Articles (2020)

Learning Curve: I Finally Had to Plan a Backpacking Trip With No Help

I’m a big planner at home, but not so much with backpacking. On my last OCT solo section, I actually had to do all of the planning myself.

Over the past six months, I’ve been slowly picking away at the 330-mile Oregon Coast Trail. This is my first section hiking experience, and one of the most non-linear trails I’ve ever hiked. My first section was with two hiking friends, and for the most recent section I was on my own.

While I love the companionship of hiking with partners, solo trips are one of my favorite ways to backpack, and I’ve done plenty of peak-bagging trips, camping excursions, and overnights by myself. But those past solo outings were either in familiar areas or on straightforward trails. All I needed was a reliable GPS track and to remember all of my gear.

A woman rests next to her backpack with a beach scene in the background.
When you’re solo, you can stop whenever you feel like it.

Doing this section of the Oregon Coast Trail by myself didn’t seem like too big a deal. It was a little over 50 miles and I figured on two-and-a-half days end to end. But this section required one aspect that is simply not my strong suit: planning.

I’m a highly detailed planner at home. Everything is on a list, and sometimes I make lists of my lists to keep track of what lists I’ve written. As a full-time writer and solo homeowner, planning keeps me sane and ensures I don’t drop the ball on anything from overdue invoices to draft deadlines to calling the sprinkler guy. Backpacking is my escape from this – literally and figuratively. I get out of my house and away from my routine, which also means I strive to ditch the shackles of my structured, planned existence when I hit the trail.

So yes, sometimes this means the planning falls to other people. Other times it means no one planned the trip and we’re just going to wing it. In my defense, I’ve found backpackers sometimes have the tendency to over plan before realizing they’re at the mercy of the trail, and itineraries are often set free within the first few days. As long as I know how I’m getting to the trail and the location of my first resupply, I’m all set. I don’t look at the elevation profile, I don’t obsess over the forecast, and I’m not super concerned with how I’m getting off the trail.

a beach landscape with steep cliffs in the right hand side of the frame.
Past Cannon Beach… i.e. the Goonies Beach to everyone except me, the only person in the world who has never seen the Goonies. Photo credit: Maggie Slepian

I had to put some thought into this section of the Oregon Coast Trail. The OCT is odd from start to finish. You definitely need a GPS track, as the trail wanders on and off the beach, darting through towns and into neighborhoods before picking up a few miles of trail, then back onto the beach and exiting at another seemingly random point. There are also points along the beach sections that can only be crossed at low tide, which means having a tide chart or app. Additionally, some parts of the trail are closed from a massive storm last fall that resulted in large swaths of impassable blowdowns. All in all, for a short section, there was kind of a lot to consider, at least for me.

In typical fashion, I had a work commitment right before I was supposed to get dropped off at the Northern Terminus, and didn’t pack or plan anything beforehand. I threw my standard gear into my screaming cat pack and took screenshots of the trail description page from the Oregon Coast Trail website so I wouldn’t have to try to access it with spotty service. I’d had the foresight to get a membership to the Hiiker app the day before, which is one of the only apps with a track of the OCT. As we drove in and out of service along the Oregon Coast towards Astoria, I downloaded a tides app and made sure I understood the interface. It might have been last minute, but it was more planning than I’d done for any other trip.

a view of a beach from high up on some cliffs above the water
This section had beach walking and cliffs. Simply amazing. Photo credit: Maggie Slepian

There isn’t a ton of cohesive information about the OCT – you have to piece it together from different sources. For this reason, the northern 50 miles of the OCT was good practice for me to be in charge of my own planning without risking major consequences like I would with a more remote trail. There was some navigation, some timing, and some understanding of closures and regulations, but nothing critical – and always some room for error.

I thought about the last time I was on the OCT. My friend Julia had discovered and downloaded Hiiker. I’d never downloaded the app, rather let her be in charge of telling us where to get on and off the beach. The other member of our party, Becca, had the tides app, and she kept track of when we were safe to cross certain sections of beach.

The Oregon Coast Trail is not remote – at least the northern half isn’t. But because of the afore-mentioned tides and unmarked trail sections, the OCT takes a different type of planning than a more traditional trail. You might not need to plan the timing of resupplies, as the trail hits a town at least every other day, but you do need to time certain sections based on the tides, and know where camping is or isn’t allowed.

My partner Jeff shuttled me, and he waited for me to direct him to the Northern Terminus instead of mapping it himself. He is well aware of how much I drag my feet with backpacking planning, and wanted me to do the whole thing. To be quite honest, I did feel a twinge of pride at actually having located the sign on the jetty at Fort Stevens State Park. I waved goodbye as he drove away, then punched through some bushes to find an official trail marker heading towards the beach. Even these first steps are usually done by my hiking companions, so even the first half-mile of my solo trek was a good confidence boost that showed I can at least find my way onto a trail.

a woman stands next to a trail sign for the Oregon Coast Trail with the beach and ocean in the background.
Successfully located the Northern Terminus of the Oregon Coast Trail. Photo credit: Maggie Slepian

Most of the next several days were easy. I was glad I’d downloaded the tides app, and the Hiiker GPS track was incredibly useful. Being by myself is always a joy, and I reveled in being able to throw my pack down whenever I wanted, or keep going when I felt good. I got turned around a few times, and had some trouble figuring out where the trail picked up after unmarked intersections. With no one to confer with, I was even more proud when I figured it out each time. I did get mildly frustrated trying to figure out how to tell Jeff where I was going to end (mapping skills are not my strong suit) and then frustrated again when a trail closure stymied my last night of camping. I was able to wing it, though, and also wound up feeling confident with my abilities to adapt on the fly.

The northern section of the Oregon Coast Trail was a success, and boosted my confidence for my Colorado Trail solo later this summer. I picked the CO Trail partly for the majestic scenery and ideal distance, but also because it’s a good next step in my solo planning skills. Now that I’ve gotten the bug and am not quite so resistant to planning, there will definitely be more solo trips between now and then.

Learn More: LiteAF Curve Backpack

  • Maggie mentioned her screaming cat pack. Read her write-up of Lite AF’s unique Dyneema Composite Fabric dying process here.
  • Or, check out the Lite AF Curve in our gear shop.
  • And make sure and read our review of the Lite AF Curve 35 L here.

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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.

Episode 41 | Matt Mason on Bikepacking and Public Lands, Part II

In today’s podcast, we are joined once again by Matt Mason for part two of our ongoing bikepacking conversation. This conversation digs a little more deeply into the nuances and logistical questions of bikepacking.

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Summary

In today’s podcast, we are joined once again by Matt Mason for part two of our ongoing bikepacking conversation. This conversation digs a little more deeply into the nuances and logistical questions of bikepacking.

a bicycle and tent perched above a sunset
Bikepacking above Lake Tahoe

Also in this episode: an app that helps you determine how much fuel is left in fuel canisters, a windscreen to improve the efficiency of your stove, the new Backpacking Light website, and more.

Outline

  • The website has officially launched!
  • Ryan’s been playing with canister stove windscreens, particularly the Flat Cat Gear Ocelot Windscreen
  • storing gear – what can you leave in a storage unit?
  • Andrew is about to experiment with the FuelMizer ap
  • Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 update
  • Ryan’s unconventional bear canister storage solution
  • resupply, packing, and logistics for long bikepacking trips
  • wearing a backpack while bikepacking
  • Matt’s logistical challenges carrying his bike across the Grand Canyon
  • trailers
  • multi-sport expedition-style bikepacking trips
  • the joys of bike pushing
  • Leave No Trace principles for bikepacking
  • hikers becoming bikepackers vs. bikepackers becoming hikers
  • the differences between bikepacking and backpacking the Colorado Trail
  • Bikes in wilderness
  • The Monumental Loop
  • right-of-way issues, earbuds, and paying attention on trail
  • aging and nervous system sensitivity
  • finding harmony on multi-use trails
  • biking in the heat
  • water strategies on a bike
  • Monumental Loop on Instagram
  • The Tahoe Twirl
  • trip tempos
  • the joy of road sections
  • single speed validation

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  • 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. 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.
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Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 Backpack Review

The Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 Backpack (MSRP: $330, ~28 ounces / 794 g) is an innovative frameless pack designed specifically to accommodate bear canisters. It features a unique water bottle storage system, optional shoulder-strap pockets, a removable foam back panel, a floating hipbelt, a large wrap-around exterior pocket, and a closed-cell foam pad attachment system.

The Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 Backpack (MSRP: $330, ~28 ounces / 794 g) is an innovative frameless pack designed specifically to accommodate bear canisters. It features a unique water bottle storage system, optional shoulder-strap pockets, a removable foam back panel, a floating hipbelt, a large wrap-around exterior pocket, and a closed-cell foam (CCF) pad attachment system.

a rear view of a man wearing the backpacking, looking out over a view of a beautiful alpine lake.
This is a good angle to see that the heavy and bulky items (especially water and bear canister) are stored down low near the center of gravity.

Highlights

  • curved space under the main compartment externally accommodates a bear canister at the hiker’s center of gravity
  • waterbottle holders attach to hipbelt for easy access
  • roll-top closure cinches down with single strap
  • 35 L claimed capacity (main compartment)
  • 35 pound (16 kg) maximum weight capacity
  • padded hipbelt
  • large wrap-around rear pocket is fabric on the sides and non-stretch mesh on back
  • daisy chains along the central line of rear pocket
  • daisy chains on shoulder straps
  • dedicated ice-axe storage system
  • dedicated CCF pad storage system
  • 210 d Gridstop / 330 d Cordura fabric

Testing Context

Moving to the Sierra Nevada from the southeast three years ago was an exercise in bear canister discovery – namely how terrible and cumbersome they are. My backpacking system simply wasn’t designed to accommodate a bear canister. As it turns out, none of the packs I’ve tested since then – several of them quite excellent – really shone when it came to bear canisters either.

The Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 immediately caught my eye for this reason. It’s designed specifically to:

  1. Accommodate a bear canister at the bottom of the pack to maximize comfort and stability and,
  2. do it on the outside of the pack, allowing for ease of access during the day without having to unstrap the canister.
a man with a luscious red beard rests next to a fully loaded backpack.
Taking a break after scrambling up some talus. The Nunatak Bears Ears 50 is very stable in such situations.

