During a winter storm, strong winds can render your lightweight puffy useless. This article examines the effect that compression can have on various types of insulation, and presents recommendations for staying warm and alive.
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A predominantly well engineered sleeping bag that suffers from a small, yet serious design flaw.
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Ryan Jordan presents some tools and techniques for dealing with wet wood for firebuilding in winter conditions.
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SpotLite Review of Deuter’s new clean, yet multi-featured pack – perfect for thru-hiking in the Alps.
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Gear notes and more from a trek in the Anaconda-Pintler Wilderness in late October and early November, 2012.
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How do these 3-section poles hold up to the rigors of thru-hiking?
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A merino wool layering system to keep you dry and comfortable on cool summer nights.
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An Introduction to Packrafting in the Yellowstone River Corridor between its headwaters and Big Timber, MT.
The Yellowstone River is a special place for us. Itâs home to some of our Montana Packrafting Courses & Expeditions, and being the longest undammed river in the Continental U.S., itâs probably one of the last major rivers in the lower 48 thatâs least influenced by human development. Combined with the fact that itâs a big river, with a wide corridor offering plenty of options for camping, itâs a wonderful venue for long, human-powered river expeditions. What better way to explore the corridor, than by foot and packraft?
Packrafter camp between Emigrant and Livingston.
The Yellowstone River headwaters are fed by the snowfields perched at 10,000 feet on the high flanks of Younts Peak in the Absaroka Range, southeast of Yellowstone National Park.
This spot is not only one of the remotest spots in the Continental United States, itâs one of the most pristine. There is no trail to the headwaters. They remain untrammeled by man or horse, and one can drop his lips into the clear water and suckle the clean elixir without fear of a future fever.
For the wilderness traveler, a trip to this region (a.k.a. âThe Yellowstone Thorofareâ) is the trip of a lifetime.
Packrafting the headwaters region of the Yellowstone River on a tributary (the Thorofare river) in 2008.
Seven hundred (decreasingly glorious) undammed miles later, the river discharges nearly 14,000 cfs into the Missouri River near Williston, North Dakota, home of the nationâs largest current oil shale boom. Up to 25 million barrels of oil may eventually be extracted from the Bakken oil formation here using the highly controversial technique of fracking.
Fracking is not the only risk to the Yellowstone River. After having paddled and fished hundreds of miles of the Yellowstone, here are my observations of the Yellowstoneâs major threats:
Fishing a deep run for large brown trout near Springdale. Note the riprap bank on the opposite shore. This man-made structure prevents erosion of land mass – an undesirable outcome of spring runoff if youâre a riverbank property owner. Unfortunately, these structures donât dissipate river energy and thus, magnify the problem for downstream landowners.
In addition to these relatively new threats, the Yellowstone has suffered a number of other threats for many years, including irrigation diversion and return that increase water temperatures (and alter fish habitat and species distribution) and prevent fish migration, uninhibited grazing practices that contribute to erosion and fecal pathogen contamination, and the invasion of noxious weeds seeded by contaminated livestock feeds.
Trophy homes threaten the visual landscape of the river corridor, but cause other problems as well, including septic systems, which commonly contaminate the river. Note the bank erosion below the home to the left. How long will it be before the homeowner installs riprap to protect his investment?
The Yellowstone remains a beautiful gem of a river corridor for those of us that treasure it, but make no mistake: once the river leaves Yellowstone National Park at Gardiner, Montana, itâs not the river that Lewis and Clark found.
Friday, April 26, 1805, on the Missouri River, near the entrance of the Yellowstone River: â…on the forks … a beautiful low level plain commences … and widens as the Missouri bends north, and is bordered by an extensive woodland for many miles up the Yellowstone river … I saw many buffalo dead on the banks of the river in different places, some of them eaten by grizzly bears and wolves, or drowned in attempting to cross the ice during the winter, or swimming across to bluff banks where they could not get out (and were too weak to return). We saw immense numbers of antelopes in the forks of the river; buffalo, elk, and deer is also plentiful. Beaver are found in every bend.” – Capt. Wm. Clark
Today, one stands at the very spot where Captain Clark penned this famous observation, and while the scenic vista hasnât changed much, by the time the Yellowstone reaches Williston, ecological diversity and animal populations have been destroyed by two short centuries of perhaps irreverent upstream activity.
Having focused most of my attention on the Upper Yellowstone (where water character is most interesting for packrafters), Iâll leave the lower river (from Big Timber, MT to Williston, ND) for your own research.
The infamous âThorofareâ region of the Yellowstone River is its most remote, accessible only by foot or horse, and is contained entirely within the protected wilderness of Teton Wilderness and Yellowstone National Park. The headwater streams offer challenging and technical whitewater paddling for the determined packrafter. The best floats are the North, South, and Main Forks of the Yellowstone, and the Thorofare River. Use extreme caution below the confluence of the North and South Forks, below Woodard Creek, where a dangerous gorge exists.
The bridge at Hawkâs Rest in the Teton Wilderness makes a good takeout point for the packrafter traveling from the Yellowstone River headwaters down and through Yellowstone National Park.
Many other tributaries provide short stretches of very exciting technical creeking during spring runoff. Check out Woodard, Castle, and Atlantic Creeks.
June is a good time to visit the Thorofare region. Atlantic Creek, behind me, can be floated in its entirety from Two Ocean Pass down to its confluence with the Yellowstone, with a few exceptions – the occasional logjam that needs to be portaged. The first half mile of Atlantic Creek crashes hard down a steep gradient, then evolves into a twisting ribbon through bear-infested willows, and then opens up into the grand meander through Yellowstone Meadows.
Donât forget to get out of your packrafts at the Yellowstone National Park boundary on the Yellowstone and Thorofare Rivers. Floating is prohibited inside the Park.
Camping in the wilderness is open. Camping in the National Park requires reservations at pre-designated campsites.
Yellowstone National Park is strictly a paddle-in-your-pack sort of place – floating is prohibited on the Yellowstone River here. Here, Iâm overlooking Beaverdam Creek en route to Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
OK, so itâs technically not part of the river, but this massive alpine lake (136 square miles) is the largest freshwater lake above 7,000 feet (elevation) in North America. Iâve packrafted the East shore as part of a longer packrafting expedition across the Yellowstone-Teton-Washakie wilderness complex. Even if lake packrafting isnât your thing, itâs worth a few miles of paddling (especially if a big westerly comes up) simply for the feeling that youâre paddling in an ocean surrounded by mountains.
There are a handful of campsites along the east shore, and require reservation with the National Park.
Paddling the east shore of Yellowstone Lake.
With the exception of the two little drops at Upper and Lower Yellowstone Falls (109 and 308 feet, respectively), this is the section that packrafter dreams are made of. Long stretches of big and dangerous Class V whitewater dominate this section through the Grand and Black Canyons, but during low-water off-seasons, this has the potential to be one of the worldâs greatest packrafting trips.
The incredible Black Canyon of the Yellowstone River.
But alas, itâs not to be quite yet – remember, floating in the Park is not allowed. But for the long distance expeditioner, one can easily link trails (and Yellowstone Lake) through the Park to enjoy a premier foot-and-paddle experience through the Yellowstone river corridor in the Yellowstone-Teton-Washakie wilderness complex.
The Yellowstone River corridor inside Yellowstone National Park is limited to foot and horse travel only. Even though you have to keep your paddles in your pack, knowing this corridor, like this one through the Black Canyon, is essential if you want to understand the Yellowstone in its entirety.
Camping is allowed only on developed campsites in this river corridor, and require reservations with the Park.
The Yellowstone River leaves the National Park at Gardiner, MT and offers the packrafter an enjoyable Class II+ run through boulder gardens before the river mellows out. Above the canyon, however, you can see the horizon line drop and the canyon walls echoing of whatâs to come…
There are a few developed and one or two primitive campgrounds in this stretch that require you to leave the river. River corridor camping is allowed all the way down to the Montana border, as long as youâre not within 500 feet of a residence, you remain below the high water mark, and stay off of private islands. However, places to camp in this section are few and far between, and small – the banks are steep. My favorite camps in this section are little patches of grass tucked away in willow thickets – about the right size for a bivy sack or two.
