day, self-supported travel in natural environments as efficiently and comfortably as possible. They have features designed to accommodate outdoor gear like water bottles, sleeping pads, etc.
Pack makers construct backpacking packs of light, durable, waterproof (or all three) materials.
Traditional backpacking packs utilize a frame structure – either an internal frame or an external frame – to distribute weight and contribute to long-term comfort.
Ultralight backpacking packs are often (but not always) frameless but still retain outdoor-specific features like durable, lightweight materials and gear storage options.
Backpacking packs have significantly different features than packs designed for carrying around town.
Do I need a lightweight backpack?
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.
This long expedition across Russia demanded a pack that could handle heavy loads without itself being too heavy (Photo: Tully Henke).
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:
Ultralight packs on the market currently typically meet the following criteria:
They have a capacity of between 35 and 65 liters.
They have a total weight of under 2.5 lbs (1.1 kg), with most being approximately half this weight.
They increasingly contain light, durable, waterproof materials such as Dyneema Composite Fabric (DCF), Ultra High Molecular Weight Polyethylene (commonly, Ultra), or laminated nylon (X-Pac and similar fabrics).
They have frameless or lightweight frame designs.
They often lack zippers, padded hip belts, internal compartments, and other standard features of traditional backpacks.
They are often manufactured by smaller or cottage companies and often have options for customization.
Our community discusses the usability of ultralight packs in this forum thread:
The ultralight backpacking philosophy unlocks a rich variety of possible experiences (Photo: Ryan Jordan).
Should a pack be the first thing I buy?
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.
If you backpack often in grizzly bear country, it might be wise to consider a pack that can easily accommodate bear spray (Photo: Andrew Marshall).
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:
Why aren’t low-volume, ultralight backpacks featured in brick-and-mortar gear shops?
It is still somewhat rare to see ultralight, low-volume packs in brick-and-mortar stores. This rarity is because:
Ultralight packs’ appeal is limited to a more niche demographic.
They require a refined set of skills and gear often not found among folks who are just dipping their toe into backpacking.
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.
What gear is likely to go on the outside of your pack? It’s a good question to ask before making a purchase (Photo: Mark Wetherington).
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:
What size pack do I need for ultralight backpacking?
Here’s what you need to consider before buying a low-volume, ultralight backpack:
The weight of your gear.
The weight of the food and water you are likely to carry.
The volume of your gear + the volume of the food and water you are likely to haul.
Your budget.
Your most common trip types and use cases.
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).
Choosing the correct pack size for your gear is crucial (Photo: Stephanie Jordan).
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.
This ultralight pack contains Tenkara fishing equipment (Photo: Mark Wetherington).
The type of landscape that you most often backpack is an important consideration:
Desert areas often require long water carries that add weight and volume.
Alpine areas often require ice axes, crampons, or other snow or glacier travel equipment. These gear types are bulky, sharp, and need unique storage options.
Many National Parks require food storage devices such as bear canisters or Ursacks.
Most fabrics used in ultralight backpacks are reasonably durable. But suppose most of your trips are cross-country and involve scraping your pack against trees, shrubs, and rocks? In that case, you might be disappointed in the longevity of ultralight backpacks.
If you’re bikepacking or packrafting, then considerations unique to those activities will play a part in your pack choice.
This winter trip required a closed-cell foam pad in addition to an inflatable pad. Choosing a pack that easily accommodates specialized equipment is important. (Photo: Rachael Shaw Marshall).
Here are some articles on specialized gear or use-cases to help you get your kit dialed in:
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.
Ultralight packs are designed to help the user move quickly over varied terrain. (Photo: Stephanie Jordan).
What volume to use?
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.
Backpacking with children is one of the occasions when you might need a lot of storage space even though you are an ultralight backpacker.
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.
Using a fabric tape measure or similar flexible measuring device, measure between the iliac crest and the C7 vertebra. The iliac crest is the top of your hip bone. The C7 vertebra is the bone that sticks out from the back of your neck when you tilt your head forward.
This measurement is called “torso length.”
Match your torso length to the recommended pack size on the website of your chosen pack-maker. If the pack maker doesn’t have a chart or sizing guide, email them and ask.
Sizing up usually yields the most comfortable result when between two sizes.
Sometimes pack makers will have additional sizing options that depend on chest and waist measurements.
A well-fitting pack is especially important when scrambling (Photo: Stephanie Jordan).
What features should I look for in an ultralight backpack?
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.
Some people might want or need a fully-featured pack like the one shown here. Others might benefit from a more minimal approach.
Frame or frameless?
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?
If you look closely at this image, you can see the thin closed-cell foam pad used as a virtual frame in this minimalist pack (Photo: Mark Wetherington).
A few key things to note about frameless vs. framed packs:
Frameless packs will always be lighter than framed packs of a similar volume and fabric.
Frameless packs can also be more convenient on trips where your mode of travel might vary (such as in packrafting or bikepacking). In cross-country travel, the lack of a frame means less chance of a rigid part of the pack getting snagged on a branch or rock.
Internal-frame packs are more forgiving with the arrangement of items placed inside them. When using a frameless pack, you risk uncomfortable lumps poking into your back if you carelessly pack your gear. You can use a piece of closed-cell foam to create a virtual frame in frameless packs. Some packs come designed with this in mind.
Framed packs can usually handle heavy loads better than frameless packs.