I took the Bears Ears 50 out for a quick two-day, one-night excursion in my home turf around Lake Tahoe to gather my initial thoughts. The Bears Ears 50 will be my pack on a two-week Sierra High Route trip later in the summer of 2021 – a trip that will provide me with the testing experience to file a Performance Review at a later date.

This is a first look at new gear that recently entered our review pipeline, and hasn't yet been subjected to rigorous field use. Learn more about the types of product reviews we publish.

First Impressions

Stability

I loaded up the Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 with about 30 pounds (14 kg) for my short testing trip. That’s way more than I would typically take on an overnight, but I wanted to see how the pack faired as it crept up on its maximum weight capacity – particularly as my trip involved steep climbs and descents, talus, scrambling, and sandy, unstable footing. A few cans of beer provided the extra weight I needed.

It’s worth noting that the water bottle holders on this pack hang off the hipbelt. This design has practical application for usability (i.e. no contorting around to fish bottles out of side pockets) but it also means the next heaviest thing in the user’s pack after food – water – is also at the user’s center of gravity along with the bear canister.

The combination of floating hipbelt and water/bear canister positioning created a lot of confidence as I scrambled up and over a talus field to reach my destination, and even felt steady as I navigated the downhill the next day.

Comfort

The Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 carried my 30 pound (14 kg) load easily. The J-shape shoulder straps are .75 inches (2 cm) thick and just shy of 3 inches (8 cm) wide where they meet the shoulder. The removable foam back panel is .25 inch (1 cm) thick. The Bears Ears 50 necessitates careful packing (you don’t want anything hard pressing up against your bear canister or your back) but once a user has her packing strategy dialed in, it’s easy to achieve a comfortable carry with this pack. The floating hipbelt (with .5 inches / 1 cm of foam padding) and attention towards weight distribution in the pack design also help out in this regard.

My upcoming Sierra High Route trip will almost certainly see me pushing this pack right up to the 35 pound (16 kg) mark, but I don’t estimate that additional five pounds (2 kg) will be enough to take this pack from comfortable to not.

Usability

The externally stored bear canister and hipbelt water bottle holders both give the Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 high marks in usability, allowing for water access on the go and food access without rummaging around in the pack, respectively.

But there are a few other features worth noting. A length of shockcord running in a loop directly above the bear canister storage area provides storage for a CCF pad, while a shock-cord and webbing system along the central spine of the pack provides better-than-average trekking pole/ice-axe storage.

The rear external pocket is voluminous and wraps entirely around the pack from one side of the back panel to the other. The sides of the pocket are 310 denier Cordura, while the outside panel is non-stretchy, open mesh.

Between the exterior pocket and the expandable main compartment (the roll-top closure extends a solid 12 inches / 30 cm above the shoulders), it would be easy to overload this pack, so users who depend on a lack of volume to manage their pack weight should beware.

A glut of daisy chains run up and down both shoulder straps as well as along a central strip of fabric attached to the exterior rear pocket. I’m a fan of clipping on-the-go items to daisy chains, so I appreciate this touch.

As a final nod towards usability, Nuntak Gear notes that the bear canister storage area can be used to hold any number of large, bulky items like packrafts, winter gear, Ursacks, or Nunatak’s Cargo Sack (essentially just a cylindrical stuff sack). I’ve yet to try this function, but will likely test it out on Colorado’s Collegiate Loop with an Ursack later this summer.

Photos

a man hikes with the pack on a ridge with a mountain view and a valley in the background.
Testing the Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 in the Sierra Nevada.
a close up of of the pack's shoulder straps showing six or seven daisy chains.
There are tons of daisy chains on the J-shaped shoulder straps.
A close up of the pack's hipbelt.
The floating hipbelt is padded and attached directly to the bear canister storage area on the rear exterior of the pack. In other words, the structure of the bear canister provides a little rigidity to the pack.
A close up of the open mesh pocket and a line of diasy chains with caribener clips.
The exterior rear pocket is plenty deep, and wraps all the way around the pack from one side of the back panel to the other. That’s a 1 foot (30 cm) ruller resting inside the pocket. There’s also a string of daisy chains running down the central line of the pocket.
A closeup of the system of webbing that allows the bear canister to slot into the pack.
From this angle, you can see the bear canister attachment system as well as the lower half of the ice axe/trekking pole attachment system (shockcord and webbing).
a close up of shock cord running in roughly a square right above the bear canister attachment area.
The CCF attachment shock cord.
A close up of some nylon webbing running diagonally across the end of the bear canister.
The lateral stabilizing straps for the bear canister attachment system. One of the great things about this pack is how easy it is to access the canister without removing it.
A medium shot of the bear canister attachment system and the water bottle storage system.
The water bottle storage system hangs off the hipbelts. You can order something to fit a 1 L Smartwater (or in this case a 650 L bottle), or a Nalgene-sized bottle.
A medium shot of the pack, showing the wrap-around pockets, extended accordion-style closure, and bear canister storage.
The wrap-around pocket is voluminous, and the accordion-style closure extends well above the shoulder straps if needed.
a medium-wide shot of the pack resting against the tree.
From this angle you can really see that the pack is designed to rely on the bear canister to provide support for the upper internal storage compartment.
a wide shot of the pack resting against a tree.
It would be easy to over-stuff this pack. Users should use caution, it has more volume than it’s recommended maximum carrying capacity could support.
A medium-wide shot of a man hiking up a slight incline wearing the pack.
Another angle that illustrates how things are stored externally on the pack.

The Takeaway

The Nunatak Bears Ears 50 seems like a unique and versatile pack. It combines a rich feature set, thoughtful design, and bulky-item carrying capacity (complete with floating hipbelt) with a 35-pound (16 kg) load capacity and minimalist removable foam back panel. The water and bear canister storage areas are well-situated for a stable carry, even over talus or while scrambling.

I’d prefer to see this pack rendered in X-Pac or Dyneema Composite Fiber for some waterproof capability, but also understand that this pack is aimed primarily at western hikers operating in ranges without a lot of all-day rainstorms.

How the Nunatek Bears Ears 50 fairs under the maximum recommended loads for extended carries remains to be seen, but my initial impression of the pack is overwhelmingly favorable.

Learn More: Nunatak Gear Bears Ears 50 Backpack

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DISCLOSURE (Updated April 9, 2024)

  • Product mentions in this article are made by the author with no compensation in return. In addition, 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.

The Overlook: Good Gear Lets You Be Present

What’s the perfect pack? One that stays off your mind.

There were big, round, gray stones in the East Verde River and I stepped carefully from one to the next, planting my trekking poles in the shallow water for stability. On the other side, I unclipped my hipbelt and sternum strap and swung my pack to the ground, leaning it against a round, gray rock. I looked up-canyon wondering where the water originated, for I couldn’t remember what Google Earth had told me earlier that week. Then I looked down-canyon where the water hit a brown, rocky wall, detoured around it, and then disappeared into sycamores and a long, mysterious canyon I wished I had time to explore.

A shallow river with leafless trees on the bank.
The East Verde River.

Then my attention turned to the pack I was wearing. I was 11 miles into the first day of testing the YAR Gear Mountain Drifter 38 Liter pack and needed to pay attention to whether or not it was working. Suddenly aware I hadn’t spent all that much time thinking about it during those first 11 miles, I promised myself I would try and pay better attention from then on out. I hadn’t noticed undue pressure on my shoulders, hips, or back. All I really did remember from the last 11 miles were the large volcanic stones in the trail, prickly pear, agave, alligator juniper, piñon, yuccas, and countless birds. I remember the looming blue triangle of the Mazatzal Mountains dusted lightly in snow creeping slowly closer to me like one of the pyramids of Giza chained to a winch and cranked heavily across the ground. Is that how they were built? With that thought came a flood of associations. “When the great – pyramids – dragged themselves out to this spot – sickness sank into the little one’s heart,” I sang loudly, remembering the beautiful and dark Jason Molina song.

A sandy wash and some scrub brush in the foreground, with a blue mountain peak in the far distance.
The blue pyramid of the Mazatzal Mountains.

But then I realized that if the pack wasn’t stealing my attention, maybe it was doing exactly what it was supposed to be doing, just simply working, so that my attention could be freed up to experience other things, the world around me, and the associations it prompts. That’s what I think good gear should do. It should remain in the background so that we can have the experience of just being out there.

With my next source of water eight miles away and uncertain at best, I filled up my bottles from the slimy creek. I threw the pack on and with that extra weight it became noticeable, feeling like a toddler had crawled into it when I wasn’t looking. I passed several other hikers, each of them either section-hiking or thru-hiking the Arizona Trail. “Am I almost to Pine?” a young man with tan-colored everything, buzzed hair, and a roll of quadrangles in his hand jokingly moaned. “Not far!” I said enthusiastically. “I’m dying,” he responded and plodded on. He seemed to be very aware of his pack, unnoteworthy though it looked to me.

The climb was hot, and at the top I sat down in the shade of a juniper, listening to my heart pulse in my ears and feeling my temples throb. After a few minutes, I stood again and left the Arizona Trail, going west on a different, clearly unmaintained trail. After drinking some water the pack soon faded again into the background of my experience, while birdsong, sunlight, agave, manzanita, and my body moving through it all came to the fore. “There is no future – no promise of more,” I starting singing. It must have been a subconscious wish to be purely present, an incantation to banish the past, future, and the desire for something more than what is.

a view down a valley with rolling hills in the background.
The real reason I go backpacking.

At some point, if I walk long enough, some ill-fitting, poorly designed, heavy backpacks become less noticeable. Conversely, most ill-fitting packs fill me with rage by mile 35 or so. A rage that instigates an obsessive problem-solving state of mind. One that tends to block out all other experiences. Over the last few years, I’ve spent more hours in this state of mind while on the trail than I’d like to admit to myself, much less to an audience.

And it’s a catch-22 as well because I need to experience different packs to find out what works, but I simply want the problem to be solved so that I can just be there. I could name all the backpacks I’ve tried and why they didn’t work, or almost worked, or mostly worked but were missing that special something that made me excited to wear them, but it’s all beside the point.