Between Gardiner and Yankee Jim canyon, the river gradient moderates and Montanaâs Big Sky once again starts to open up around you. This stretch is famous for its colorful reflected sunsets. Its proximity to Yellowstone National Parkâs high plateau and summer storms create ample opportunities for beautiful skies and water surfaces at dusk and dawn (Photo: Andrew Skurka).
One of my favorite days with Andrew Skurka was spent packrafting through Yankee Jim Canyon. Andrew was a green packrafter at the time, and I recall being sicker than a dog the day we drove over. I opted to shuttle the car, and let him float the canyon. I just wanted to take a nap.
But when we arrived at the put in, I forgot about my sore throat and drippy nose, and heard the siren song of Yankee Jim. I didnât regret joining Andrew on that float, and still giggle when I watch the goofy video we put together.
You should see a video below. If you don’t, refresh this page by clicking on this link.
Yankee Jim is home to mostly Class II+ water at low flows, and gnarly Class III-IV when the river is raging. The Boxcar Rapid is great fun at low water (Class III) and offers the beginning packrafter a safe runout for attempting big water without risk of getting stuck in a hole or hitting his head on a rock. At higher flows, the Boxcar feels like Lava Rapids in the Grand Canyon: itâs not about what to do if your packraft flips, itâs about when to do when your packraft flips.
Camping in the canyon is possible – there are a few sandy beaches for small parties of 1 or 2 shelters, but itâs cold and loud down there.
From Yankee Jim to Emigrant, MT, the river is a cruise. At Emigrant, get out and hitchhike three miles to Chico Hot Springs for an old style Montana hot springs experience, then return for lunch at the Emigrant Bar before hitting the river again.
Emigrant to Carterâs Bridge provides the occasional Class II rapid, but most of this section is slower, and scenic, with expansive views of the snowy Absaroka Range. As you approach Livingston, pay attention to boulder gardens and bridge abutments, which have been known to eat a number of boats.
The canyon gives way to expansive views of the Absaroka Range, and the densest population of trout outside of Yellowstone National Park.
A few Montana Fish, Wildlife, and Parks campgrounds are available in this stretch, as well as some beautiful riverside B&Bâs if you need that sort of a break. Wild camping can be challenging as you leave Emigrant and enter the stretch where trophy homes begin to appear.
Expeditioning on a long trip with a big pack, with the Absaroka Range in the background.
Below Livingston, a potentially dangerous bridge passage (with rapids plowing into an abutment thatâs often choked with wood) gives way to sustained Class II water until Springdale. Between Springdale and Big Timber, long stretches of windy flatwater exist, interspersed by the occasional and sometimes large and welcome Class II+ wave train.
Camping is plentiful here, with a number of gravel beaches, a handful of Fish, Wildlife, and Parks primitive campgrounds, and beautiful pastoral scenery interrupted by the magnificent Sheep Cliffs and Crazy Mountains.
Expect railroad whistles at night.
Packrafter camp near Springdale, with sunset glowing off the river in the background.
Pileup on the upstream side of the Springdale bridge. Iâve seen the river running so high that not even a packrafter would be able to duck to clear the bottom of the bridge deck. Most boat accidents on the Yellowstone occur in Yankee Jim Canyon, and at bridges
Donât be put off by the hazard list above. The rewards of tripping down the Yellowstone River corridor are well worth it.
A packrafting trip down the Yellowstone is one of my favorite human-powered trips. Whether by foot-and-paddle in the Teton wilderness, pedal-and-paddle through Paradise Valley, or just a long float in search of big trout, the moods of the Yellowstone will not disappoint.
The Yellowstone is one of our favorite locations for teaching packrafting, and taking groups on expeditions. Stay tuned, weâll be releasing our Yellowstone River packrafting course schedule for 2013 in the next few weeks!
A Backpacking Light Packrafting Course in the shadows of the Absaroka Range (Photo by Andrew Skurka).
A short film about the challenges we face when trying to expose young men to backcountry experiences.
In August of 2012, my son’s Scout troop planned a backpacking trek across the Spanish Peaks, a unit of the Lee Metcalf Wilderness in Southwest Montana. You can read the photo essay here.
This trek was an interesting one for me. It was one where I observed the boundless enthusiasm and excitement of crossing a rugged mountain range by one group of boys (the ones that attempted it) and the cynicism and disdain for trekking by others who had no intention of participating in a hike like this.
I struggle to develop a strong thesis for why this is (although I’m rather sure our forum members will rapidly come up with one following the publication of this article!). However, I can’t help but reflect on how our changing culture might be inhibiting backcountry participation by kids:
This certainly isn’t an exhaustive list.
I have no delusion about having all the answers, or solving what is probably not the biggest problems in boys’ lives.
I’m not even sure I have the desire to see “all teenage boys go into the backcountry.” But the topic makes an interesting study nonetheless, especially in the context of two roles that I’m playing today: a parent and a Scout leader of teenage boys.
Enjoy!
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The topics addressed in this film are discussed in depth at Backpacking Light’s BSA High Adventure Leader Training Course that we hold each May. Please consider joining us. The discussions we have about boys and backpacking are some of the highlights of our training time. Enrollment is now open for 2013.
Ryan Jordan is an Eagle Scout, former Camp Program Director and High Adventure Program Director (Camp Parsons, Chief Seattle Council), former Scoutmaster (Troop 676, Bozeman), Montana Council BSA High Adventure Committee Chair, and a member of the BSA Fieldbook Task Force providing oversight for the next edition.
Read more from Ryan:
The video in the rain was shot with a Panasonic TS-1. The rest of the video was shot on a Sony NEX-7 using a Sigma 30/2.8 and a Leica Elmarit-M 90/2.8. You’ll see some blobs here and there. We were trekking during a bad fire season and those blobs are ash particles that settled on my image sensor while changing lenses. Most of the video isn’t stabilized, so my apologies for the jiggles!
Photos from a Scout trek across the Spanish Peaks in Southwest Montana, with some insight into how we incorporate an ultralight ethic into groups.
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A 29 oz sleeping bag featuring vertical baffles and Insotect technology… is it worth the weight?
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Superb fit and finish, high breathability, and nice mix of features, but durability insurance doesn’t come with the $280 price tag – and at 9 oz, is it light enough?
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Trail Angels to the rescue on the PCT and AT. Chapter 11 from Lawton Grinter’s new book I Hike: Mostly True Stories from 10,000 Miles of Hiking.
There are people who go out of their way to help hikers. Sometimes itâs a random car ride offered to a grubby hiker by the kindness of a complete stranger. And sometimes itâs a person who lives in a town near the trail that lets hikers camp in their backyard or do laundry at their house or grab a shower to wash off days of accumulated dirt and dust. These folks are known in the long-distance hiking world as âtrail angels.â
The Appalachian Trail and Pacific Crest Trail have a whole host of perennial trail angels – folks that help out hikers year after year. The Continental Divide Trail has just a few but as the CDT gains in popularity, there is sure to be more. Some trail angels are not holed up in one town; they rove and follow the wave of hikers north as they make their way from Georgia to Maine or Mexico to Canada.
The Backyard at Hiker Heaven – Agua Dulce, CA
One of the better-known trail angel couples on the Pacific Crest Trail is the Saufleys. Jeff and Donna Saufley have been taking in hikers since the mid-90âs. Located 454 trail miles north of the Mexican Border, âHiker Heaven,â as they call their backyard, offers a brief respite from the dusty PCT of southern California. The little hamlet of Agua Dulce in which they live does not have much in the way of amenities – no post office and no laundromat. Seeing that there was a void to fill, in addition to a happenstance encounter with a couple of grimy PCT hikers in 1996, the Saufleys found themselves in the role of trail angels before they barely had time to realize what that meant (once word gets out that a couple or family is taking in hikers in a trail town, itâs like moths to a flame).