Here are some recent reviews of some of our favorite frameless packs:
To remove shoulder strain by transferring pack load to the hips.
To provide stability.
To provide a location for hip belt pockets or gear storage.
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.
The Atom Pack by Atom Packs lacks a hip belt. There’s no need for one at the loads the pack is designed to carry (Photo: Dan Durston).
Load Lifters and Compression Straps
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:
A large vertical pocket on the rear of the pack.
Two smaller vertical pockets on the sides of the pack.
Increasingly you may find additional pockets:
On the shoulder straps.
On the hip belt.
Modularly attached to the exterior of the pack.
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 Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 takes an interesting approach to water bottle storage. Note the location of the water bottle sleeve sewn vertically into the hipbelt (Photo: Andrew Marshall).
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:
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.
Modular, third-party pouches are a great way to manage on-the-go gear access (Photo: Stephanie Jordan).
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:
The gear you have.
The climate and weather you are in.
Whether your pack has a frame or not (and what type of frame).
Your habits and idiosyncrasies.
Conventional wisdom says:
You should store the heaviest items at the bottom of your pack.
Putting the heaviest items low in the back helps maintain the center of gravity and prevents an off-balance effect.
Best practices for bag packing have changed over the years (Photo: Mark Wetherington).
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:
Pack covers have generally fallen out of favor with lightweight and ultralight backpackers because:
They are a pain to stop and put on.
They are prone to leaking around the edges.
They snag on branches and brush.
They don’t help you much if you accidentally submerge your pack while fording.
Waterproof stuff sacks are one strategy for keeping gear dry inside of backpacks (Photo: Andrew Marshall).
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.
What brands are the main suppliers of lightweight and ultralight backpacks?
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 letterhere), but we don’t use them on this page.
Browse our curated recommendations for backpacks in the Backpacking Light Gear Shop. The Gear Shop is a product research & discovery tool to explore Member gear reviews, Gear Swap (used gear) listings, and more info about specific products recommended by our staff and members.
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.
Where the Wild Things (That Can Easily Kill You) Are
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.
Bear track in the snow in Montana’s East Pioneer Mountains. A grizzly had recently been spotted in the area. What do you think, is this a black or grizzly bear track, and why?
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.
Grizzly sightings in western Montana are becoming more common in areas formerly on the fringes of grizzly bear habitat as bears expand their range and seek suitable habitat.
Being Bear-Aware, but Not Bearanoid
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.
Appreciating Nature On its Own Terms
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.
Grizzly tracks along the Thorofare River near the border of Yellowstone National Park. Photo: Ryan Jordan.
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.
Somewhere in the High Uintas.
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.
Alpenglow on an already reddish mountain in the High Uintas.
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.
Big skies in the High Uinta Wilderness.
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.
Post-monsoon mud in the Escalante region.
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:
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.
Piñon and juniper forests of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument.
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:
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.
Listen
Summary
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:
Introduction
Trail Days Online
Benefits of Winter Backpacking
Importance of Leave No Trace in the Winter
Seven Principles of Leave No Trace
Planning (Plan Ahead and Prepare)
Search and Rescue (Winter vs. Summer)
Winter is Not “Summer, But Colder…”
Fitness & Equipment for Summer Travel Isn’t Sufficient for Winter Travel
Carrying a Garmin inReach Does Not Replace Planning, Preparation, and Fitness
Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
Sponsorship Policy: Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage, including any podcast episode content not excplicitly identified as sponsored content. Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes may be affiliate links. Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
Sponsorship Policy: Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage, including any podcast episode content not excplicitly identified as sponsored content. Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes may be affiliate links. Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
A curated guide to backpacking food ideas, meals, ingredients, strategies, skills, podcasts, forums, research, education, product recommendations, and more.
Welcome to the Backpacking Food Trailhead
Making Sense of Backpacking Food
Backpacking food is just as important for the success of a trip as the gear you bring. But backpackers commonly treat food ideas, choices, preparation, gear, and storage as afterthoughts.
There are various options for preparing and storing backpacking food and an abundance of gear to help you accomplish whichever strategy you choose. Making sense of it all can be a bit overwhelming. But as with all things related to backpacking, it is worth spending the time to become informed about your options and aware of which ones are the best for you and your specific trips.
Bringing the right food – in the right amounts – is crucial to enjoying your backpacking trip. Photo: Ryan Jordan
About this Trailhead
This article is one of Backpacking Light’s curated gateway pages (a trailhead, so to speak). Here, you’ll find information and resources about backpacking food ideas, cooking gear, and food storage techniques.
We’ve got resources to help you dial in nutrition and calories per ounce, techniques and cooking equipment for preparing food in the front country and backcountry, and information about different backpacking food ideas, choices and storage strategies.
About this Trailhead: Curated and maintained by our staff, this Trailhead page includes an overview of the topic and links to information and resources on 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.
Navigating this Trailhead
Table of Contents • Note: if this is a members-only article, some sections may only be available to Premium or Unlimited Members.
Depending on if you’re doing a multi-week thru-hike or a quick overnight trip, your food choices will vary significantly and might depend on:
dietary restrictions
allergies
caloric needs
available cooking and storage gear
willingness to cook and do dishes
season and weather conditions
wildlife activity in your backpacking area
and more
Your food choices are highly dependent on factors like personal taste, trip type, allergies, and more. Photo: Drew Smith
Figuring out what works best for you will come with time, experience, the advice of others, and trial and error. Perhaps the biggest two considerations are:
How much food do I bring backpacking?