In a sense, and to sort of quote Voltaire, the perfect backpack has become the enemy of the good backpack. By which I mean, the theoretical existence of the perfect backpack has made me so aware of the good backpack that the good backpack has sometimes distracted me from the experience of backpacking.

I don’t mind this distraction to some degree, after all, it’s a part of my job, but this tension has reminded me that it is not the main reason I go backpacking. There are many reasons, too many to fully articulate here, but most can be boiled down to a reconnection with the land. So if it is the land and myself in communion that is one of the primary goals, then all I want my backpack to do is hold everything I need to facilitate that connection and to do so unobtrusively.

I descended gradually into a red granite arroyo late in the afternoon and could feel my quads. They were telling me the day should have been over by then. I stopped, leaned my trekking poles against a limber juniper bow, and pulled the map out of my shoulder strap pocket. I could see the possibility of flatness just 200 feet above me. I looked up from the map at the hill in front of me. I folded the map and stowed it away and took up my poles and began plodding slowly up the hill. This hill, though still pretty high in elevation, had the first ocotillos I had seen on this trip. I passed them panting and soon emerged on top in a beautiful grove of piñons and junipers. There was a view, a flat spot, and trees. It was perfect.

I dumped out the contents of my pack carelessly and pulled my tent from the stuff sack. When I had it set up I stepped back to take a picture. I suddenly realized that this tent is probably the only piece of gear I own that almost never steals my attention aside from the times that its clean aesthetic prompts me to take photos of it. If you must know, it’s a Mountain Laurel Designs DCF DuoMid.

a pyramid style tent pitched under a small stand of trees.
The only piece of gear I have that I hardly ever think about.

I have never put much thought into my DuoMid. In my pack, it’s small enough, unobtrusive. The weight with an inner and stakes and really long guylines is just over two pounds, which is fine with me. When I’m in it I feel at home. No amount of rain or wind has really bothered me. I feel safe. Because it’s half vestibule I can spread everything out and organize it. It’s comfortable. It works. I don’t find myself pining for something else. Of course, this experience is subjective, but the point is that I found something that works for me.

My last morning in the Mazatzal Wilderness I opened both sides of the door and rolled them back and then sat with tea watching the light creep across the land from the western mountains towards me. I didn’t think about the tent, it was doing exactly what it was supposed to be doing on a morning like that: staying out of the way.

A pyramid style tent nestles into a hollow at the base of some cliffs.
Mountain Laurel Designs DuoMid on the last day of my trip.

After loading everything back in my Yar Gear Mountain Drifter 38 in preparation for a 12-mile, 3500-foot climb to the trailhead, I set it against some rocks to take a few photos. The pack was still ridiculously full for the last day of the trip, I had packed at least two more days of food than I needed, and I have no idea why. “Oh well,” I thought. “It was a good test.” I set the timer on my camera, placed it on a rock, stepped back a few paces with the pack on my back, and struck a comically fake pose. My mind was not on the crisp spring morning on the edge of the Sonoran, it was on the world of the internet, where an audience would be viewing me, reading my words. I found it funny, though, suddenly laughing at myself for bringing these thoughts to this place. These worlds are so separate, and yet weirdly connected. I turned off the camera and stowed it in my shoulder strap pocket and walked away from my now vacant campsite towards the trail.

A man walks into some bushes while wearing a backpack.
The Yar Gear Mountain Drifter 38 stealing my attention for this photoshoot but then fading into the back of my mind due to exceptional comfort.

On the one hand, I want everything I own to function as well as my DuoMid so I don’t have to dissociate repeatedly from the land every time I notice an imperfection in my kit. After all, this modern dissociation from the land is the reason I return to it over and over to reconnect. But on the other hand, I want to be alright with the fact that much of my gear will never be perfect. I will have rainjackets that will fail, and sporks that are too short. I will have sleeping pads that will deflate, and, I’m sure, plenty more backpacks that will leave me wanting.

But somewhere in there, I think I can find a balance where most of my gear works so well that it doesn’t interfere with experience, and when imperfect items steal my attention I am not bothered by them. I’ll keep searching for this balance. How do you find it?

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Read more of Ben’s essays and gear reviews here.

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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.

Episode 40 | Ben Kilbourne Reads “The Anthropology of a Trail”

Who or what makes a trail? This is the question Backpacking Light author Ben Kilbourne asks himself (and us) as he reads his essay The Anthropology of a Trail.

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Who or what makes a trail? This is the question Backpacking Light author Ben Kilbourne asks himself (and us) as he reads his essay The Anthropology of a Trail.

a trail vanishes into the desert
A well-worn trail and a shadow of one of its many walkers in the foothills above Salt Lake City. Photo credit: Ben Kilbourne

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  • Some (but not all) of the links in these show notes 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.
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The Backpacker’s Journey

Rex Sanders examines the arcs and stages that backpackers take as years and mileage start to add up.

Introduction

Most backpackers improve their skills, pack weight, distance hiked per day, and other factors as they move through progressive stages of their passion. This story describes, in broad terms, seven arcs and five stages that we might have in common.

Some of the arcs across several stages of our backpacking journey.
Some of the arcs across several stages of our backpacking journey. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

The seven arcs are:

  • skills
  • total pack weight
  • gear complexity
  • distance per day
  • planned weather
  • luxuries
  • suffering

I could describe many other arcs; these seem to be common and illuminating.

Our five shared stages might be called:

  1. New Weekend Warriors
  2. Aspiring Thru-Hikers
  3. Lightweight Backpackers
  4. Gram Weenies
  5. Ultralighters

Some backpackers stop at a given stage, having reached their goals. Or they might “exit,” and choose to emphasize other factors besides pack weight or distance.

For many people, backpacking supports more significant activities like hunting, fishing, mountaineering, photography, and more. Striving for the lowest carried weight or the longest day’s hike is not that important to these people.

Stage 1: New Weekend Warriors

These backpackers carry a heavy pack on shorter trips while tolerating some suffering as they hike and camp. Their ranks are mostly younger people just starting out, often with borrowed gear. They typically go on weekend backpacking trips of one or two nights.

Backpacking skills and experience are usually slim to non-existent. They plan most trips for fair weather and often cut trips short when conditions turn bad.

Backpackers in this stage might slowly add weight, as they learn from sometimes painful experiences or good marketing, that they need a better first aid kit or party lights for their tent.

Often these trekkers struggle with taking too much or too little food, fuel, and water. If they run out on one trip, they almost always take too much on future trips. What some call luxuries, these trekkers consider necessities.

Total pack weight ranges from 25 to 35 lb (11 to 16 kg), with a base pack weight from 20 to 30 lb (9 to 14 kg). Most trips are 5 to 15 mi (8 to 24 km) per day.

Many backpackers stop at this stage, because their suffering is tolerable, and they are happy to be outdoors a few times every year. Gear is simply a means to an end.

Stage 2: Aspiring Thru-hikers

a skinny man with an oversized pack, a mesh shirt, and short shorts poses next to a trail sign for the PCT
Rex carrying about 50 pounds (23 kg) on the Pacific Crest Trail in Southern California several decades ago. Credit: Gordon Masor.

Some backpackers get more ambitious and want to tackle longer trips, getting deeper into wild areas, or spending several days at a favorite camping spot. A common pattern is to add more food and fuel to the gear they used for Stage 1. But they might also add more gear for birdwatching or taking kids along. Many become aspiring thru-hikers.

These backpackers often have some skills and experience – but not much. They plan trips for fair weather, though many push into the so-called shoulder seasons (spring and fall) by adding more or heavier gear. Sometimes, bad weather shortens their trip.

Because they are carrying more weight, these trekkers suffer more while hiking, though they might have a better time in camp or at that favorite trout stream.

At this stage, most backpackers have food, fuel, and water sorted out for shorter trips. But the learning curve restarts for longer trips, often with some hard-won lessons. They might add new luxuries like pillows and coffee makers.

Total pack weight often ranges from 30 to 50 lb (14 to 23 kg), with a base pack weight from 20 to 40 lb (9 to 18 kg). They might hike 15 to 20 mi (24 to 32 km) per day on some days during some trips.

A few people stop here, willing to suffer more for other benefits, but unwilling to dive into gear geekery. Many suffer so much that they go back to the shorter trips of Stage 1, while some give up backpacking entirely.

Stage 3: Lightweight Backpackers

Some Stage 1 and Stage 2 backpackers figure out that excess total pack weight is at the core of their suffering, or limits their adventures. These backpackers usually start by reducing the weight of their big three items – backpack, sleep system, and shelter. Yet after spending several hundred dollars replacing those items, they realize that carrying a 2 lb (1 kg) cook system or wearing heavy boots no longer makes sense.

This can lead to a sustained research-and-buying frenzy, pursuing lighter versions of everything they currently carry. They quickly reach diminishing returns on the amount of weight they can save per additional dollar spent. Yet backpackers in this stage frequently develop a kind of tunnel vision, focused on base pack weight while almost ignoring consumables like food, water, and fuel.

Their skills are roughly intermediate. Backpackers in this stage want to expand their trip repertoire to other regions and seasons, including early spring and late fall. Some add cross-country skiing, packrafting, or vlogging to their trips – with additional weight and new skill sets. The added mass of their passions encourages them to further reduce base pack weight.

Rather than buying all their gear from big box stores, they often start purchasing items directly over the Internet from smaller gear makers.

Total pack weight ranges from 15 to 35 lb (7 to 16 kg), depending on trip length. Base pack weight, usually tracked using complex spreadsheets, might range from 10 to 15 lb (4.5 to 7 kg). Daily distances over 20 mi (32 km) become much more realistic.

A lot of people stop here, content to suffer less while enjoying the outdoors.

Stage 4: Gram Weenies

Some Stage 3 backpackers choose to go further and overhaul their kit. Occasionally aspiring Stage 2 trekkers cruise through Stage 3 and into Stage 4 without pausing.