Efficiency is Key at Hiker Heaven – Agua Dulce, CA
What started as letting a handful of hikers stay in their spare camper one night back in 1996 ballooned to hosting 60+ hikers a night during the high season in 2008. Theyâve since put a 50-person cap on how many hikers they are willing to take in at one time. Even 50 people is too much for their large backyard, in my humble opinion, but not too many for Donna and Jeff. To accommodate this many people, they have gotten really good at crowd control. Theyâve orchestrated an incredibly efficient operation in the form of sign up sheets and help yourself bins full of clean towels, spare clothes to wear while doing laundry and an instruction board that requires little more than knowing how to read. There are sign up sheets for the shower, the computer, and a spare car. Thatâs right. They have a spare car that they allow hikers (read complete strangers) to drive to some of the larger outfitters and gear stops on the far eastern edge of Los Angeles County. And itâs all based on trust. And it works. The Saufleys have never had a single thing disappear from their house or their yard during all these years of hosting hikers. Howâs that for karma?
Hikers crowd in for Birthday Cake at The Saufleys – Agua Dulce, CA
And the cost . . . well, the cost is whatever each hiker is able to contribute to the mason jar that serves as a donation cup of sorts. Some hikers will kick in $20, $30 and even $50. Others are flat broke and pay nothing. It seems to work out, though. If it didnât, the Saufleys would be just another family in the Agua Dulce phone book and not the best-known trail angels on the PCT.
Not all trail angels offer a laundry list of amenities and services to hikers. Some are in it just for the fun and games. Twenty-four miles north of Jeff and Donnaâs place lies Casa de Luna in Green Valley. Casa de Luna is run by the Andersons and the Andersons donât have a spare car for signing out, they donât offer package pick-up or showers or internet. What they do offer is a guaranteed kick-ass time of beer drinking, general hell-raising and taco salad for dinner every night. Iâve been there twice now and was grateful to get all-you-can-eat taco salad both times, but I just donât know how they eat that dish every night for the entire summer. Donât get me wrong – I love tacos as much as the next guy but after having had them for 47 nights in a row, Iâd throw them off a cliff or throw up off a cliff.
Their entry into trail angelhood was also happenstance. Joe Anderson calls it âa serendipitous moment.â The way he told it, they ran into a bedraggled-looking couple with backpacks walking around in their town of Green Valley. This couple had gotten off the PCT and come to town to find a restaurant. The male half of this hiking duo desperately wanted some vegetable soup. The only restaurant in town was closed and he was feeling a bit blue as a result. Thereâs nothing more mentally devastating to a long-distance hiker than thinking about food all day and heading into town only to find the only restaurant that serves food closed.
Early Morning at Casa de Luna – Green Valley, CA
Earlier that day, Joe decided on a whim to make a big pot of vegetable soup. No particular reason really. As a matter of fact, soup is one of the last things Joe typically prepares, a once in a blue moon kind of thing. In one of those completely coincidental instances, Joe and Terri struck up a conversation with this couple that they randomly ran into in town. âForagerâ explained how heâd had a hankering for vegetable soup all day and was so disappointed that the restaurant was closed. Joeâs eyes lit up like Christmas lights and he invited them to come to their house for dinner.
Ten years later itâs not uncommon for them to host as many as 20-30 hikers per night during the high season. Some pass by the Andersons without stopping, after feeling guilty about having spent far too many nights at the Saufleys. Itâs a shame because staying with the Andersons is one of the highlights of a PCT thru-hike.
Keep in mind that trail angels are few and far between on long trails. Itâs purely coincidental that the Saufleys and the Andersons are in such close proximity to one another. After heading out of the Andersons, thereâs not much in the way of trail angels for the next 650+ miles unless you count Hiker Town.
PCT Hiker out for a ride at Hiker Town – Lancaster, CA
Hiker Town is like stepping into an alternate reality. It exists as a little wayside series of buildings on the edge of Highway 138 somewhere on the western edge of the Mojave Desert. The trail passes within a few feet of the buildings that comprise Hiker Town. I had never even heard of the place when I stumbled upon it back in 2004. The next 24 hours were an odd mix of getting a lift in a Rolls Royce to a convenience store, watching fellow hikers parade around the property on miscellaneous horses, being offered a shower only to find that the water was a degree above freezing, surfing the web in a dilapidated trailer that looked as though it would blow away with the tumbleweeds during the next gust of wind, listening to the howling drunkenness of one of the âcaretakersâ who was five times as filthy as any hiker staying there and discovering that Jack Fair, the previous owner of the place, had shot and killed himself right there in the main house.
I left Hiker Town wondering what type of crazy time warp I had just walked into. And that was after being awakened by a curious horse at 4:00 A.M. that put his muzzle about 12 inches from my face and snorted.
The Bunk House at Hiker Town – Lancaster, CA
The current owner is a bit eccentric but not foul-mouthed and prone to fits of rage as the previous owner, Jack Fair, apparently was. Jack allowed PCT hikers to come onto the property and even stay the night but more than one PCT hiker left upset or angry at Jack for something he had said or done. One hiker, âTroubador,â recounted his brief stay at Hiker Town back in 1999 when it was simply known as âJack Fairâs Placeâ:
The trail met highway 138. We crossed and walked up Jack Fair’s driveway towards his house. The guidebook described Jack Fair as “A concerned citizen who has generously offered water and camping to all through travelers on the PCT.”
As we approached the house a shirtless, gray bearded Jack Fair, probably in his late 60’s or early 70’s emerged along with âYosemite John.â Pointing at Yosemite John (YJ, as he was called for short) Jack asked, “Are all PCT hikers retarded or is it just him?” In unison âRerunâ and I
responded, “It’s just him.”
Jack greeted us. He shook my hand and instantly I smelled like the cigarettes he chain-smoked. He led us to the garage to stow our gear and then invited us into the house. Jack said we could sit anywhere we liked except on the Lazyboy recliner that was dingy, dank and surrounded by cigarette ashes. He lead us into the kitchen and offered me a coke while Rerun stuck with his water.
This is the point in time when Rerun and I stepped off of the PCT and into a wind tunnel of profanity.
Jack Fair was a former motorcycle rider. He drove his motorcycle almost everywhere in North America and now describes himself as a philosopher. As I looked through his trail register, he dropped some articles and papers in front of us which he asked us to read. Rerun skimmed them slightly while I stuck to the register. Jack said, “Okay, @^#$*$& read them, or don’t %#&$*%^# read them. What the %#^@&$^ do I care. You have to live your own @^#%$ life . . . I’m talking to my #&$%#% self now. So if you #&$^#%@ interrupt me, you’ll be *^^#%#*%%#* interrupting a private *&%#$@#* conversation.”
After a pause he explained his rates for the use of his house and facilities. “For $1 I’ll drive you down the road to the store. For $5 you can camp in the garage and take a shower and I provide the towel. If you just want to hang around for a little bit then it will be $5.” Rerun and I looked at one another as if we had been scammed.
We asked Jack for the $1 ride to the store and got into the back of his car. His dog rode up front with him. As I moved to get into the car I glanced at the seat and found it covered in all manner of dirt and grime. Rerun and I looked at each other. Rerun said, “Don’t ask.”
As we drove down to the store I inquired about the fare. I wanted to be certain of the rate since we had just been duped. “Jack, is it $1 round trip to the store, or $1 each way?” I asked, feeling it was a legitimate question. There was a pause as Jack looked at me in the rearview mirror and said, “Are you some sort of &#^$%@^ @&#^%@^%?” I took that to mean $1 round trip as Rerun laughed hysterically.
Still shaken from the verbal dressing down, I entered the store and made my selections. Rerun did the same and Jack waited outside. I felt pressure to get and pay for my stuff quickly. I hurried to the car and we were on our way back.
Jack was yelling and cussing up front. The noise of the car with all the windows down kept us from really hearing what he was saying. We both nodded and agreed nonetheless.
Since Rerun and I had been duped out of $5 for just hanging out, we decided to stay for a while and retreated to the garage with our store purchases.