What kind of food should I bring backpacking?
These links provide consistent, data-driven, nutrition-first answers to these questions.
Bringing the correct amount of food is often a matter of measuring, weighing, and dividing. Photo: Drew Smith
It’s also worth making sure you will actually eat the food you plan to bring with you. Altitude and exhaustion can both make backpacking food hard to choke down. Read this article for some insights on how to choose food you’ll actually eat:
There are three methods to resupply on long trips.
Bring all your needed food with you (no resupply).
Cache food or have it sent to drop-off points like post offices, ranger stations (where applicable), or hostels.
Resupply along the way at grocery stores, general stores, and gas stations.
This trip necessitated bringing along all the food that would be consumed, as there were very few resupply points along the way. Photo: Victoria Griffin
Grocery store backpacking food resupply hacks?
Supplying and re-supply at grocery stores, general stores, and gas stations is a very common way of handling backpacking food. It requires the least amount of prep upfront and provides the greatest flexibility and often the lowest pack weights. The downsides are it can be the most expensive option, and choices are often limited at small-town grocery stores. And of course, on serious wilderness excursions, there aren’t any stores.
Making and storing your own backpacking food ingredients takes time and energy, but often yields delicious results. Photo: Drew Smith
But you don’t have to only look for stores along the way. You can always use grocery stores as a supply depot before you leave, and bring along or send yourself the meals you prepare.
Becoming adept at recognizing which grocery store brands, meals, and snacks require the least amount of repackaging, are shelf-stable or safe to keep unrefrigerated for days at a time, and are easy to cook or consume in the backcountry is something that will come with practice and the advice of others.
Store-bought backpacking food, some of it re-packaged into more suitable portions for daily use. Photo: Victoria Griffin
Tap into our community’s expertise for help with this:
The next step is preparing and packaging the foods that you’ll be bringing along.
How can I prepare backpacking food?
The most common ways of preparing meals for the backcountry are dehydration and freeze-drying. Each method has pros and cons. Check out this forum post:
Dehydration is the least cost-intensive way of preparing backpacking meals at home. Some backpackers use kitchen ovens to dehydrate food (an imperfect method) and others purchase inexpensive dehydrators (a much easier and safer approach).
Dehydration machines are fairly inexpensive and work well on certain types of fruits and vegetables. Photo:Drew Smith
But dehydrated meals can sometimes take a long time to re-constitute, and each food item comes with its own dehydration methods, challenges, and drying times. For this reason, if you are going to prepare backpacking food in a dehydrator at home, you must dehydrate each ingredient individually and then combine the ingredients in your packaging after they are dried.
Drew Smith’s article on food dehydration is a user-friendly and comprehensive entry point into dehydration:
Once you’ve dehydrated your food, storing it properly is important so you don’t end up with rancid or spoiled supplies while in the backcountry. Drew’s article (above) also covers this point.
Using a vacuum sealer to extend the lifespan of dehydrated food. Photo: Drew Smith
And don’t miss these other Backpacking Light resources on food dehydration:
Freeze-drying is an incredibly effective way of preparing backcountry meals. Freeze-dried backpacking food is lighter and reconstitutes better than dehydrated food, and it often preserves flavor and texture better as well. As a bonus, you can prepare freeze-dried meals as meals – in other words, you can cook or buy a meal and freeze-dry it all together rather than by individual ingredients as with dehydration.
All the ingredients on this tray can be freeze-dried in the same batch. Photo: Drew Smith
The downside to freeze-drying is the gear needed – a freeze-dryer – is prohibitively expensive for the average backpacker. We recommend splitting the cost with one (or more, ideally) friend and then preparing meals together in bulk for your adventures together.
Here’s our review of a freeze-dryer that fits in your garage:
The Harvest Right Home Freeze Dryer. Photo: Drew Smith
And don’t miss Drew Smith’s ongoing exploration of the Harvest Right Home Freeze Dryer as he explores the science behind freeze-drying and the recipes that are possible with it.
Freeze-drying is an ideal, if expensive, way of preparing delicious backpacking food. Photo: Drew Smith
Packaged backpacking meals
If making your meals isn’t your thing, there is an abundance of freeze-dried and dehydrated backpacking meals to choose from. In the last several years, several new companies have entered this market and provided backpackers with a surprising variety of meals and options for those with dietary restrictions, allergies, or picky palettes. In other words, you don’t just have to stick with Mountain House or Backpacker’s Pantry anymore (though even these meals have improved in the last few years).
Packaged meals are high on convenience and have an ever-expanding range of flavors, but can be a bit expensive. Photo: Andrew Marshall
These meals can be a bit pricy, especially if you’re eating one or more per day on a weeklong trip. But by mixing them in with homemade meals, you can bring costs to a reasonable level. There’s something to be said for the convenience of buying a packaged meal well in advance of your trip, especially for those short on time and kitchen space.
Backpacking Light has spilled a lot of ink on packaged freeze-dried and dehydrated meals over the years. Explore it here:
Sweet potatoes and kale feature heavily in this packaged backpacking meal. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Backpacking food preparation methods: cooking or cold-soaking?
When preparing food in the backcountry, the options are cooking or cold-soaking. Both have tradeoffs, with cold-soaking being the lightest and arguably the most simple option. But the comfort of a hot cup of coffee or a warm meal at the end of the day can have psychological benefits for some hikers. Many backpackers prefer this comfort over shaving a few ounces off a base weight.