Rather than relying exclusively on marketing, reviews, and advice from others, backpackers in this stage often start experimenting. They swap tents for tarps and bivy sacks. Quilts might replace sleeping bags. They spend many hours contemplating frameless packs. But they can’t quite make the leap to stoveless trips after trying a few no-cook dinners.

New jargon like “EN ratings,” “hydraulic head,” and “CFM” peppers many conversations. Online they debate the pros and cons of DCF, silnylon, and silpoly. Gear storage and display take over entire rooms at home. Trip planning frequently involves agonizing decisions over which of several backpacks, tents, or sleeping bags to take. Non-backpacking friends and loved ones start rolling their eyes and avoiding certain topics.

Their skills are pretty good by now, and tackling winter trips, remote environments, and higher altitudes becomes possible.

A few become modders. They start by trimming excess bits and pieces from their gear to save weight and graduate to adding missing features after many hours of research and sketching. For a few, shedding weight becomes almost an obsession, removing clothing tags and extra inches (centimeters) of straps without mercy.

Some backpackers at this stage start making their own gear, out of frustration from not finding their idea of the perfect item, or out of fiscal necessity.

They analyze food for calories-per-ounce or kilojoules-per-gram, frequently at the expense of edibility or good nutrition. Stove fuel gets a similar treatment, followed by a flurry of stove buying, making, and testing. They still view water as a critical necessity, but usually, skip a detailed needs analysis.

Eliminating luxuries becomes a passion, often at the expense of a good night’s sleep or other necessities. They believe this added suffering is required to hit certain base pack weight goals.

Total pack weight might range from 10 to 25 lb (5 to 11 kg), depending on trip length. Base pack weight can start below 10 lb (5 kg). These trekkers may plan trips assuming 20 to 25 mi (32 to 40 km) per day, and occasionally might even hit 30 mi (48 km) per day.

Many backpackers stay in this level, with a constantly evolving gear selection, and frequent trips to the Backpacking Light gear swap forum.

Stage 5: Ultralighters

In this very small club, concepts like SUL (super-ultra-light) and XUL (extreme-ultra-light) become part of their online discussions. Arguments might break out over what counts as worn weight or carried weight. They discuss the latest fastest known times (always abbreviated FKT) on famous trails, including subtle distinctions between supported and unsupported trips.

The equipment they use often becomes a mix of MYOG (make your own gear), plus near-custom items purchased from very small cottage makers with delivery times measured in months.

Backpackers at this stage require a deep set of skills to use their gear safely, often honed over many years and long thru-hikes. They are usually comfortable hiking in all seasons, off-trail, and sometimes pioneering new routes. When carrying minimal loads, these trekkers might avoid the most severe weather.

Food and fuel weights are pretty dialed-in by now. At water breaks, cameling up (drinking a lot) and making large meals becomes the norm to reduce carried water weight. Backpackers in this level might allow themselves one luxury item, and highlight that in gear lists or social media posts.

Total pack weight rarely exceeds 15 lb (7 kg). Base pack weight varies, but for most trips rarely exceeds 10 lb (5 kg). Daily hiking distance is usually over 20 mi (32 km), often reaching 30 or 40 mi (40 or 64 km).

Other Observations

Most first-time thru-hikers on the Appalachian Trail or Pacific Crest Trail seem to be in Stages 1 or 2. With luck, early in their journeys, they get gear shakedowns from more skilled and experienced backpackers, so they can suffer less and be much more likely to finish. Much gear gets mailed home and new gear purchased or scrounged from hiker boxes. Successful thru-hikers usually end their trip in Stage 3 or higher.

Somewhere around Stage 3, many backpackers start realizing that what works well for others doesn’t always work well for them. But there’s often a phase marked by relentlessly searching for the perfect backpack, tent, sleeping bag, stove, etc. Most of these trekkers ultimately understand that there’s no such thing.

According to studies done by gear creator Michael Glavin, once people reach a sweet spot for total pack weight, further weight reduction brings many fewer benefits. A few backpackers figure that out for themselves and stop pursuing ever-lower pack weights.

A man (the same man from the earlier photo) now much older but carrying a much lighter pack.
Rex near his sweet spot, carrying about 30 pounds (14 kg) at the start of a 6-day trip. Credit: Judith Witt-Sanders.

At almost any stage, many backpackers stop obsessing over ounces or grams and realize that for just a little extra weight they can dramatically improve comfort, performance, safety, and other factors. Or they become content with good enough gear and focus on getting outside more often.

It’s important to understand that skills and experience are not directly linked. You can brush your teeth wrong for 25 years if you don’t know any better. Operating a complex stove might be easy in favorable conditions, but could be a major struggle the first time you try it while cold, wet, tired, and hungry.

The Arcs

Now that we’ve set the stage, these backpacking arcs should make sense. I’ve omitted units on the vertical axis; the shape of each arc is more important than the precise values. Besides, everyone’s actual arcs will be different.

These arcs are graded on a curve: the range from bottom to top is not absolute, but relative to this discussion.

A chart showing that as backpackers progress from stage one to stage five, their skills increase steadily.
Skills rise as backpackers progress through the stages. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

Most backpackers gradually acquire skills from a variety of sources, including the school of hard knocks.

a chart showing how pack weight increases at stage two and then declines steadily towards stage five.
Total pack weight peaks in Stage 2 and then continues to decline. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

While many books and online resources emphasize reducing base pack weight, it’s total pack weight that directly impacts your suffering and other goals. Near the end of a long trail day, your body doesn’t care if the load you were hauling was mostly gear or mostly consumables.

A graph demonstrating that gear complexity rises slightly in the first few stages and then drops dramatically.
Gear complexity drops dramatically as the stages progress. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

Gear complexity is the opposite of simplicity and refers to the number of bits and pieces carried, as well as how hard they are to use. Complex gear increases your mental burden and usually is less reliable. Yet some people enjoy using complicated gear and nuanced skills for their elaborate setups.

A chart showing a fairly level increase in distance as backpackers move through the stages.
As you might expect, possible distances increase as backpackers move through the stages. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

The distance hiked per day is usually tied to other goals. Most backpackers reaching for bigger objectives such as thru-hikes also need to travel farther each day on average.

A chart that shows the ability of backpackers to handle severe weather increasing as they progress through the stages, but then decreasing by stage five as gear becomes more fragile.
The severity of weather that backpackers can handle increases as the stages progress, but drops slightly as gear becomes more ultralight. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

Beginning backpackers often aim for the best weather; as they build skills and refine their gear, they can take on more challenging weather. By the time someone reaches Stage 5, they often avoid trips in the most severe weather so they can keep their pack weight as low as possible.

a chart showing a rise in luxury items as backpackers become slightly more experienced, and then a sharp decline as experience continues to grow.
Luxuries peak as beginning backpackers add items to their pack, and then decrease dramatically. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

Luxuries are in the eye of the beholder. But our gaze often changes as we move to higher stages. Many who exit at Stage 3 or higher add back selected luxuries in pursuit of other goals. Some add luxuries hoping to reduce suffering, but that often backfires.

a chart showing the line of suffering rising dramatically as it approaches Stage 2, but then decreasing through the rest of the stages.
Suffering rises dramatically as Stage 2 backpackers add more weight but then decreases for the rest of the stages. Photo credit: Rex Sanders

How much you suffer while backpacking is very subjective. Tolerance for suffering varies tremendously between people and over time. Plus, some people choose to suffer more in pursuit of bigger goals. But this arc seems to reflect many people’s journeys.

Conclusion

Not everyone will go through exactly these stages and arcs exactly this way. But what I’ve described seems to be a common experience, based on decades of reading stories, forums, and trail journals.

Again, you don’t need to aspire to a higher stage. Many backpackers are happy enough at Stage 1 or 2. Almost no one can jump straight to Stage 5 without years of focused skill-building and experience. Most people need to go through the earlier stages to gain a real appreciation for the later stages.

You might choose to blend pieces of several stages or arcs to HYOH (Hike Your Own Hike). Some of us step off this treadmill after realizing that fewer grams are not everything and that good enough gear is just that.

Related Content

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.

Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack Review

The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack (MSRP: $29.95, 1 oz / 30g) is an 18 L summiting daypack that can be compressed to the size of an egg and tucked into a multiday pack for peak-bagging on longer trips.

Introduction

The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack (MSRP: $29.95, 1 oz / 30 g) is an 18 L (1100 cubic inches) summiting daypack that can be compressed to the size of an egg and tucked into a multiday pack for peak-bagging on longer trips.

A yellow pack on a white background.
The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack. Photo: Sea to Summit

Highlights

  • 18 L capacity
  • MSRP: $29.95
  • weight: 1 oz / 30 g
  • compresses to roughly egg size
  • 10 lb (5 kg) recommended load capacity
  • 15 denier siliconized nylon fabric
  • asymmetrical zipper to reduce pack size
  • bar-tacks at stress points for added strength

Testing Context

An ultralight summiting pack is a piece of kit that has appealed to me for a while. I’m not usually a big peak bagger on multi-day trips, but the occasion has come up when one would be useful.

I knew I’d be spending a day camped as part of my Corona Ridge adventure, and I wanted to explore the upper reaches of Corona Canyon. The smallest and lightest pocket pack (in one of my preferred brands) is the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Day Pack. I was instinctively drawn to this pack’s little lime-sized package. It’s light, compact, and I could picture tossing it into my kit on any trip where I might need a summiting pack. I made the purchase and took it out into the field on a summer excursion deep into a canyon off the North Saskatchewan River’s southern banks. This review is based on my experiences on that trip (and a few others throughout 2020)

This is a first look at new gear that recently entered our review pipeline, and hasn't yet been subjected to rigorous field use. Learn more about the types of product reviews we publish.

First Impressions

Storage Capacity

The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack impressed me with how truly tiny it packed and how much space there was in the pack once unfurled.

a flat layout of the backpacking gear able to fit into the pack - including some jackets, a hat, gloves, sunscreen, a small camera, and a hard-sided water bottle.
I stuff my wishlist of summit supplies into the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Daypack and it’s pretty crowded but it all fits.