Jack came from the house to the garage in a huff. He yelled, “Okay who was the last #%@&@% @@^#%@^ to use the sink in the house to take a shave?” It was obvious it was neither Rerun or myself as we both had beards. “Perhaps it was YJ?”, Rerun offered. “Well, whoever the #&$%$%#& it was pushed the @&@^#@& stopper down on the #^@@#%#% drain and now I can’t get it #&%$@&#*$^ open,” Jack screamed. His eyes looked away for a moment and his level of rage jumped up five notches.
“WHO THE #%$* OPENED THAT @#$&&#^$% DOOR!?!?!?!?” he yelled at the top of his lungs throwing his hands in the direction of a door behind Rerun. “THAT DOOR HASN’T BEEN OPENED IN 10 #^$%@%#$@& YEARS! ANY IDIOT KNOWS THAT IF YOU WANT A #$@^#%#$& CROSS BREEZE YOU GOTTA OPEN THIS #^$%%@%# DOOR!”
Jack slammed one door shut, and then opened the other. Rerun deflated the situation somewhat by offering to look at the sink. Tradja, Neil, Wahoo and YJ walked in as Jack and Rerun were about to depart to the house. I could see the rage forming in Jack as he was preparing to unleash it on YJ. “Did you take a shave in the house?” Jack jabbed at YJ. “Uh, no Jack, I’ve got three days beard on my face. I was planning on taking a shave, but I haven’t gotten to it yet,” replied YJ in a half laughing tone. “Well, it’s too #%##&& late, I’ve already blamed you for breaking the #^$%&3% sink,” Jack said as he swung into full profanity to explain the situation with the sink again.
At this point I was ready get out of there. Rerun returned from fixing the sink and Jack paid him with two power bars for his services. We then handed Jack the $10 for sitting in his garage for two hours and got some water from the sprinkler.
I would have been really angry about the money Jack charged and the way he went about it, but Smokey had come into Jack’s with only a Discover credit card. And when the store – despite having a large Discover sign in their window – declined to accept it, Jack, to his credit, covered the charge.
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The Appalachian Trail has its trail angels too. Bob Peoples was so enamored with the long-distance hikers that would pass by his place in Tennessee that he built a huge log cabin bunkhouse to accommodate them. Donation based pricing once again. Hikers are offered a daily shuttle down to Newport, Tennessee . . . the closest town to his Kincora Hiker Hostel. Additionally there are showers, laundry and kitchen facilities. Not bad for a $4 suggested donation per night.
âDizzy Bâ was a gruff but nice lady who lived near the AT trail town of Glencliff, New Hampshire. She would drive out Atwell Hill Road every evening during the summer to an abandoned Park Service building known as the âAtwell Hilton.â If any hikers were tenting on the lawn, sheâd back the truck in and unload firewood. Sheâd also pull out two coolers: one full of beer and one full of soda. If you want to win over the hearts of long-distance hikers . . . offer them beer and soda. Sheâd build a fire and chat for a couple of hours with everyone and then take off only to repeat the sequence later the next day and the day after that. The Atwell Hilton has long since been torn down and Dizzy B has moved on, but it was sure nice to get a couple of ice-cold sodas from her in 1999 when I was hiking through.
I once popped out on Pennsylvania Highway 33 at a place called Wind Gap during my AT thru-hike to check my map for directions. At that same exact moment two bicyclists pulled over to check their map for directions. They asked me where I was hiking. I told them to Maine. They gave me that look of disbelief that Iâd received many times before when telling folks I was walking from Georgia to Maine. One of the guys pulled out a $20 bill and handed it to me. He told me to go to the bakery in the nearby town of Delaware Water Gap and have some pastries on him. They rode away and I was left there standing with a $20 bill in my hand, dumbfounded that a complete stranger would hand me money for walking. The pastries were fantastic.
In 1999 on the AT, I kept running into this guy who called himself âDesperado.â He was a New Jersey State Park Ranger, I believe, and knew all about the thru-hiking community. He even knew who I was without ever having met me. Apparently he would ask hikers he met who was behind them and write down their trail names so he wouldnât forget. He told us that during a typical hiking season, he ended up meeting about half the thru-hikers that came through New Jersey.
The first time I ran into him, he gave me his business card. It simply read âDesperadoâ in bold font. For occupation it said âTrail Angel.â There was a phone number in the bottom corner. The funny thing is that Desperado wasnât operating a business – or at least it didnât appear so. He was handing out slices of pizza on the trail and offering rides to town and info on New Jerseyâs stretch of the AT. I never needed a ride but some other hikers that got a lift from him told me he had a tape of The Eagles singing Desperado that he played continuously while he drove them around. I guess if you were still uncertain that his name was really Desperado after seeing it in bold font on his business card, The Eagles would make sure you knew it was so.
âMeadow Maryâ is another well-known roving trail angel on the PCT. Iâve run into her many times and even got an hour-long ride to a bus station from her back in 2004. She made me change my clothes. Apparently she is quite sensitive to scented detergents. I had just done my laundry and the detergent I used did not agree with her olfactory preferences. She had a spare set of her husbandâs clothes in her RV luckily for me. I desperately needed a ride to the bus station in Red Bluff, California, in order to get to the Sacramento airport to fly back east for a buddyâs wedding. I would have ridden in her camper van naked if it meant getting to that bus station.
Trail Magic along the PCT – Southern California
The other form of trail angelling that is somewhat common is âthe lone cooler.â The lone cooler is true trail magic in its purest form; trail magic being what trail angels offer to hikers. A random cooler on the side of the trail full of goodies free for the taking. No fees, no donations, no flat rates and no need to change clothes. Whatever is in the cooler has no strings attached.
Some coolers are chock full of beer, soda, candy bars, chips and cookies and some are empty after getting cleaned out by hikers that had already passed through. You never know what you are going to find until you open the lid. In the case of the cooler we came across in 2008 on the PCT at Santiam Pass in Oregon . . . Iâm still not sure what the reddish brown liquid and chunks actually were; however, judging from the shredded wrappers, claw marks and distinct paw prints in the mud beside the lid, my guess is that a bear ate everything in the cooler and then proceeded to barf it all back into the cooler.
I was having a particularly tough day on the AT back in 99â coming out of the Nantahala River in North Carolina. This section of trail had a LOT of ups and downs. âPudsâ as some would call them, which is short for âpointless ups and downs.â It started with a 3,400â climb and then a bunch of steep descents and more steep ascents. When I reached Stecoah Gap, I was beat and demoralized, not sure if I could move another inch. Just across the road I spied something red in the bushes. Upon further investigation, I realized it was a cooler. I bounded across the highway and whipped open the lid to find freshly made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and chips and soda. I went from feeling like road kill to a million dollars in the matter of five seconds. Iâve never been that excited to eat peanut butter and jelly in my entire life.
Feeling reenergized, I was able to make my way to Brown Fork Gap Shelter by dark. Other hikers at the shelter all told me similar stories; they had been beat and tired and the cooler saved their lives! The great thing is that the cooler was left there on the side of the road by a former AT thru-hiker named âFanny-Pack.â Fanny-Pack left a note in the cooler stating that he received a lot of really great trail magic during his 1996 AT thru-hike and wanted to pass the favor forward. Itâs not uncommon for thru-hiker alum to come out and deliver trail magic during subsequent years. This wouldnât be the last Fanny-Pack cooler I came across while on the AT that year. And each time it would be at a crucial spot just after a long climb where I was feeling exhausted. Itâs as if he knew . . . and he did.
Although the lone coolers were fantastic, the best trail magic that I have ever experienced on a long hike occurred in 2004 in central Washington. It had been raining for weeks and there was no let up in sight. A cold, windy, hypothermic rain. Every day. Rain, rain, rain. I had been hiking in a loose group of half a dozen people and we were all on the same pace to finish at the Canadian Border in late September.
Alpine Lakes Wilderness along the PCT – Central Washington
The night before âthe greatest trail magic ever,â we had all camped near Deep Lake in central Washingtonâs Alpine Lakes Wilderness. We went to bed with rain and woke up to rain and by the looks of the overcast and clouds, weâd be hiking in rain all day. I was a late riser and hiked out of camp last; the bad weather had drained every last ounce of my motivation. A quick perusal of my PCT Data Book told me that our campsite was 30.5 miles from Stevens Pass and Highway 2. Highway 2 leads west down to the town of Skykomish and more importantly to the Dinsmoresâ âHiker Haven,â which was our next town stop.