Some meals can be cold-soaked or reconstituted warm, depending on eater preference, time, and equipment. Photo: Drew Smith
What is cold-soaking?
Cold soaking is exactly like what it sounds like – put dried ingredients into a container and add cold water to rehydrate the contents. Rehydrating takes significantly longer than using hot or boiling water, and there are some limitations on what ingredients rehydrate best using this method. But for a lightweight and simple approach to preparing meals, it’s hard to beat cold-soaking.
Cold-soaked meals can be as delicious as hot meals, especially if they are designed to be enjoyed cold. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Here are some cold-soaking tips from our community:
While cold-soaking has become more common in recent years, particularly among thru-hikers, most backpackers still opt to cook their meals in the backcountry. The most common cooking method is to bring water to a boil using a stove before pouring the water into a bag containing a dehydrated or freeze-dried backpacking meal.
There are some people who enjoy cooking food over an open fire, but please practice Leave No Trace principles, use established fire rings like the one shown here, pay attention to the laws in the area you are backpacking. Photo: Victoria Griffin
Cooking in this style often eliminates the need to do dishes. But some meals do involve putting ingredients into your pot at some stage of the cooking process, which, unfortunately, means doing dishes – unless you don’t mind having tuna-flavored coffee with bits of pasta the next morning. Details on the gear needed for cooking are covered later in this trailhead.
What are the different types of backpacking stoves?
If you’re not cold soaking, then you’re going to need a stove to boil water for your meals. There are many different types of stoves to choose from, but upright canister stoves, integrated canister stoves, remote inverted canister stoves, alcohol stoves, or wood-burning stoves are the most common for lightweight backpacking. We could probably do a whole trailhead just on stoves alone, so some of this information will be abbreviated out of necessity.
Not all stoves are created equal. We put them to the test in StoveBench. Photo: Ryan Jordan
What is a canister stove?
Upright canister stoves, integrated canister stoves, and remote canister stoves all use a fuel canister (usually but not always a blend of isobutane and propane). With a remote inverted canister stove, the pot and stove assembly are separate elements. The stove assembly screws into the fuel canister, and the post sits on top of the stove assembly.
An integrated canister stove uses a pot that is combined with the stove elements for greater wind protection and heat transfer. The downside is these types of stoves are usually heavier than the pot/stove combo used by upright canister stoves.
With a remote canister stove, the stove assembly is connected to the fuel canister via a fuel line. The upside to this system is that the fuel canister can be turned upside down to burn liquid fuel instead of gas – an advantage in cold conditions.
From left to right: An upright canister stove, a remote canister stove, and an integrated canister stove. Photo: Ryan Jordan
Our StoveBench protocol and gear guide combine to form a comprehensive body of work on modern upright canister stoves. It’s a go-to resource for anyone in the market for a new upright canister stove:
Testing stoves with StoveBench protocols. Photo: Ryan Jordan
And don’t miss Roger Caffin’s long-running series on the development of his remote inverted canister stove. These articles have taken different forms over the years, but all are instructive:
Using the Caffin V6 (remote inverted canister stove) in the field. Photo: Roger Caffin
And finally, check out this article where Ryan Jordan applies the StoveBench protocol to the Jetboil Stash, a recently released integrated canister stove.
The Jetboil Stash had some interesting results when we subjected it to StoveBench. Photo: Ryan Jordan
What are some other types of backpacking stoves?
Alcohol stoves use denatured alcohol as a fuel source. They tend to be very light, and the fuel is readily available in places that may not sell fuel canisters. But they are not allowed in some land management units because they are hard to put out once lit, and can be a hazard if knocked over.
An alcohol stove in use. Photo: David Chenault
They also have less focused flames than canister stoves, so they can take longer to boil water. They can also be subject to performance degradation in windy conditions. Still, they have their proponents, and for good reason. They are light, simple, burn cleanly with little-to-no odor, and are easily created/modified by MYOG enthusiasts.
Solid fuel stoves burn chemical tablets as a fuel source. They are extremely light, as is the fuel, but they can make a strong chemical smell and are highly susceptible to performance loss from wind.
A chemical stove. Photo: Darin Banner
Wood stoves are just what they sound like – small stoves that burn wood as a fuel source.
A wood-burning stove. Photo: Chris Murphy
Explore some Backpacking Light content on alcohol stoves and wood stoves here:
In our Windscreens podcast, Ryan Jordan demonstrates different types of windscreen materials. Photo: Ryan Jordan
What backpacking pot should I use?
Even if you’re cold soaking and don’t need to bring along a stove, you’ll still need a container to rehydrate your meal. Repurposed food containers – such as those which originally held gelato or peanut butter – are the most common option. Some backpackers use mylar food bags or the bags the cold soak meals were originally sold in.
Simple titanium pots are the lightest option for cooking and last for decades. If your cooking involves more complex meals cooked in the pot, then products with some type of non-stick coating will make post-dinner clean-up much easier.
Wide, shallow pots are more fuel-efficient (all other things being equal) but don’t nest as well with fuel canisters while packing. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Pots come in all shapes and sizes, and some have added technology like heat exchangers. baffles, or lids that screw down. What pot you choose is dependent on your favored cooking method, the amount of food you cook or water you boil, and the weight/space needs of your packing system.