I could easily fit two down insulating layers (a vest and a sleeved hoodie), a rain/wind shell, a hard-sided Nalgene 1 L bottle, a pair of gloves, a toque (Candian for beanie hat), a Buff, a sun hat, small bottle of sunscreen, my mirrorless camera, and room for snacks.

the uncompressed pack, now filled with gear, rests on the ground. A large lime is next to the pack for scale.
The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Daypack stuffed with my supplies and compared to the original lime.

I will note here I wear kid’s size large or women’s extra small so my clothes aren’t as voluminous as those found in many packs.

Usability

The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack is a one-compartment pack with a relatively small opening. The more I stuff into the Nano, the less likely it is that I can find anything. I will also note the zipper is light-duty – similar to what you would find on a windbreaker – so stuff with caution my friends.

Sea to Summit made the most of the opening by making it a diagonal slash opening across the top of the pack.

Fit and Comfort

Putting on my well-stuffed Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack Nano is comfortable enough, but not something I want to wear for longer than about an hour or two continuously (which is also about as long as most mid-trip peak bags take.) As with any frameless pack, care in packing is crucial.

I’ve also loaned it to other hiking partners while I was off taking photos or doing other things and the rather formless pack fits men about 6 ft (2 m) tall about like it fits me – not perfectly, but functionally.

Photos

a woman stands in a mountain meadow with her back to the camera. In the distance, snow-capped mountains and trees.
My foray to the Corona Creek headwaters was an ideal testing ground for the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Daypack.
a close up of three items of similar size - a white chicken egg, the compressed backpack, and a large lime.
The compressed Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Day Pack as compared to a chicken egg and a lime.
A man looks across a wide stream. In the background are rugged mountains and dark skies.
Testing the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack.
a woman's hand holds the compressed pack. It is about the size of an egg or large lime.
Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack is easy to throw in a pack when it compresses this small.
A man stands on a log looking out over a meadow.
My partner Michael borrowed the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack for an afternoon of adventuring. The fit is functional.

The Takeaway

The Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Day Pack is handy to have around, but I do find it uncomfortable after an hour or two. This isn’t unexpected for what is essentially a formless sack of nylon.

I modify the shoulder straps by adding an elastic clip cord (the pad-strap from my Enlightened Equipment Revelation quilt). I also will note that the fabric is light duty and I did manage to puncture a small hole in the ripstop fabric. The hole was easily patched with some Tenacious Tape on the inside and outside of the pack fabric.

I took the Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Day Pack on my Corona Creek adventure and (a few others throughout 2020) and ten-out-of-ten would bring it again. I’ve started throwing it in my pack if any kind of potential off-piste adventure is expected.

Learn More: Sea to Summit Ultra-Sil Nano Travel Day Pack

Gear Shop Buy Now

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DISCLOSURE (Updated April 9, 2024)

  • Product mentions in this article are made by the author with no compensation in return. In addition, 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.

Episode 39 | Matt Mason on Bikepacking and Public Lands, Part I

Andrew interviews backpacker turned bikepacker Matt Mason in a Bikepacking 101 conversation.

Stream

Summary

In today’s podcast, we are joined by Matt Mason. Matt is a multi-hyphenate adventurer and backpacker turned bikepacker. Our chat functions as kind of a Bikepacking 101 class, so if you’ve been thinking of taking up the sport but don’t know where to start, this is a great entry point. We also talk about Matt’s efforts at public land advocacy in the Organ Mountains-Desert Peaks National Monument.

the chain, front crank, and tire of a bicycle

Outline

How to Subscribe

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Disclosure

  • 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. 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.

Learning Curve: Risk Assessment

It takes a close call for Maggie Slepian to dial in her risk assessment skills.

I’ve written before about being an average athlete, suffering for the sake of the sport, and learning to turn around. As I saw each of these articles publish, I realized how connected they were. Because I have always felt like an average athlete, I felt like I should be suffering more. With this suffering comes the realization that at some point you have to turn around.

The fourth part of this connected web is risk assessment. Risk assessment is closely tied with learning to turn around, and for most people, is often the deciding factor in doing so.

As you likely guessed, this is easier said than done for many people, myself included. When you feel like you need to be constantly pushing yourself to prove your worth, you ignore red flags in reaching your objective.

Ideally, risk assessment should be the idea that prefaces a discussion about abandoning the endeavor. For me, these crucial steps have historically been bowled over in the desire to prove my worth.

Two women wearing bike helmets and standing next to bikes smile at the camera.
I’m slow on the ascent, fast on the descent.

I’d been hiking and backpacking for years and was consistently the slowest person up the hill, the clumsiest person stumbling through boulder fields, and the person dragging by the end of the day, looking for camp. By the time I started getting more into mountain sports like climbing, mountain biking, and kayaking, I was sick of being the slowest person in the group. Starting new sports was a chance to leapfrog over what I viewed as subpar athletic skills by upping my mental game.

Maybe I was the last person in the group still struggling up the mountain bike climb, but I’d be at the front of the line for the descent, knowing I was faster and willing to take more risks than the rest of the group. I took huge falls, including losing massive swaths of skin on both elbows and knees in one agonizing day of wrecks, but I was determined to push those fears out of my head in pursuit of being above average at something. Climbing was similar – I’d push myself past the point of intimidation, forcing my head into the game and faking confidence even when it wasn’t there.

A close-up of scrapes and bruises on a woman's knee and elbow.
The result of a nasty day of falls mountain biking.

Headspace is an important factor in success with extended or stressful endurance endeavors. Physical ability, while important, is not the only deciding factor in whether or not you reach your goal. Headspace is where I excelled. If I got into a stressful situation, I would imagine a dial in my head. I would picture myself turning down the dial, and I’d feel myself relax. Whatever was stressing me out didn’t go away, but my ability to push it aside enabled me to keep moving forward. While this can be a hugely beneficial mental skill to deploy in high-stress circumstances, it meant I was able to ignore elements of a situation that might have been warning signs telling me to turn around.

In the spring of 2019, I went kayaking with a friend I was trying to impress. We were going morel hunting on an island only accessible by boat, and while he warned me the rapids were faster than anything I’d boated before, and there were hazardous sections of deadfall, I brushed his warnings aside. I felt a twinge of anxiety as we unloaded the boats, but I turned my stress dial down and pushed off the riverbank.

Ten minutes from our put-in, I fumbled my boat and wound up heading down the wrong channel. Unable to maneuver my boat in faster water than I was accustomed to, I collided with a tree, flipping underwater instantly. In my panic, I forgot everything I knew about rolling and wet exits. I couldn’t even pull the skirt. I managed to roll enough to get a water-logged gulp of air, but was unable to get out of the boat or roll all the way up. By the time my partner beached his boat and swam the rapid to reach me, I was unconscious.

The sun rises over a deceptively calm river.
Near the put-in from the kayaking trip where I almost drowned because of poor risk assessment.

It took this brush with drowning to make me take a step back and reevaluate my risk assessment.

Granted, there are personality traits that go along with a lowered risk perception other than just trying to impress people. Many people who exhibit reduced risk perception also have lower trait anxiety, which means it takes a more intense situation for them to feel things strongly. In other words, someone like me might be considered a type of thrill seeker.

My risk-assessment learning curve was less of a curve and more of a flat line followed by a vertical spike. I was aware that I ignored red flags in my objectives, and had always been pretty determined to plow forward regardless of warning signs. But being trapped upside down, careening underwater through the current was the reality check I needed.

Some people have finely tuned risk-assessment radars from the time they set foot on their first backpacking outing. Then there are people who grow with their experiences and take some calculated risks while acknowledging other scenarios aren’t worth the trouble. Still, others need to be caught in a bad backcountry situation to rattle loose the stubbornness and desire to prove themselves, as well as overriding natural lowered risk perceptions.

A small figure crosses a wide, shallow stream. The figure is made tiny by the scale of the mountains and trees in the background.
Backpacking was the first backcountry sport I started. Still, slow on the ascent.

This concept is less about being a beginner and more about understanding our own individual learning curves. I wasn’t a beginner backcountry athlete when I finally stopped to reassess my relationship with risk. By the time I understood the dangers of my lowered risk perception, changing my decision-making was a fast process. Sometimes our learning processes aren’t linear, and they don’t match up with people around us.

I am still working to understand my own connections between lowered inhibition and smart decision making, and I still don’t like to let fear get in the way of continuing up a peak, navigating a scramble, or finishing a climb. But now, I give more agency to the voice in my head that reminds me the twinge of anxiety is there for a reason, and it’s ok to stop and listen to it.

Related Content

  • More by Maggie Slepian
  • Have you had a close call because of poor risk assessment? Tell us about it in the comments.

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.

Unpacked: Rewards of Repetition

Greek philosophy says you can’t step in the same river twice, but what about backpacking the same trail?

Tent or tarp? Quilt or sleeping bag? Down puffy or synthetic puffy?

These questions of equipment tend to vex backpackers and often lead to lengthy discussions. After the fourth or fifth time reading these discussions (or, against my better judgment, actually participating in them) I’ve found that they’re almost painfully boring. I’ve found that the question of which experience to have – hiking a new trail or returning to an old favorite – is a much more interesting quandary to reflect upon. Thinking about how to use the limited time we have to spend in undeveloped landscapes is much more fulfilling than simply pondering another product to buy.

a smooth alpine lake with a peak jutting up in the center of the frame.
One of my favorite lakes which I’ve visited at least twice per year for the last five years.

I’m an incorrigible Returner. Although I did venture to a handful of new places in 2020, I found myself returning to no less than a dozen trails I’d previously backpacked on. In one particularly odd instance, I hiked up to a subalpine basin filled with golden larch for an overnight trip with my friend Doug. I then returned the next day with my girlfriend, Andrea, to share the majestic experience with her on a separate overnight trip. I felt a bit self-conscious that the squirrels might notice me and say to each other, “This guy, again?”

Some of my repetition is borne of convenience. For one subalpine lake that I visited twice last year, once in August and once in October, the total time spent in transit – both hiking and driving – was just over two hours one-way from my house. With scenery and solitude (both times I had the lake to myself) that easy to obtain, and with my schedule sometimes more crunched than I’d like it to be, it makes perfect sense to go for the low-hanging, but exceedingly delicious, fruit rather than drive further and hike longer just to see a new place – then frustratingly have less time to spend there.