Following the lead of the Saufleys, Jerry and Andrea Dinsmore started hosting hikers at their abode in 2002. They have a great home on the banks of the Tye River just outside of Skykomish and would pick up hikers at the Pass to bring them down for a stay. We had heard there was a pay phone at the Pass from which you could call them . . . you simply had to get yourself to the Pass.
I didnât want to hike 30.5 miles though. I mean I REALLY didnât want to hike 30.5 miles that day. Actually, I didnât want to get out of my sleeping bag, but I did because thatâs what hikers do; we get up and hike even if it is cold and wet and miserable. My hope was that the rest of the group didnât want to hike 30.5 miles either. I was mostly going with the flow at this point in the hike and if the entire group hiked all the way to Stevens Pass, I probably would also. But I REALLY didnât want to.
Snack Break under the Umbrella – Central Washington
I never caught up to anyone in the group that day. The past few weeks I had been hiking with an umbrella, about which I received heaps of ridicule and mockery. The umbrella was worth its weight in gold, though, and I wouldnât have traded it for anything. It gave me the opportunity to lollygag a bit in the rain. See, most hikers walk very quickly in the pouring cold rain to generate heat and stay warm. Granted, most waterproof jackets keep the rain from seeping in but the cold rain zaps the heat from your upper body through convection. Itâs just a simple fact of allowing cold water to land on your chest and shoulders for hours on end. With the umbrella, the rain never hits your chest and shoulders and subsequently allows you to stay warmer; it is like walking with a small tent over your head all day. The other thing that hikers wearing only rain jackets typically donât do is they donât take breaks. Who wants to take a break in the pouring rain on the side of the trail only to get more soaked and more cold? I took breaks every hour or so with the umbrella. I could squeeze in and get my entire body under the umbrellaâs perimeter. It was great, but the more breaks I took and the more I lollygagged, the further behind the crew I got.
At the Surprise Lake Trail junction there was a note in a plastic bag on the middle of the trail. My heart sank. I knew this note was going to be from someone in the group saying they had decided to push all the way into Stevens Pass because of the weather. We had gotten in the habit of leaving notes for one another when the group got split up so I knew it was from one of my people.
I hesitantly walked up to the note, bent over in the heavy rain and picked up the plastic bag. The note read:
Hikers, Tremor and I are taking the Surprise Lake Trail down to Highway 2. Itâs a shortcut. We are going into Skykomish to get a room tonight come hell or high water. Hope to see you all there. -Trainwreck
Ugh. No! I simply couldnât allow myself to take the Surprise Lake Trail and leave the PCT either. I had set a goal when I started my PCT thru-hike at the Mexican Border that I would hike every inch of the PCT if possible. Taking the Surprise Lake Trail down to the highway would mean leaving the PCT and skipping a 13-mile stretch of the trail. I looked at my watch and it was four-thirty. It would be dark by eight and if I was going into Skykomish today, Iâd be hiking in the dark on the PCT to Stevens Pass. I had 13 miles to go. After a quick snack, I embraced my fate and hiked into the pouring rain.
I had originally planned to camp with everybody that night at Josephine Lake, which lay five miles south of the Pass. We would get up early the next morning, hike to Highway 2 and be in Skykomish for breakfast. Or at least that had been the plan this morning. Now the prospects of my camping at Josephine Lake solo in the rain were quite real. I thought that perhaps two of the other hikers in our group, âJupiterâ and âShep,â would still go to Josephine Lake and camp. If they were camped there, Iâd definitely stop and camp there.
Tye River – Skykomish, WA
I arrived at Josephine Lake around dusk. It was bleak, didnât have much in the way of trees for protection from the weather, and Jupiter and Shep were nowhere to be found. I looked at my watch, which told me it was just after seven oâclock. I scarfed down two candy bars while scrounging around for my flashlight. My fate was most definitely sealed. I was hiking into Stevens Pass tonight. As I left the lake behind me, it began pouring again. This was going to be swell.
So here I was hiking at night in the pouring rain with a little keychain flashlight to illuminate my way. Pretty dumb really. If I tripped and fell or slipped and broke an ankle, Iâd be in a hypothermic and dangerous situation within minutes. Everyone would assume that I had camped for the night and no one was with me to know otherwise. I had already walked 26 miles (a marathon) and was a bit worn out. Realizing there was no room for error, I focused on every single step and I slowed down a bit. Rushing down the trail in the pouring rain in pitch dark would get me nowhere but hurt.
I remember smiling and laughing a bit as I made my way down to Stevens Pass with umbrella in hand in the middle of a tempest that night. I think I was likely in an exhaustion-induced delirium and would have had my sanity questioned if anyone had happened upon me out there. But there was no one out there . . . why would there be?
The trail spit me out into a dirt parking lot. It was the trailhead parking lot at Stevens Pass and there were no cars there. Anyone who had any kind of sense was at home under a dry roof and not out here in this monsoon. I could see the dimly lit highway just ahead and an 18-wheeler pulled over on the road shoulder. I vaguely remembered someone saying that there was a pay phone at the Pass from which you could call the Dinsmores and they would come pick you up. That payphone wasnât in the trailhead parking lot so I guessed it might be down at Stevens Pass Ski Area, which was about °-mile down the road to the west.
I walked down to the ski area to find a series of buildings that were well lit but no one was milling about which made sense given that the ski area didnât open until November and it was September. I thought that maybe, just maybe, there would be an unlocked door and I could steal the night away in a dry janitorâs closet or bathroom floor. I spent the next hour walking around the base area and must have pulled on a hundred door handles. The entire place was locked up tight. It was almost ten oâclock and I had to figure out something. The thought of setting up my tent was just too depressing to consider at this point. Maybe the driver of the 18-wheeler had a cell phone?
I walked back up to the Pass as the downpour strengthened. My only chance was to go knock on the door of the idling big rig and hope that I didnât scare the **** out of the driver. I simply had no other options. I started for the truck and noticed a dimly lit streetlamp on the other side of the highway. I followed the lamp down its supporting post with my eyes. It illuminated a metal box. A telephone booth! I was elated but felt like a big idiot having just walked around the ski area for an hour when all along the phone had been on the other side of the highway.
I ran across the empty highway and dodged into the phone booth. The roof was solid and at least I could make this call and figure out what to do out of the rain. The Dinsmores had posted a business card inside the phone booth – what luck! Occupation: Trail Angels. Phone number on the right hand corner. Maybe all these trail angels were using the same business card service? I looked at my watch. It was 10:15 on a Monday night. I paused. Should I really be calling these folks this late on a Monday night? What if they were asleep? What if I pissed them off by calling so late? How could I possibly ask them to come pick me up given the weather and the time of night? I stared out the dirty glass of the phone booth into the rain and contemplated my predicament for a moment. There was nowhere decent to camp and Iâd be setting up a wet tent – wet from the previous couple days of rain. Grim at best. It was time to roll the dice.
âHello.â
âUm hello. Is this Jerry?â I asked politely.
âYep, this is Jerry.â
âHi, this is Disco. I think some of my hiking partners may have come down to Skykomish earlier today,â I offered, dancing around the fact that I desperately needed Jerry to come get me. I guess I didnât want to seem that desperate just yet.
âOh yeah. They were expecting a Disco to call. I picked them up a few hours ago. Letâs see, Iâve got Jupiter, Shep, and GT.â
âOh thatâs great. I figured they were there,â I said trying to figure out how I would go about asking Jerry for a ride.
âWhere are you at?â Jerry asked me.
âIâm up here at the Pass. I hate to ask you this late at night but itâs pouring up here and I could really use a ride down to town,â I offered in a pathetic tone.
âNo problem, Iâll be right there,â Jerry declared without hesitation and that was it.