What type of utensils do I need on a backpacking trip?
For most backpackers, a basic spork – of titanium or heavy-duty plastic – is all that is needed to eat in the backcountry. In a hobby focused on minimalism and efficiency, bringing along a fork and a spoon just doesn’t make much sense. For those who typically eat out of freeze-dried backpacking meal packages, there are longer-handled spoons to make reaching the bottom of the bag an easier task.
A long spoon is handy for getting food out of deep packaged food bags. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Some backpackers prefer to bring along (or carve while on a trip) wooden chopsticks instead.
Editors Note: Andrew Marshall here. I can’t let this section go by without indulging in a small rant about my biggest pet peeve in backpacking, which is sporks. Sporks fail basic functionality tests as both forks and spoons. They have tines that are too small to be effective as a fork and large slots which make them ineffective as spoons. My two cents? Just use a spoon. I dare you to find a food you will eat routinely on a backpacking trip which demands the use of small spork tines. It’s possible to extrapolate this concept into a larger debate around specialized vs. multi-use gear. I’ll leave that for another day. (Your mileage may vary…)
What’s the best way to store backpacking food while camping in the backcountry?
Properly storing your food is essential to keeping wildlife safe, ensuring that future campers don’t have issues with habituated wildlife, and making sure that you don’t have a trip ruined after your food is eaten by a bear.
An Ursack is a light(er) way to protect food from bears than a bear canister. Photo: Ryan Jordan
Hanging food was, for many years, the go-to method of securing food in the backcountry. But even in the best of circumstances, it has its drawbacks. Finding the right tree and branch can be time-consuming and often impossible, depending on where you are backpacking.
Cords can damage trees, and squirrels and other rodents sometimes climb down the cord and gnaw through the thin fabric of bear bags. And in many land management units, hanging food is not allowed.
For all these reasons, bear hanging is slowly falling out of favor. However, the method still enjoys great popularity east of the Mississippi, where deciduous forests with overhanging branches are more common.
Bear canisters are a fairly foolproof way of protecting your food from bears, but can be hard to pack on many ultralight packs. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Products like Ursaks and bear canisters offer near-certain protection for your food if used properly and eliminate the hassle of finding trees appropriate for hanging.
What brands are the main suppliers of backpacking food, stoves, and cooking and storage supplies?
The list below is not comprehensive by any measure, but it does represent a good starting place. Every brand listed here makes quality gear that we or our contributors have tested and can recommend.
Good To-Go’s Thai Curry is a favorite at Backpacking Light. Photo: Andrew Marshall
Backpacking food is an intensely personal choice, and variations in preparation and cooking spring from those initial choices. Our advice is to try a bunch of different food and food strategies and see what you like before investing heavily in gear. We also recommend that you make use of our forums and the collected wisdom of our community.
Link Disclosure: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.
Browse our curated recommendations for food, cooking, and storage tools in the Backpacking Light Gear Shop. The Gear Shop is a product research & discovery tool to explore Member gear reviews, Gear Swap (used gear) listings, and more info about specific products recommended by our staff and members.
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 – this trailhead is designed to be an index of content at Backpacking Light.
DISCLOSURE (Updated April 9, 2024)
Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage.
Some (but not all) of the links in this review may be affiliate links. If you click on one of these links and visit one of our affiliate partners (usually a retailer site), and subsequently place an order with that retailer, we receive a commission on your entire order, which varies between 3% and 15% of the purchase price. Affiliate commissions represent less than 15% of Backpacking Light's gross revenue. More than 70% of our revenue comes from Membership Fees. So if you'd really like to support our work, don't buy gear you don't need - support our consumer advocacy work and become a Member instead.
Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
Much attention is paid to layering for the torso, head, hands, and feet – but the legs are often ignored. However, during winter conditions, an intentional layering strategy for the legs can make the difference between comfort and misery. For mild winter conditions, a layering strategy may look similar to a 3-season lower body layering system. However, when temperatures drop below freezing, and snow and wind increase, the strategy needs to change a bit. Listen to this episode to explore some of these strategies so you can stay warm and comfortable when the mercury drops.
Listen
Summary
Much attention is paid to layering for the torso, head, hands, and feet – but the legs are often ignored. However, during winter conditions, an intentional layering strategy for the legs can make the difference between comfort and misery. For mild winter conditions, a layering strategy may look similar to a 3-season lower body layering system. However, when temperatures drop below freezing, and snow and wind increase, the strategy needs to change a bit. Listen to this episode to explore some of these strategies so you can stay warm and comfortable when the mercury drops.
Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
Sponsorship Policy: Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage, including any podcast episode content not excplicitly identified as sponsored content. Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes may be affiliate links. Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
Sponsorship Policy: Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage, including any podcast episode content not excplicitly identified as sponsored content. Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes may be affiliate links. Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
This review focuses on the modularity of the Superior Wilderness Designs Movement 40L backpack. In particular, the Movement has the ability to morph from a frameless to a framed pack with a suspension capable of carrying 35 pounds (15.9 kg) or so.
In this episode of the Backpacking Light Podcast, you’re going to learn about avalanche awareness in the context of winter hiking, snowshoeing, and ski touring.
Listen
Summary
In this episode of the Backpacking Light Podcast, you’re going to learn about avalanche awareness in the context of winter hiking, snowshoeing, and ski touring.