A shallow lake reflects autumn foilage. In the background, a lone peak towers above the forest.
I did two separate overnight trips, with two separate people, in a four-day span to this autumn wonderland in the Bitterroot Mountains.

For another lake which I visited for the third time in five years, I was aiming to settle some unfinished business. My previous visits had all been when the lake was still too iced-up to provide good fishing. So I timed my third visit when I knew it would be melted out and I’d finally get a fair shake at matching wits with the “thriving cutthroat fishery” that the guidebook mentioned was present in its waters. I succeeded and caught some nice fish. Since snow wasn’t an issue, I was able to loop back cross-country and pass through a basin filled with lovely tarns and magnificent mountain views.

Other places draw me back because I find the familiarity to be deeply, almost primally, comforting. I recognize rocks, pools of water, and tiny pocket meadows and feel an affinity with them in a way that just isn’t possible when passing by them for the first time. Certain vistas, like the one from an abandoned fire lookout where I’ve spent over 20 nights the last few years, seem to allow me to gaze not just at the landscape but back at life itself as I contemplate the subtle – or drastic – seasonal changes before me and compare them with years past.

An abandoned lookout has provided a mountaintop hermitage for contemplation over the years and is one of my most-visited overnight destination in the mountains near my home.
An abandoned lookout has provided a mountaintop hermitage for contemplation over the years and is one of my most-visited overnight destination in the mountains near my home.
An abandoned lookout has provided a mountaintop hermitage for contemplation over the years and is one of my most-visited overnight destination in the mountains near my home.
Another view from my abandoned fire lookout retreat. 

When going on a trip with other backpackers whose levels of expertise and ability differ from mine, I find that traipsing along on trails that I’m already familiar with offers a sense of comfort for all of us. I know the alternate campsites that we can stop at if we don’t reach the intended destination. I know which artificial flies usually guarantee strikes from hungry trout in mid-September. I know which shortcuts to take if we need to bail out on a trip early. It takes a bit of the stress of the unknown out of the trip which, if you’re just out there to relax in a beautiful place with friends who you don’t see nearly enough, is a lovely way to spend time. And it is almost always more enjoyable than frequently poring over a map and looking confusedly at junctions and worrying about making the miles to the next campsite.

A wide landscape photo with mountains in the background. In the foreground, down in a valley, a blue lake sits like a gem in a green forest.
One of my favorite backpacking trips passes by this lake. I’ve done this trip three times in two years. It is a route I’ve perfected for taking novice backpackers on a memorable and uncrowded trip in Montana’s Pioneer Mountains.

As self-righteous as I might be about the benefits of revisiting old hikes and haunts, I must admit that I find myself inspired by those who constantly seek out new trails and spots on the map. My friend Doug is one of them. As an avid backpacker and the author of numerous guidebooks to hiking in the Pacific Northwest, Doug has hiked tens of thousands of miles – but he rarely hikes in the same place twice. His reasoning is simple – life’s short and he’d rather see new places than spend his time going back to places he’s already seen.

That’s a hard position to argue with, and while I agree in theory, I rarely seem to let it be my guiding principle when deciding where to go. I’ve never regretted going somewhere new instead of returning to an old favorite – but I’ve also never regretted the reverse of that either.

Humans tend to crave novelty and relish in the sense of experiencing the unknown or finally seeing in person the places we’ve read about online or seen in guidebooks. We are also undeniably creatures of habit. I’ve been lucky enough to have a life where I’ve been able to make backpacking a habit, not just a hobby I can only indulge in once or twice a year due to logistical, domestic, or financial barriers, and I suppose this habit is part of what leads me to return to the same places again and again.

However, there’s also a virtue in breaking, or at least bending, habits and expanding one’s horizons. There’s a wisdom in moderation, including when it applies to repetition. I’m planning to make a concerted effort to visit some new destinations in 2021, although I’ve also already got a handful of repeat trips on the calendar.

I’ve found the notion from Heraclitus that “you cannot step in the same river twice” rings true. Despite it being the same place, the experience is always different. Updated for the modern backpacker, it might be rephrased as “you can’t camp at the same lake twice.”

Related Content

  • Mark mentions his love of fishing. Check out his recently published tenkara Gear List.
  • And don’t forget to listen to our tenkara podcast episode.
  • Got a favorite repeat trip or backcountry experience? Share it with us in the comments below.

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.

Red Paw Packs 28 L Flatiron Backpack Review

The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L (13 to 19 oz / 368 g to 538 g, MSRP from $220) is a customizable low-volume overnight / daypack with a unique zippered main compartment.

Introduction

The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L (13 – 19 ounces / 368 – 538 g, MSRP from $220) is a customizable cottage-industry low-volume overnight pack that doubles nicely as a daypack or peak-bagger.

a medium shot showing the pack in a rolled-down configuration.
Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L

The Flatiron Pack 28 L is available in a variety of X-Pac and DCFH (Dyneema Composite Fabric Hybrid) colors and weights. It features a unique front entry zipper, Spandura outer pockets, vest-style straps or J-straps depending on customer preference, a range of optional hipbelts, and other customizable features.

About this Review

This Limited Review is based on my experience with a Flatiron Pack 28 L over the course of more than 20 days of winter/spring hiking, snowshoeing, skiing, and backpacking around the Tahoe basin of eastern California/western Nevada.

a man works his way underneath a waterfall while wearing an orange backpack.
Testing the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L.

Features and Specifications

As I mentioned above, The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L is highly customizable. This Features and Specifications list reflects the testing pack that Red Paw Packs sent me.

  • weight: 16.5 oz (454 g)
  • claimed main compartment capacity: 28 L
  • claimed pocket capacity: 7 L
  • body fabric: 5.0 oz/yd2 DCFH (2.15 oz/yd2 Dyneema Composite Fabric inner layer laminated to a 150 denier polyester face fabric)
  • pocket fabric: Spandura (Cordura nylon/Spandex knit blend)
  • shoulder strap style: vest-style with pockets
  • shoulder strap material: 6.5 oz/yd2 woven Melange with Dyneema Composite Fabric
  • shoulder strap padding: 3/8 in (1 cm) closed cell foam with 1/8 in (.3 cm) 3D spacer foam
  • shoulder strap width (at shoulders): 3 in (7 cm)
  • roll-top entry with ladderloc G-hook webbing buckle
  • YKK Aquaguard #5 zipper on primary pack compartment

Description of Field Experience

As you’d expect with a pack of this size, my primary use case with the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L was as a day pack for all-day (longer than six hours) hikes, snowshoe trips, and cross-country skiing excursions. But I also took the Flatiron Pack 28 L on half a dozen single-night backpacking trips in the late winter/spring. These trips occurred in the Tahoe basin in eastern California/western Nevada.

a man picks his way down a rocky slope while wearing an orange backpack.
Scrambling while testing the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L.

Altitude was ~8000 ft (2438 m), with daytime temperatures ranging from 65 °F to 15 °F (18 °C to −9 °C). Precipitation was mostly negligible, with the exception of a few light snow flurries. I pushed well past the recommended weight capacity of the Flatiron Pack 28 L (~20 to 25 lb / 9 kg to 11 kg) on a few of my overnights, especially when I brought my winter hammock-camping setup.

a man walks up a hill in the woods
I was able to move quickly while wearing the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L.

Performance Analysis

Comfort

I’m a fan of thick, running-vest style straps. I find them comfortable and handy (see Ease of Use, below), and the vest-style straps on the Flatiron Pack 28 L are no exception. They are a full 3 in (7 cm) wide at the shoulders and padded with 0.5 in (1 cm) of foam (when you combine the closed-cell foam and spacer foam used in the construction). The result is a set of shoulder straps that remain comfortable up to and beyond the Flatiron Pack 28 L’s ~20 lb (9 kg) recommended load capacity.

a man retrieves something from a large pocket on the shoulder strap of his backpack
I’m a fan of wide, vest-style shoulder straps because they are comfortable and provide lots of space for pockets.

This pack has no frame sheet, stays, or back cushioning of any kind, so proper packing is essential for it to remain comfortable. Red Paw Packs offers a range of hip belt options if backpackers want to extend the weight capacity a little, but without padding or stays, I’d be hesitant to go much heavier than 25 lb (11 kg) on multi-day trips even with the added support of a hip belt. But those thick, wide shoulder straps help distribute weight if you need to load the Flatiron Pack 28 L down.

Storage Capacity

Twenty-eight liters isn’t much, which is why the Red Paw Pack Flatiron 28 L Pack’s best use is as a one-or-two-night overnight pack, supported or semi-supported fastpacking pack, and daypack. The interior volume is configured in a long-and-skinny layout, with a roll-top closure that can extend roughly 9 in (23 cm) above the shoulders if necessary. For context, I got four Hyperlight Mountain Gear Pods (two small and two large in 2400 and 3400 sizes) into the main compartment with a little room to spare for sundries on top.

a medium shot showcasing the pockets and vest-style shoulder straps of the pack.
The lower pockets shown here are designed for 750 mL water bottles, but I mostly use them for gloves, water treatment tools, and other items I want close at hand.

The shoulder-strap pockets are voluminous and stretchy. There are four total, with the upper two measuring 5 x 3.5 in (13 x 9 cm) and the bottom two measuring 7 x 4 in (18 x 10 cm). The top pockets can accommodate my gigantic iPhone 12 Pro Max (it pokes out a little at the top), a point-and-shoot camera (I have a Sony RX100 and it fits a little snuggly), or a GPS unit. The bottom pockets are designed as water bottle pockets and are probably most at home cradling a 750 ml bottle as opposed to a 1 L bottle. I favor 1 L bottles, so I mostly used the bottom two pockets for snacks, gloves, neck gaiters, and other bulky-ish objects I wanted close at hand.

a medium shot showing the pack on the ground with the roll-top compartment fully unrolled.
The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L unrolled to maximum capacity.