Twenty minutes later, Jerry pulled up in his big truck and I suggested I get in the back since I was so wet and dirty. He told me not to think of it and to get into the front seat. He had the heat cranked up and I spent the better part of the ride down thanking him profusely for saving me from a miserable night in the cold rain.
The Dinsmoreâs Hiker Haven – Skykomish, WA
I arrived at Jerryâs house to find all my friends in dry clothes, freshly showered watching the weather channel. Forecast was for more rain and snow levels coming down to 5,000â – essentially that would mean most of the PCT heading north into Glacier Peak Wilderness, which was our next stretch of trail.
I walked into the kitchen after having left my sopping wet pack and rain jacket at the door. There was a plate of food on the kitchen table and Andrea Dinsmore was smiling at me.
âEat up,â she said with a big grin.
My post-phone booth lodging at The Dinsmoreâs – Skykomish, WA
I was floored. I sat down and started in without hesitation. After 30 miles of tramping around all day in the pouring rain, I could have eaten a horse the size of an elephant. I may have eaten seconds and thirds . . . I canât really remember . . . the next ten minutes was a flurry of talking to Andrea, Jupiter, Shep and GT in between mouthfuls of food. They told me the other half of our crew was at a motel in town.
âThereâs a hot tub upstairs if you want to soak,â Jerry said, as if almost forgetting he had one.
My eyes practically popped out of my head. I finished my plate and thanked Andrea a few million more times. I grabbed an extra towel off the bathroom shelf and headed up the stairway to the second story deck. A light drizzle greeted me as I tiptoed onto slick wet wood. I turned off the hot tub lights and hopped into the 104-degree water. I slid in and let out a big long sigh of relief. I stared up at the night sky and could see a break in the clouds off in the distance. Only one short hour ago I was standing inside a phone booth in the middle of nowhere, soaking wet from having walked thirty miles through the rain. Now I sat in the warm waters of the Dinsmoresâ hot tub with a full belly admiring the irony of it all. It is truly amazing how our fates can change at a momentâs notice.
Hiking the PCT with an Umbrella in a light rain – Central Washington
Near Stevens Pass Ski Area – Hiker Beware !
Heading into Glacier Peak Wilderness – Northern Washington
Lawton Grinter is an author, documentary filmmaker, forester and veteran long-distance hiker having completed end-to-end hikes of the Appalachian Trail, Continental Divide Trail and two hikes of the Pacific Crest Trail. In addition to the âBig 3âł he has also hiked the John Muir Trail and Colorado Trail in his 10,000+ miles of long-distance hiking since 1999. He filmed, edited and produced the trail documentary entitled âThe Walkumentaryâ which covered his 2006 southbound Continental Divide Trail hike. He currently lives in Denver, Colorado with his wife and fellow long-distance hiker Felicia Hermosillo and their dog Gimpy. I Hike is his first book and can be found at www.ihikethebook.com
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An unexpected rainstorm and inadequate gear threaten to end one hiker’s PCT dreams, and potentially his life. Chapter 3 from Lawton Grinter’s new book I Hike: Mostly True Stories from 10,000 Miles of Hiking.
Rockpile Lake along Pacific Crest Trail – Deschutes National Forest, OR
The âGreat Flood of 2004â started inconspicuously. We paid little attention to the clouds that had been building all day as we made our way towards Rockpile Lake in a remote corner of Oregonâs Deschutes National Forest along the Pacific Crest Trail. A grand total of two hours of rain had fallen in the last four months and to say that everyone had become complacent about bad weather and bad weather backpacking gear was a gross understatement.
I had been hiking with âHonoluluâ since the Mexican Border and âTrimâ off and on since northern California. The three of us set up camp on the far shore of Rockpile Lake in some lofty pines after cooking our trail dinners and enjoying a dessert of Reeseâs Cups. The clouds over the lake, which had slowly been darkening all day, were now ominous and foreboding. All appearances said that it was now only a matter of an hour, or possibly minutes, until a full-bore tempest released its fury on us.
I walked around my tent and restaked all my guy lines to make sure I had the tautest pitch possible. By the time I was done re-tensioning all the lines, you could have bounced a baby off the side of it. I added rocks over the tops of all the stakes trying to imagine the worst that could happen . . . my tent blowing away with me in it like the balloon boy. I tried to envision how running water would flow under my tent. The last thing I wanted was a soaked down sleeping bag.
Most of the ground on the far side of the lake was relatively bare due to the excessive amount of campers this shoreline campsite had obviously hosted. In a last minute decision that I would be thankful for later, I pulled my groundsheet from under the tentâs floor and placed it inside the tent on top of the floor. I realize this defeats the purpose of what a groundsheet is supposed to do, which is rest on the ground between the dirt and the tentâs nylon floor to keep twigs and thorns and other debris from poking holes through the nylon. It seemed to me though that water would likely funnel right to the front of my tent and wedge itself between the ground sheet and the tent floor as it made its way down to Honolulu and Trimâs shelters. Maybe this was not a big deal for me considering I was camped on a gentle slope and the water would definitely continue downhill, but it was a risk I wasnât willing to take given the ink black color of the clouds that were looming overhead.
Both Trim and Honolulu had camped further down the slope in a low-lying area. Honolulu was under a tarp and Trim had a self-enclosed tent similar to mine. We were basically just waiting and at midnight it began.
Tentbound Warm & Dry beside Rockpile Lake – Deschutes National Forest, OR
Imagine the sound of an afternoon thunderstorm or the repetitious clamor of pouring rain on a metal-roofed house. Typically heavy rains donât last long – maybe thirty minutes or an hour, two hours at the most. Downpours are short-lived events: saturated clouds release a build-up of moisture and then itâs over. At least thatâs how it is supposed to happen. For eight solid hours, we were stuck in our tents imprisoned by a torrential downpour. It poured unendingly from midnight to 8:00 A.M. It did not let up . . . not even once. We were all a bit dismayed to say the least.
This eight-hour deluge was the first of several unseasonably cold storms funneling in off the Pacific that would plague us for four solid weeks until we reached northern Washington on the PCT. Most of Oregon obtained a monthâs worth of rain in a few days from this storm. Some weather stations reported three times the average monthly rainfall occurred just within the last week of August. We were right at the start of that last week.
Vintage PCT Sign along the Trail – Northern Oregon
Our complacency with having walked four months without camping in the rain a single night meant most of us were not prepared for a monthâs worth of rain in one week. I myself had been carrying an old rain jacket with holes in it and a pack cover buried so far into the depths of my pack that I had forgotten I even owned one. I was desperately lacking in sufficient warm clothes. Outside of what I was wearing, I had a thinly insulated jacket and a beanie. I also had a lightweight pair of polyester liner gloves. They were about as thick as a pair of silk stockings. No long johns, no fleece pants or jackets, no warm socks and I had gotten rid of my umbrella months before due to ridicule from my fellow hikers. I would have given up my college diploma for that umbrella right now.
I Would Have Given Up my College Diploma for that Umbrella – Northern Oregon
âMy tent flooded a bit,â Trim shouted over the roaring noise of the pouring onslaught early the next morning.
I peaked out from under the bottom of my tent and could see Honolulu packing up.
âWhatâs the plan guys?â I asked from inside the friendly confines of my spacious and dry two-man tent.
âI donât know but Iâm packing up and heading out of here stat,â Honolulu said with a slight sense of urgency that made me think I should be doing the same.
Frankly though, I had absolutely no desire to do anything but stay in my sleeping bag. Perhaps Iâd boil some water and have a steaming cup of tea or go back to sleep or both. Packing up a wet tent and trudging down a muddy trail in a cold downpour was at the bottom of my to do list.
After both Honolulu and Trim hiked out, I quickly decided that hanging out in my tent all day around a lonely lake with bad weather didnât seem that appealing. The rain had momentarily softened from full gale to downpour, which gave me the best opportunity Iâd seen all morning to break camp. I grudgingly unzipped my sleeping bag and packed up everything inside my tent. I put on a pair of non-waterproof wind pants over my hiking shorts because thatâs all I had and it looked way too nasty to be walking around in running shorts. All I had on the top half of my body was a long sleeved shirt and a thrashed rain jacket. I put on my flimsy liner gloves, hustled out of my tent and packed the soaking wet jumble of nylon into the big mesh pocket on the outside of my pack.