In this Episode:
Winter Backpacking Gear Q&A Part 1 & 2
BPL Trail Days Online 2023
What is an avalanche and what does it do to a human?
What are the conditions that increase avalanche risk?
What triggers avalanches?
What are the terrain risks for hikers and backpackers who tend to favor low-angle terrain in the winter?
Planning and avalanche mitigation considerations for winter backpacking
Executive Producer - Backpacking Light; Show Director and Host - Ryan Jordan; Producer - Chase Jordan; Theme music: Look for Me in the Mountains 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.
Sponsorship Policy: Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage, including any podcast episode content not excplicitly identified as sponsored content. Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes may be affiliate links. Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
Highlights of 2022 – the most popular, most engaging content and featured highlights, forums, education, and more.
Introduction
What a year! It’s time to reflect and celebrate our impact and growth as a community.
The following represents our curated selection of Backpacking Light highlights from 2022. Selections are based on a combination of page visit analytics, forum engagement, and Member feedback about the impact that the content has had on their growth and confidence as a backcountry user.
Member Access to the Backpacking Light Library
Many of the articles below are freely available to the public, while a Premium or Unlimited Membership is required to access the full content of others.
In addition, forum participation requires a Basic Membership, and all online courses are included as part of the Unlimited Membership.
Your membership fees help support the development of Backpacking Light article content, podcasts, education programs, live events, and more.
Curated and maintained by our staff, Trailhead pages include a comprehensive overview of a topic with links to information and resources about the topic on the Backpacking Light website, including gear info, skills, podcasts, forums, research, education, product recommendations, and more.
Trailheads provide an incredibly efficient way to dive deep into a particular topic, helping you identify and investigate the most critical issues about that topic.
Backpacks represent a conundrum for hikers wanting to save weight while maintaining comfort. Ultralight backpacking is not just about carrying a frameless pack (which has severe limits of load-carrying comfort) – it’s about using the right pack for a particular job, tailored to the physiology and hiking practice of the individual hiker. Our goal with the Backpacks Trailhead is to educate the user about backpack engineering and design in a way that allows them to study the pack market and evaluate individual products objectively.
The thru-hiker junk-food mentality focuses on cheap food and maximum Calorie-to-ounce ratio limits – which don’t sustain human health and performance in the backcountry over the life of the hiker. In the Backpacking Food Trailhead, we push back against that mentality with food planning resources that recognize the need for nutrition, macronutrient balance, DIY (make your own food) solutions, and various cooking styles. This provides the hiker with a more balanced and informed understanding of backpacking food that frees you from the dogma of today’s trendy diets and nutrition advice.
We are constantly inundated with marketing messages about what gear to buy from brands, their ambassadors, and retailers. However, we’re more likely to trust recommendations from people who actually use the gear and can articulate why they chose that gear. Staff Picks provides diverse perspectives on how and why we choose the gear we actually use.
Most “gear awards” are given to products to feed publishers’ egos and maintain positive relationships with brands to cultivate advertising and affiliate marketing relationships. Unfortunately, recommendations made in this context may not be well-trusted by the consumer. When consumers weigh in as part of a larger collective voice, the influence and trust can be more powerful than a magazine or blog award. And out of this context was born the Backpacking Light Member’s Choice Awards.
Power specification claims by manufacturers of portable battery chargers (PBCs), especially under the environmental stress of outdoor field conditions, can’t be trusted because the engineering quality of PBCs is so variable. We developed the BatteryBench protocol to uncover the true performance of PBCs. In this Gear Guide, we apply BatteryBench to the two most popular brands of chargers in the backcountry community: Nitecore vs. Anker.
The top Gear Review categories this year were shelters and satellite communications, driven by the release of The Durston X-Mid Pro 2, Tarptent Dipole 2, Apple iPhone 14, Garmin inReach Mini 2, and Garmin inReach Messenger.
Many ultralight shelters suffer from two limitations: poor livability (e.g., a cramped interior with difficult entry/exit) and finicky pitching (e.g., unforgiving geometry). The Durston X-Mid Pro 2 tent solves both of those problems in an ultralight Dyneema Composite Fabrics configuration that offers an intuitive pitch and a roomy interior.
Carrying electronic devices like smartphones and satellite communicators (and the portable battery chargers to keep them running) unarguably adds value to the backcountry user, but not without a cost to pack weight and the pocketbook. However, as the capabilities of smartphones increase, they may be able to replace or complement the functionality of some of your other gear. In this article, we help identify the key issues for those who are on the fence about carrying the new iPhone 14 and a Garmin inReach-type satellite messaging device.
Where the aforementioned Durston X-Mid Pro 2 addresses the issues of livability and ease of setup, the Tarptent Dipole Li addresses, more specifically, interior volume and storm resistance. One of the most stormworthy ultralight shelters we’ve ever tested, the Tarptent Dipole Li bridges the gap between ultralight and functionally usable in 3-season alpine environments.
As popular as it is, the Zoleo Satellite Communicator lacks an informative on-device display, functional group messaging, reverse charging, and the use of tracking and weather forecasting without a paired smartphone. The Garmin inReach Messenger addresses all of these issues in this new satellite messaging device.
The Garmin inReach Mini received a welcome upgrade in 2022, including more capabilities as a standalone device, much-improved battery life, a higher resolution screen, an electronic compass, and Garmin Explore app integration.
If you’ve spent much time at Backpacking Light, you’ll know that we’ve built our reputation as a trusted source of gear information on our testing and research projects. This year focused on fabric performance and portable battery packs.