The Flatiron Pack 28 L has a 14 in (36 cm) zipper that accesses the central compartment and runs vertically along the center of the pack. I’ll talk more about this zipper in the Commentary section, but for now, what’s important about it is that it splits the rear external storage compartment into two separate pockets. These pockets are 9 in (23 cm) along the bottom seam. They are diagonally cut at the top – 14 in (36 cm) high at the peak of the diagonal and 8 in (20 cm) at the lower end.

a medium shot showing the orange rear pockets cut at a sharp angle and angling down towards the sides of the pack.
Diagonally cut rear pockets, separated by a zipper.

While splitting the large back pocket into two sections may be annoying for some (i.e., hikers who like to store their shelters back there) I actually enjoyed the system. I found that it helped with my organization.

There’s also a stash pocket sewn into the bottom panel of the pack, with the opening facing the lower back when wearing the pack. These types of pockets are commonly used for trash while on the go, but I tend not to use them.

Ease of Use

The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L uses a roll-top closure system. There are two snaps across the top hem of the pack to assist in getting a clean roll, a little touch I quite liked, especially when I had the pack fairly full. A ladderloc G-hook webbing buckle attached to a generous length of nylon webbing assists in getting things cinched down nice and tight.

a close up of a g-hook style buckle on a cinch strap
I find this kind of hardware – a ladderloc G-hook – a little fiddly.

I feel that ladderloc G-hook webbing buckles can be a little fiddly, especially in the cold or while wearing gloves, so I don’t love that hardware choice (it’s a clean look though). But any gripes I have about quick-and-easy access are mitigated by the central zipper that accesses the main compartment. I’ll talk more about that in the Commentary.

I mentioned in the Storage Capacity section that the lower pockets are designed to hold 750 ml water bottles, and that I didn’t use them for that purpose because I favor 1 L bottles. This preference caused a problem for me when testing the Flatiron Pack 28 L, because I had nowhere to store my water that I could easily reach (there are no side pockets on this pack). In my experience, gear designers implement diagonally cut rear pockets to make reaching water bottles (theoretically) possible without removing the pack. I can rarely actually perform this maneuver, and couldn’t make it work with the Flatiron Pack 28 L on a regular basis either.

A final addition that would add to the usability of this pack would be daisy chains or webbing loops directly above the upper shoulder-strap pockets (or somewhere on the shoulder straps). I like to clip gloves or other small items to my shoulder straps, especially when I’m moving quickly and wearing a pack this small and light.

a medium shot of the pack's strap pockets. Items of gear are visible in the pockets.
The Spandura used in the pockets is both stretchy and durable.

The double-chest strap system tends to slide around while I’m walking, a drawback I’m not the first to notice. In fact, Red Paw Packs has changed its design slightly (it gave a greater curve to the fabric to which the sliding buckles are attached, creating more friction) since sending me this pack, and claim it is no longer an issue. In my research, I haven’t found anyone to contradict that claim.

Durability

Red Paw Packs utilizes three materials that are new to me – Spandura (a Cordura nylon/Spandex blend), 5.0 oz/yd2 DCFH (a Dyneema Composite Fabric laminated to a 150 denier polyester face fabric), and 6.5 oz Woven Melange with Dyneema (a woven textile that is 55% polyester and 45% Dyneema Composite Fabric.)

a close-up of both sides of the double-layered pack fabric.
The pack fabric is a 2.15 oz/yd2 Dyneema Composite Fabric inner layer laminated to a 150 denier polyester face fabric.

I didn’t use the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L long enough, or subject it to enough abrasion, to accurately judge its long-term durability. But the materials boast impressive specs and have a hand-feel that speaks of toughness. The pack shrugged off the light bushwhacking and scrambling that I subjected it to during my twenty days of use. Spandura certainly seems likely to stand up to abrasion and errant sticks more than the lighter stretchy mesh fabrics that I’ve seen on other light packs I’ve used.

A man pushes through scrub and brush while wearing an orange backpack.
A little bushwhacking was no problem with the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L.

I didn’t take particular care with it when tossing this pack down on either ice or the sharp rocks on my home trails, and I didn’t worry as I pushed through dense pine forests or clumps of manzanita. At the end of my testing period, I had a few small dirt stains on the Spandura pockets, and that’s about it.

a man picks his way down a rocky slope while wearing an orange backpack.
Scrambling while testing the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L.

Weather Resistance

The DCFH fabric used in the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L is waterproof with taped seams. The zipper is water-resistant as well. That was certainly enough for the Flatiron Pack 28 L to deny access to the light snow I encountered during testing. Would it hold out days and days of a torrential downpour? I wouldn’t bet my quilt on it, but when combined with my DCF stuff sacks, I’d trust the Flatiron Pack 28 L to keep my gear dry in moderate showers.

Finish Quality

The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L is finished with apparent care. Red Paw Packs is “just one guy in a shop,” as founder Matt Evans pointed out to me when I interviewed him for this review. That doesn’t automatically equate to high finish quality, but in this case, it seems to have. There are no loose or popped seams, and everything is cut and assembled with precision.

a close-up of the pack fabric, stretchy pocket fabric, and seam.
The finish quality and material choice on The Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L are superb.

Commentary

What makes this pack unique? This is the question I always ask myself when reviewing new packs – especially cottage industry packs. In the case of the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L, it boils down to this:

  • primary-compartment access via zipper

So What’s With That Zipper?

In an earlier section of this article, I talked about how I fiddled with the ladderloc G-hook hardware on the Flatiron’s central cinch-down strap. Well, the truth is I stopped using this entry-point altogether in favor of the long vertical zipper on the rear of the pack. This method of entry into the main compartment became my go-to for reaching gear quickly. I even used this method to pack the Flatiron 28 L in the mornings sometimes (this only works if the pack isn’t filled to capacity).

a close up of the zipper used on the pack.
It’s a beefy zipper, and will probably hold up as long as users don’t overstuff the pack.

Red Paw Packs founder Matt Evans is aware that many gear designers consider zippers to be a common failure point on outdoor gear. He’s confident that the large YKK Aquaguard #5 is beefy enough to last the lifetime of the pack. My guess is this will be true provided users don’t form a habit of overstuffing this pack from the front and then trying to get the zipper closed, or using the pack in extremely sandy or dirty environments.

In any case, the zipper, and the easy access it provides, is a feature I don’t see on cottage packs very much, if at all. I’ve found the design useful given my tendency to use the Flatiron Pack 28 L as a grab-and-go pack for fast-and-light overnights and long day trips. On top of all that, I think it looks pretty cool!

Compared To

I chose to compare the Red Paw Packs Flatiron Pack 28 L to the Atom Packs Atom 30 L.

Base Price

The customizable Atom 30L’s base price is $261 vs. The Flatiron Pack 28 L’s base price of $220.

Edge: Flatiron Pack 28 L

Level of Customization

Both packs have a similar level of customization, with a range of materials and features available. These materials and features differ slightly because of design choice differences, but all told both companies offer a highly customizable pack.

Edge: Tie

Volume

This may not be a fair comparison, because Atom Packs also offers a 25 L version of the Atom. If I had compared the Atom 25 L to the Flatiron Pack 28 L, the latter would take the victory. But I didn’t, so here the Atom 30 L edges out the Flatiron, which only comes in 28 L.

Edge: Atom 30 L

Gear Access

The Flatiron 28 L’s primary-compartment zippered access is a unique feature that isn’t shared by the Atom 30 L. Both packs have wide shoulder straps that support a double-set of voluminous shoulder-strap pockets. But the Atom 30 L has side pockets and a daisy chain system hidden under the strap pockets. So I’ll call it a tie.

Edge: Tie

Strengths and Limitations

Strengths

  • central primary-compartment zipper for quick gear access
  • comfortable vest-style shoulder straps
  • durable, premium materials

Limitations

  • nowhere to store 1 L water bottles with easy access
  • chest straps slide around (presumably fixed in current production models)
  • no daisy chains on the shoulder straps for even more versatile storage/attachment options

Where to Buy

Related Content

DISCLOSURE (Updated April 9, 2024)

  • Product mentions in this article are made by the author with no compensation in return. In addition, 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.

Black Diamond Blitz Spikes Review

The Black Diamond Blitz Traction Spikes (MSRP $39.95, 1.5 to 1.8 oz / 42 to 50 g) are ultralight, stainless-steel, forefoot-only traction devices for shoes and boots intended for incidental use on hard-packed snow terrain.

Introduction

The Black Diamond Blitz Traction Spikes (MSRP $39.95, 1.5 to 1.8 oz / 42 to 50 g) are ultralight, stainless-steel, forefoot-only traction devices for shoes and boots intended for incidental use on hard-packed snow terrain.

traction spikes affixed to a hiking shoe
Black Diamond Blitz Spikes. Photo: Black Diamond.

Highlights

  • multiple sizes (S, M, L, and XL) covering the range of US shoe sizes from Women’s 4 to Men’s 14.5
  • forefoot spikes only (6)
  • 8 mm spike length
  • secured by a nylon webbing toe loop and elastomer band around the back of the heel

Testing Context

Our favorite time of year to hike is during the winter, and I have thousands of miles of hiking under my belt wearing spike-style traction devices of one sort or another. I come from a mountaineering background, so I’m pretty in tune with the performance of any type of traction device that helps me quickly and safely cross snow and ice. Through the years, I’ve accumulated an embarrassingly large amount of crampons and traction spikes suitable for ice climbing, trail running, and everything in between. And I discuss traction devices and their appropriate use as matched to the terrain in our recent webinar Lightweight Footwear and Traction Systems for Snow Travel.

I tested the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes on a number of trips in the mountains of Southeast Wyoming and Northern Colorado during the winter and spring months. I spent most of my time on packed snow trails, transitioning to mixed terrain (snow/water ice/dirt) as spring rolled around. As of this review, I have about 50 miles of experience with them while carrying an overnight backpack (20 to 40 lb / 9 to 18 kg) over terrain with slope angles of up to about 25 degrees.

I paired the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes with the following footwear:

Most often, I would wear the Blitz on one foot and another traction device on the other, so I could make direct comparisons. The comparison devices were usually the Black Diamond Distance Spikes, the Kahtoola Microspikes, or the Hillsound Trail Crampons.