I hiked out in the downpour. My wind pants were soaked within ten minutes. They clung to my damp skin like a sandwich wrapper to a soggy BLT. I had to wipe my sunglasses every three minutes just to see where I was going. It was ludicrous I even had them on in the first place, but I had surmised they would deflect some of the blowing rain. My liner gloves absorbed water like a dish sponge. I stuck my soaking wet hands into the soaking wet pockets of my soaking wet pants and started to shiver a bit as I hiked on. I had only been on the trail for thirty minutes. This was not good.
Our next âtown stopâ along the PCT wouldnât be a town at all. It would be the remote outpost that is Ollalie Lake Resort. Ollalie Lake Resort was the fourth or fifth resort we had come across during our jaunt through Oregon on the PCT. The term âresortâ conjures up images of the clear warm waters and sunny beaches of the Caribbean. Perhaps snorkeling along the Keys while dining on fresh caught flounder or mahi mahi at night. A Swedish massage, maybe, or expensive dark chocolates lying on the pillow of a king size bed in the master suite. The Oregon resorts were a bit different. They were located in rural areas typically abutting National Forest land and most contained dated wooden cabins, pay showers and restaurants with an assortment of fried foods and an abundant supply of second-hand smoke. There were definitely not any dark chocolates on the pillows . . . there werenât even pillows. I had neither high hopes nor any hope that Ollalie would provide much in the way of salvation for my cohorts and I.
Foreboding Skies along the Pacific Crest Trail – Northern Oregon
I sheltered briefly under a large pine, which reduced the downpour to only a steady rain. I pulled out my guidebook with a bit of effort to see how far Ollalie Lake Resort was from Rockpile Lake – 33 miles. This was a colossal distance by most standards. We had been hiking around 25 miles per day, which normally took us all day. I didnât even know if 33 miles was possible. Thatâs equivalent to running a marathon and then tacking on a 10k afterwards. And we werenât running; we were hiking with heavy backpacks in the pouring rain on a trail that had become so muddy that what we were doing would be better described as careening.
I started to shiver and decided that I needed more clothes on my upper body ASAP. I could have gone for an Eskimoâs parka with hood and waterproof shell but my thinly insulated jacket would have to work. I dug down in my pack as water poured off the bill of my hat. I grabbed the insulated jacket and put it on as swiftly as possible and slapped my rain jacket back on over it without delay. I reached down to zip up my insulated jacket and simply couldnât. My fingers wouldnât work. My brain was telling my hands to zip my jacket, but they simply could not grasp the zipper. I had lost all dexterity in my fingers. I couldnât zip my jacket and I was in a pouring cold rain. My hiking partners were up ahead so they had no clue as to what was happening to me. I was utterly alone in a torrential downpour and I couldnât zip my stupid jacket. A bolt of panic ran up from my stomach to my throat and for about 10 long seconds I thought about dying.
***
Hypothermia is defined as any body temperature below 95 °F (35 °C). There are three stages that take place as a person progresses from feeling chilly to greeting Saint Peter. Stage 1 is characterized by mild to strong shivering. The person is unable to perform complex tasks with the hands; the hands become numb (that was me). Blood vessels in the outer extremities constrict, lessening heat loss to the outside air. Breathing becomes quick and shallow. Goose bumps form, raising body hair on end in an attempt to create an insulating layer of air around the body (which is of limited use in humans due to lack of sufficient hair, but apparently useful in other species). Victims may feel sick to their stomachs, and very tired. People will often experience a warm sensation, as if they have recovered, but they are in fact heading into Stage 2.
Another test to see if one is entering stage 2 is if the person is unable to touch his thumb with his little finger; this is the first stage of muscles not working. Iâm not sure if I could have touched my thumb to my pinky. Iâm guessing not since I couldnât even clasp the zipper on my jacket.
In Stage 2 of hypothermia, body temperature drops as low as 91 °F (32 °C). Shivering becomes more violent. Muscle mis-coordination becomes apparent. Movements are slow and labored, accompanied by a stumbling pace and mild confusion, although the person may appear alert. Surface blood vessels contract further as the body focuses its remaining resources on keeping the vital organs warm. The victim becomes pale. Lips, ears, fingers and toes may become blue. I never hit Stage 2 and Iâll get to why in a moment.
Finally in Stage 3, the body temperature drops below approximately 89.6 °F (32 °C). Shivering usually stops. Difficulty speaking, sluggish thinking, and amnesia start to appear; inability to use hands and stumbling is also usually present. Cellular metabolic processes shut down. Below 86.0 °F (30 °C), the exposed skin becomes blue and puffy, muscle coordination becomes very poor, walking becomes almost impossible, and is typically accompanied by irrational behavior including terminal burrowing (an odd phenomenon where the hypothermia victim burrows into leaves or rock crevices as a protection mechanism). Pulse and respiration rates decrease significantly, but fast heart rates (ventricular tachycardia, atrial fibrillation) can occur. Major organs fail. Clinical death occurs. Because of decreased cellular activity in Stage 3 hypothermia, the body will actually take longer to undergo brain death.
Realizing that my situation was serious, I decided to pull my rain jacket as close to my chest as possible, jam my wet hands in my wet pockets and hike as fast as I possibly could to generate heat. I kept a bit of a forward lean to shield the unzipped area of my rain jacket from falling raindrops. I was practically running down the trail. For the next 45 minutes I hustled as fast as I could and stayed focused on both generating body heat and rewarming my hands. By the time I stopped to zip my jacket I could see Honolulu and Trim up ahead. I pulled my hands out of my wind pants and zipped the zipper with no problem. Dexterity had come back to my fingers.
I caught up to Honolulu and Trim and told them about losing dexterity in my fingers, which they didnât seem to think was that big of a deal. Little did they know that I was on the verge of having a panic attack.
âI donât know what you guys are planning to do today, but Iâm hiking all the way into Ollalie Lake before six oâclock when their store closes. Iâm not camping out in the rain tonight,â I declared.
Looking fairly drenched and low on proper gear and clothes themselves, they both said they were in. It was decided; we were going to attempt to lay down 33 miles in 10 hours in the pouring rain. We were on a mission, and in my mind, the consequence of not succeeding was hypothermia.
I donât remember a whole lot of the details of the next nine hours or so on the trail. It rained, it poured, it was windy, and foggy and the temperature never got much out of the low 40âs. We were hiking through the spectacularly scenic Mt. Jefferson Wilderness and saw none of it. Honolulu later told me that he could barely keep up with me as I was practically running instead of hiking.
I took two breaks of five minutes each during the day, just long enough to wolf down an energy bar or two, but that was it. Frankly, I was too scared to stop. I assumed that if I stopped for more than five or ten minutes, Iâd lose dexterity in my fingers again and shit creek would be my new home. I was absolutely bound and determined to get myself to Ollalie Lake where I knew Iâd find salvation in the form of a cabin or yurt for rent. We had heard they had wood-burning stoves. The thought of sitting in front of a warm wood-burning stove wearing dry clothes drinking a piping hot cup of chai was almost too much to handle.
Olallie Lake Resort Store – Northern Oregon
At fifteen minutes before six oâclock, we reached a dirt road with a large wooden sign that pointed the way to Ollalie Lake Resort. Within minutes we slogged inside the camp store to pay for accommodations for the evening. I was in awe that we had covered 33 miles in less than ten hours but that was going to have to wait. We needed to pay for our cabin ASAP and get into dryer clothes.
âHow much for a cabin tonight?â I asked the store clerk.
âIâm sorry but we are full. There was a big party here last night and all the cabins and yurts have been booked for the entire weekend,â the clerk told me.
I was completely crushed – completely and utterly crushed. It was still dumping rain and it would be dark in an hour or so. I wanted to tell the guy that I had been borderline hypothermic earlier that day and that I deserved a cabin way more than the party boys from the previous night.
âDo you have any other lodging options that involve a covered roof,â I stammered.