The role of wicking (and the outrageous manufacturer claims that surround it) is highly misunderstood. In this landmark test report, we uncover direct evidence that manufacturer claims should generally be met with skepticism.
Evaluating the performance of portable battery chargers (PBCs) based on comparing their manufacturer specifications is inadequate, especially in the context of using them outdoors. Our new BatteryBench test protocol provides a framework for comparing PBCs in a more objective manner.
The outdoor sunscreen market is competitive, saturated, and rife with products that make dubious claims to be safe and effective. In this research review, we present a framework for discovering sunscreens that use safe and effective ingredients, along with best practices for backpackers hiking in high-UV environments.
Our top Skills articles of 2022 reflect our Members’ strong interest in navigation, food planning, staying comfortable in inclement weather, and being efficient while hiking.
The backpacking poncho gets a bad rap – even though it can function as a tarp and provides more ventilation than a rain jacket. On top of that, it has far fewer breakable features (read: zippers) than traditional rain gear. Used properly (and in the right context) a poncho can be more comfortable and protective than a $500 waterproof-“breathable” rain jacket.
There is no perfect system that applies universally to every hiker. This overview of options for accessing water stored in or on your pack while hiking will give you some ideas to determine which approach works best for you.
Imagine the satisfaction of arriving at your remote campsite, firing up your stove, and getting ready to eat your favorite meal from your favorite restaurant. Chipotle, Panda Express, or your local Thai restaurant? Here’s how.
Learning how to use the Garmin inReach Mini (or Mini 2) satellite communicator without a smartphone opens up opportunities for overall battery management and more efficient messaging, navigation, and tracking.
Our most popular stories this year included an inReach-assisted rescue, reflections of a Pacific Crest Trail hike in the context of climate change, an international adventure in Africa, and a long-awaited Wonderland Trail adventure.
Sometimes the idea of pushing the SOS button on our satellite communicator is abstract enough not to think about it much. So reading first-hand accounts of real emergencies with real rescues can help drive home the point that these are incredibly valuable devices. In this story, the author writes: “I was suddenly seized by an inability to breathe: the world went black, and I was bent over gasping for air, then passed out and collapsed, falling into the marsh.” Find out how it ends.
Searching for grace and gratitude through the smoke, Drew reflects on his latest Pacific Crest Trail hike: “The trail has changed and it will continue to change. It is a living thing, and change is the essence of life. All we can do is keep moving and appreciate what good remains and work for more good to come.”
Backpacking Light has a long history of publishing make-your-own-gear innovations created by its Member community, as well as an active MYOG Forum with some of the most sophisticated MYOG enthusiasts in the backpacking community.
The Backpacking Light Gear Shop provides curated lightweight and ultralight backpacking gear recommendations from our staff, contributors, product review team, members, and trekking guides. The gear featured in this section represents this year’s most viewed products.
We recommend the Garmin inReach Mini 2 over any other satellite communications device because of its reliability, small size, and lightweight. Best paired with a smartphone, which vastly improves usability.
One of the most aesthetically beautiful Dyneema Composite Fabrics shelters we’ve ever used. The Locus Gear Khufu DCF-B is very stormworthy, easy to pitch, stable in high winds, sheds heavy snow well, and packs small. Pack extra stakes and guylines for above-the-treeline or four-season use.
Brynje fishnet mesh provides a unique approach to baselayer fabrics. Extremely low water absorption and short dry times – much better than any wool or polyester knit we’ve tried – means they don’t get soaking wet from sweat during high levels of exertion.
Fishnet pores are large and pass moisture, and allow for very lightweight construction. Merino wool and polypropylene options are available – both are very comfortable against the skin without feeling clammy. This is one of our favorite winter base layers.
Our new Member Trip Report and Member Blog Post sections feature articles written directly by our Members for our Community. We launched this section to provide Members the opportunity to reach a wider audience (because not all site visitors monitor the forums).
A huge thank you is in order to our Member Community – you’re our raison d’ĂŞtre and your membership fees support the people and technology that allows us to produce all of this amazing content. We are honored as staff, contributors, authors, guides, and educators to be able to help you thrive in the backcountry through our writing, videos, podcasts, and teaching.
Happy New Year,
Backpacking Light Staff and Contributors (Roger Caffin, Pat Dunn, Jeff de Graffenried, Daniel Hu, Chase Jordan, Stephanie Jordan, Ryan Jordan, Ben Kilbourne, Matthew King, Brenna Kotar, Andrew Marshall, Warren McLaren, James Montavon, Rex Sanders, Stephen Seeber, Drew Smith, Anna Swarts, Mark Wetherington, Jessica Ulary, and Iago Vazquez).
We’d love to hear from you in the forum comments below – what was YOUR favorite content of 2022?
Interested in winter hiking and backpacking? In this webinar, learn how to use your existing kit, plus a few extra strategic items, to be safe and comfortable in the winter. Part 2 of 2.
Interested in winter hiking and backpacking? In this webinar, learn how to use your existing kit, plus a few extra strategic items, to be safe and comfortable in the winter.
I’d really like to try winter hiking, but I don’t really want to purchase an entirely new kit of gear.
This is the number one barrier to hiking and backpacking in the winter. In this 2-part webinar series, we’ll explore each of the eight major gear systems and help you identify what gear you need, at the bare minimum, when combined with your existing kit, in order to be safe and comfortable in the winter.