This is a first look at new gear that recently entered our review pipeline, and hasn't yet been subjected to rigorous field use. Learn more about the types of product reviews we publish.

First Impressions

Small Size

The most notable feature of the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes is their diminutive size. They are so small and light that I wouldn’t give a second thought about tossing them in my pack for the just-in-case scenario of having to inch my way over a snowy, moderately steep mountain pass during early season summer travel.

The Black Diamond Blitz Spikes are the first traction device I’ve used that I literally stuffed into my pants and jacket pockets, or my front accessory pack. They are so small that you have multiple storage options when not in use.

Short Spikes

The individual spikes on the Blitz are 8 mm long. They seem tiny compared to the 12 mm long spikes on Kahtoola Microspikes. Shorter spikes have two important impacts that are noticeable in the field:

  1. When wearing them on bare ground (e.g., dirt) and moving fast, my forefoot caught on the terrain underneath far less often than when I was wearing Kahtoola Microspikes. This is a big advantage, especially for trail running or at the end of the day when my legs are tired and my coordination is compromised.
  2. When climbing (and descending) steep, snowy (or muddy) terrain, the short spikes of the Blitz don’t have as much purchase (grip) as the Kahtoola Microspikes. If you have to rely on a totally secure grip on steep terrain where a fall is an issue, you may need a more aggressive traction device than the Blitz.

Ease of Use

Two straps – a nylon toe strap (webbing) and an elastomer heel strap – make these the easiest set of traction spikes to put on and take off my shoes that I’ve ever used. A nice-sized grab loop in the back makes the process intuitive and easy.

Footwear Applicability

The Blitz performs best (and perhaps, most sensibly) when mated to ultralight footwear. I had no issues when I used them with my Hoka Speedgoat trail running shoes and Speedgoat GTX mid-height boots. When I paired them with my stiffer approach shoes (the Scarpa Zen Pro II), the fit was secure and the spikes remained stable on the shoe even on steep terrain. However, when I paired them with a stiffer mountain boot (Scarpa Marmolada), the boot seemed to overpower the Blitz Spikes, causing them to shift position on the sole of the boot while sidehilling on steep terrain.

Photos

traction spikes on a climbing approach shoe
Paired with an approach shoe, the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes are ideal for short crossings of glaciers or snowfields prior to rocky scrambling on higher peaks.
traction spikes on a trail running shoe next to a flowering cactus
On my Inov-8 G270’s, the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes’ front strap digs a little into the top of the shoe, because the shoe top is quite soft. It didn’t cause any notable discomfort, but be aware of this when you are matching traction spikes like this to minimalist footwear.
traction spikes on a trail running shoe
On a high-stack shoe like the Hoka Speedgoat, or if you’re attaching them to boots, you may need to size up, so the rear elastic band doesn’t get caught underfoot and wear unnecessarily while walking.
traction spikes on a trail running shoe in the snow
The Black Diamond Blitz Spikes only have six spikes under the forefoot, which limits their use to low-angle snow if you need to walk a sidehill traverse.

The Takeaway

Tiny size, truly ultralight, and speed (ease) of taking them off and putting them on are the hallmark features of the Black Diamond Blitz Spikes. I imagine they will remain in my ultralight backpacking kit for mountain travel until the snow melts out of the high passes, and I plan to use them for most of my trips this year in the Colorado Rockies and High Sierra.

Where to Buy

Related Content

DISCLOSURE (Updated April 9, 2024)

  • Product mentions in this article are made by the author with no compensation in return. In addition, 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.

Take This Poem on Your Next Trip

The words you carry with you are just as important as your gear.

“The road seen, then not seen,” begins the poem “Santiago” by David Whyte.

The road seen, then not seen, I think, walking down Woodenshoe Canyon in Bear’s Ears National Monument in late November. The red trail below my feet leads into piñon and juniper and turns and disappears within them. The path seen, then not seen. It dips into a willowy wash and is nearly gone, only seen where snake grass is occasionally matted down by past feet. The road seen, then not seen.

a man backpacks through the Utah desert
Walking in Bear’s Ears National Monument during a time of transition.

If you would have asked me when I was 20, I would have told you I expected to be married with kids at 35. It’s just what people do; it was inevitable. But it wasn’t a road I actually saw; it was imagined. All I did see was a narrow rocky path leading to hobbies like backpacking and various dead-end jobs and disappearing behind them. Only the next ten feet or so were guaranteed; it’s usually impossible to know what’s beyond that. Now I’m 35 and I am neither married nor do I have kids. I’m also newly single, walking through a canyon I’ve never before seen, on a trajectory I never before expected, with a future completely unknown. The trail seen running through ponderosas, then not seen winding behind sandstone cliffs hundreds of feet tall.

I usually pack a book (or two) in my backpack, and in 2020 I took the book Essentials by poet David Whyte on almost every trip. It’s small and light (3.8 oz / 108 g) and has striking things to say about a host of experiences all humans share. I’ve pulled it out during lunch breaks on salmony slickrock overlooking willow-bottomed canyons, and I’ve read a few poems tucked in my sleeping bag at the end of a long day. While the whole thing is incredible, as a backpacker, the poem “Santiago” landed hardest. He wrote the poem for his niece when she walked the Camino de Santiago, the famous 500-mile (805 km) pilgrimage to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in northwestern Spain, where remains of the saints are supposed to be buried. I’m sharing it here because people embarking on long adventures may relate.

a man holds a book of poetry
David Whyte’s Essentials is a perfect backpacking read.

The poem continues:

and the way forward
always in the end, the way that you came, the way
that you followed, that carried you into your future,
that brought you to this place

a man stares out a window
Being drawn forward and out.

Despite knowing nothing of what is ahead, there always is something that draws you on. In the context of a thru-hike or other long adventure, it is at first that belief that there’s something out there that is better than right here inside your apartment, looking out at the gray street where the cars and pedestrians seem like automatons moving along it. The mundanity of cooking in the same kitchen, working at the same desk, and eating at the same table is surely less interesting than whatever you will find along the trail. So you plan, pack, and leave. And when you are finally walking that trail between Mexico and Canada, you may feel

the sense of having walked
from far inside yourself out into the revelation,
to have risked yourself for something that seemed
to stand both inside you and far beyond you,
that called you back in the end to the only road
you could follow…
…so that one day
you realized that what you wanted had already
happened, and long ago and in the dwelling place
in which you had lived in before you began,
and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and then drew you on
and that, you were more marvelous in your
simple wish to find a way than the gilded roofs
of any destination you could reach

Years ago, when I took a job as a wilderness ranger in the High Uintas, I did it in part to feel some sense of accomplishment. And I did it to see what would happen if I was out there for four weeks, eight weeks, twelve weeks. I was certain that the place would provide the revelation I needed to turn my life around back home. I waited countless nights for a revelation of some kind beside Betsy Lake, a football field-sized, oblong, dark teal lake hidden deep in lodgepole forest. Clouds shot out from behind West Grandaddy Mountain, a castle of crumbling gray and pink sandstone, and careened over me, mirrored in the glassy water. It would pour in the evenings sometimes and I would walk in my dripping raincoat from my camp in the trees out to the shore to find the surface turned to static.

Day after day and night after night I walked, listened, and waited. Sometimes I didn’t even enjoy my time in the mountains, and I found myself wanting to be horizontal on a couch watching a movie. I put in big miles, I spent entire tours almost entirely alone, and I watched the sky change. But it was none of these things nor osprey dive nor lightning strike which was the ultimate revelation. When the season wrapped up and fog lay across the water, whortleberry leaves had turned from green to red, meadow grasses had turned yellow with specks of orange and red, and I stepped inside the government rig and drove back to town, I felt different. “I did this,” I thought. I found strength and felt accomplishment finally in my desire to search for those very things.

That was the revelation. It wasn’t external at all. It was indeed the promise I carried with me, the desire for revelation, the desire to find something. It was indeed that I was more marvelous in my “simple wish to find a way,” than anything I found out there.

a view of mountains at sunrise from within a tent
Peering out of a tent in Utah.

In a brief commentary on “Santiago”, David Whyte reminds us of the poem “To go to Rome,” which reads, “Great the journey, little the gain, if you do not carry Him with you you will not find Him there”. God here, of course, is a metaphor for that “simple wish to find a way,” that desire, the ambition to try. Whatever prompted you to plan, pack, and leave in the first place was always within you.

as if, all along, you had thought the end point
might be a city with golden domes, and cheering
crowds, and turning the corner at what you thought
was the end of the road, you found just a simple
reflection, and a clear revelation beneath the face
looking back and beneath it another invitation,
all in one glimpse: like a person or place
you had sought forever, like a broad field of freedom
that beckoned you beyond; like another life,
and the road still stretching on.

How many of us have gotten to the end of a trip to find only the car waiting for us? No cheering crowds, no finish lines, no plaques engraved with our names. Many times I have walked up to the car, leaned my trekking poles against the side to begin fishing around for my keys, when I see myself right there, reflected in the dusty window. I may have forgotten my name at some point on the journey; I may have spent entire days unworried, my troubles buried under miles and wide vistas, but in the end, I am still me. Everything I started with – the good and the bad – stayed with me the whole way, returned with me to the car, and will be traveling with me to my home where I began.

And how many people have gotten to the terminus of a thru-hike a day earlier than expected, approaching the monument alone in the quiet rain, looking at it, and then walking into the trees to spend one more night alone before your ride arrives the next day? No fanfare, just the end of the trail, “and the road still stretching on.” If, after months on the PCT or the AT, you found that what you searched for out there was inside you all along, did you have to do it? Did you have to go out there and hike hundreds or thousands of miles to gain this understanding? I don’t have an answer for that.

You’ll probably have to hike to find out.

David Whyte’s “Santiago” is a clear-headed contemplation of the entirety of a thru-hike, from a hiker’s intention to the first step on the trail to the anticipation of revelation or external validation, to finally realizing what the whole thing was about. Anyone planning a hike of any length (but especially the longer ones) should consider reading this poem beforehand or better yet, taking it with you. “The road seen, then not seen,” it begins.

a man looks at his own reflection in a car window
Getting back to the car is always a strange experience.

Further Reading

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