Keynote: Gear for Winter Hiking & Backpacking (~55 minutes)
Backpacking Light Member Q&A Sessions are Hour-Long Members-Only Live Events – they are recorded and the recorded session will be made available to all members for a limited time after the live event has ended (and for Unlimited Members forever).
To access the live or recorded (video) version of this event, a printable slide deck for note-taking, and the related resources/downloads, you must be logged in with an active Basic, Premium, or UnlimitedMembership.
Members-Only: Watch the Recorded Video & Access Additional Resources
Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage.
Some (but not all) of the links in this review may be affiliate links. If you click on one of these links and visit one of our affiliate partners (usually a retailer site), and subsequently place an order with that retailer, we receive a commission on your entire order, which varies between 3% and 15% of the purchase price. Affiliate commissions represent less than 15% of Backpacking Light's gross revenue. More than 70% of our revenue comes from Membership Fees. So if you'd really like to support our work, don't buy gear you don't need - support our consumer advocacy work and become a Member instead.
Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
In this video overview, I present the five rods that I’ve been using over the past few years for most of my backcountry tenkara fishing. They include four models from Tenkara USA (including the new Satoki) and one model from Tenryu (the TF39TA) that remains the staple of my kit. In addition, I’ll walk through the basic gear I use and take while tenkara fishing on hiking and backpacking trips.
Introduction
There are hundreds of makes and models of tenkara fishing rods on the market today. I’m not going to pretend to be an expert at using all of them! In this video overview, I present the five rods that I’ve been using over the past few years for most of my backcountry tenkara fishing. They include four models from Tenkara USA (including the new Satoki) and one model from Tenryu (the TF39TA) that remains the staple of my kit. In addition, I’ll walk through the basic gear I use and take while tenkara fishing on hiking and backpacking trips.
Watch the Video
Tenkara Rod Comparison
make/model
handle length
closed length
extended lengths
pennies*
weight
unique feature(s)
best for
Tenryu TF39TA
10 in
14 in
10 ft 10 in; 11 ft 9 in; 12 ft 9 in
15.5; 16.5; 17 [1]
2.8 oz
fiberglass content for smoother action in casting level lines and finer control over accuracy, extremely compact
expert fishers who predominantly use level lines, who want a very compact rod for backpacking
Tenkara Tenkara USA Hane (BPL model)
8.5 in
16.5 in
9 ft 10 in
46 [1]
2.7 oz
short length for small streams, fast action makes this a very easy rod to cast, extremely compact, lots of power for big fish control
small stream backpacking, kids, beginners
Tenkara USA Rhodo
9 in
20.5 in
8 ft 10 in; 9 ft 9 in; 10 ft 6 in
15; 15.5; 15 [2]
2.1 oz
light weight, short rod, very easy to cast
compact streams, delicate presentation of smaller flies
Tenkara USA Satoki
11.75 in
22.25 in
10 ft 10 in; 12 ft 2 in; 13 ft 8 in
26.5 [3]
3.5 oz
very wide zoom range
larger fish, versatile enough zoom range and handle length for wide variety of streams, rivers, and alpine lakes
Tenkara USA Ito
11.75 in
25.5 in
13 ft; 14 ft 7 in
15; 15 [1]
3.9 oz
long length, soft action
long lines, bigger rivers, alpine lakes
Table Notes:
* The number of pennies (a measure of weight, where one penny = 2.5 grams) hanging from the rod tip, when the rod is fixed horizontally, that results in a deflection of the tip equivalent to one-third the rod length. Learn more at Tenkarabum.com. [1] Source: Tenkara Bum. [2] Source: Teton Tenkara. [3] Source: author (10 ft 10 in length only).
An easy dinner in the Flat Tops Wilderness with the Tenryu TF39TA, a furled line, and a foam hopper.
Recommendations:
For the minimalist who wants the absolute simplest and easiest to use setup – the Tenkara USA Hane.
For the beginner who wants the versatility of a zoom rod but mostly fishes small streams – the Tenkara USA Rhodo.
For the dedicated alpine lake fisher who needs maximum reach with long lines – the Tenkara USA Ito.
For the expert fly fisher who happens to backpack – the Tenryu TF39TA.
For maximum versatility in zoom range and the ability to wrangle big fish – the Tenkara USA Satoki.
Shore lunch in the Big Horns. Brookies caught by the kids (ages 6-10) on the Tenkara USA Hane with a furled line and Parachute Adams.
Browse our curated recommendations in the Backpacking Light Gear Shop – a product research & discovery tool where you can find Member gear reviews, Gear Swap (used gear) listings, and more info about specific products recommended by our staff and members.
Backpacking Light does not accept compensation or donated/discounted products in exchange for product mentions or placements in editorial coverage.
Some (but not all) of the links in this review may be affiliate links. If you click on one of these links and visit one of our affiliate partners (usually a retailer site), and subsequently place an order with that retailer, we receive a commission on your entire order, which varies between 3% and 15% of the purchase price. Affiliate commissions represent less than 15% of Backpacking Light's gross revenue. More than 70% of our revenue comes from Membership Fees. So if you'd really like to support our work, don't buy gear you don't need - support our consumer advocacy work and become a Member instead.
Learn more about affiliate commissions, influencer marketing, and our consumer advocacy work by reading our article Stop wasting money on gear.
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