âNot today. Something might open up tomorrow. You are more then welcome to camp in the resort campground across the road,â he replied. âWeâve got free hot chocolate,â he said, trying to lift our spirits as he pointed to a small thermos by the counter.
I poked my head out the door of the store to look over at the campground. It was a dismal affair in a low spot full of puddles and mud. It didnât have any trees and was completely exposed to the rain. It was bleak. It was grim. And it wasnât going to work.
I walked back in the store and talked to Honolulu and Trim. They had the same look of rejection and despair on their faces as I was sure that I had on mine. What in the name of all that is holy and good were we going to do? I felt low – really, really low – similar to the day that I found out an old fling I was head over heels for had dumped me like a bag of bricks for a guy that was 10 years younger than me.
Honolulu suggested that we should buy as much hot food as possible before the store closed. He found some microwave burritos and the three of us commenced warming them while sipping on some of the complimentary hot chocolate. I tried to convince myself that tonight would be fine but that thought was fleeting and I went back to anguish rather quickly. We were screwed and it was going to be a cold, wet night in a cold, wet campsite.
At that very moment, âTrainwreck,â âStrutâ and âJupiterâ burst through the door of the store. They had arrived the day before and decided to take the day off because the weather was so dour. We had hiked on and off with these three girls since the southern California desert and it was great to see them.
âWhat are you guys doing?â Trainwreck asked.
âWeâre trying to get some food as quickly as possible before the store closes. And then weâre going out in that shitty campsite across the road to set up for the night,â I said with defeat.
âNo youâre not. Weâve got a warm, dry cabin with a wood-burning stove and you all are staying with us,â she said matter of factly. I had never gone from such a low point to such a high point in such a short span of time in my entire life. My eyes welled up with tears and I asked her if she was serious. She said yes and to grab our stuff so we could go.
The Wood-Stove Heated Olallie Meadows Cabin – Olallie Lake Resort, OR
I couldnât believe how our luck had changed in a matter of seconds. I was mentally preparing for one of the worst nights of my life while trying to heat a cheap microwave burrito in hopes that it would provide some scant glimpse of salvation. And it was only moments before the store closed at which time we would be forced back out into the rainy, dreary, hypothermic weather. With the blink of an eye, all that changed. We had been rescued by Trainwreck, Strut and Jupiter. Iâve never been so grateful for someone taking pity on me in my entire life.
I looked back at the store clerk with a brief glance. He had held our fragile state of being in his hands and had told us there was no place to stay with the neutrality of a Swiss banker. He had no idea what we had gone through that day. None. I felt if only he had known, he would have found us a warm, dry place to stay. Likely I was partially delirious to feel that this guy who was pulling down minimum wage at best had the key to the world, but thatâs how it seemed during our ten minutes in the store. And now it didnât matter. We didnât need this guy any longer. Our fellow hikers had come to save us from the elements. So long, sucker.
Before heading back to their cabin for the night, we found out that they had all been invited over to the staff cabin for a concert of sorts. Apparently one of the staffers had graduated from the Berklee College of Music with a degree in Composition and was an amazing classical guitarist. The staff house was warm and cozy with the smell of a wood-burning stove. Over the next hour, Grant serenaded our crew with a piece that left us all in a trance. It was amazing. I sat there on the floor with ten other thru-hikers in a warm house listening to a free concert while it poured rain outside. Only ten short hours prior, I had been standing in the middle of the trail with the early stages of hypothermia trying to zip a jacket with fingers that would not work. I was in awe of how the day had panned out and so happy that we had been rescued and brought to the staff cabin for a classical guitar performance.
Olallie Lake Resort – Closed for Repair in 2008 – Northern Oregon
After our guitar concerto, we all piled in one of the staffers trucks and he gave us a ride back to our cabin. Somehow yesterday, Trainwreck and Co. were able to score a cabin for rent that was three miles from the main resort. This happened after they had been told everything else was booked for the entire weekend.
The cabin was a rustic, large A-frame roughly 20â by 15â with a huge wood-burning stove and loft that contained a couple of bunks. With 12 people in there it got warm fast. From one end to the other there were clotheslines draped with gear and wet rain jackets and pants hung out to dry. âCaptain Mike,â another hiker in our crew of 12, took it upon himself to keep the fire going all night. Heâd get up every couple of hours or so to add a couple of logs.
The next morning came early as they always do when youâre sleeping in close quarters with a dozen people. The early risers were up and fidgeting around before the day had even dawned. Honolulu, Trim and I hiked out late morning, a bit after everyone else. We were moving slowly. My legs felt like linguine. I guess walking 33 miles in 10 hours with two five-minute breaks was more than the two ibuprofen pills I had taken the night before could handle.
Mt. Jefferson Wilderness Area on a Sunny Day – Northern Oregon
I picked up an extra campers poncho at the resort store with the hopes that it would help my lack of legitimate rainproof gear and clothing. We spent the next four days making our way up and around Mt. Hood and down to the town of Cascade Locks along the Columbia River. There a short ride to Portland from my friend Kate gave us quick access to every outfitter and gear store under the sun. I probably overdid it with my purchases, not ever wanting to head down that sad, soggy road to hypothermia again. My pack was a bit heavier with an assortment of raingear for that final month on the trail, but I didnât care. It rained three out of every four days for the rest of the hike and I never again found myself too cold to zip a jacket.
Our Three Shelters Under Dryer Circumstances – Near Pacific Crest Trail
Lawton Grinter is an author, documentary filmmaker, forester and veteran long-distance hiker having completed end-to-end hikes of the Appalachian Trail, Continental Divide Trail and two hikes of the Pacific Crest Trail. In addition to the âBig 3âł he has also hiked the John Muir Trail and Colorado Trail in his 10,000+ miles of long-distance hiking since 1999. He filmed, edited and produced the trail documentary entitled âThe Walkumentaryâ which covered his 2006 southbound Continental Divide Trail hike. He currently lives in Denver, Colorado with his wife and fellow long-distance hiker Felicia Hermosillo and their dog Gimpy. I Hike is his first book and can be found at www.ihikethebook.com.
This winter, increase the versatility of your other layers by adding a midlayer. An overview of two notable options, and discussion of current fabric tech.
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An eclectic assortment of the staff’s favorite gear for 2012.
It’s that time of year, once again. BPL Staffers are among the most picky and critical backpackers you’ll encounter. Which items lived up to and exceeded their lofty expectations? This isn’t an “Editor’s Choice” or a formal endorsement, just a list of gear we like – and use on a regular basis.
This time around, we asked the staff to include one item related to UL backpacking, one item that relates to another outdoor activity, and one lifestyle item not necessarily related to backpacking, but that they enjoy everyday. The results shed some light on our individual personalities beyond the usual gear junkie facade.
Don’t forget to add your own favorites in the forum below!
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| BPL Staff Member | Favorites | ||
| Ryan Jordan | Altra Lone Peak Shoes | Hornbeck Blackjack Canoe | Detachment |
| Will Rietveld | Trail Designs Caldera Keg Cooking System | Vegetable Gardening | Diet and Exercise |
| Roger Caffin | Exped Synmat UL-7S plus Pillow Pump | MYOG Winter Stove | Adept CNC Machining Center |
| Damien Tougas | Rab Xenon | Sole Runner FX Trainer | Apple iPad |
| Dave Chenault | Dimension Polyant DX40 fabric | Daiwa Soyokaze 27SR Tenkara Rod | Unibroue La Fin du Monde beer |
| Ray Estrella | NEMO Equipment Siren 30 Quilt | Therm-a-Rest NeoAir XLite Sleeping Pad | The TrekSta NestFIT Last |
| Doug Johnson | Snow Peak SnowMiner Headlamp | CoMotion Periscope Tandem | The Beach Swing at Cape Alava |
| Daniel Paladino | Jetboil Sol Stove | Dynafit Vertical ST AT Binding | Subaru Rust Bucket |
| Kevin Sawchuk | ULA Circuit Pack | Garmin 310XT | A Hot Shower |
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Altra Lone Peak Shoes | I wrote about the Altra Lone Peaks in Considering Minimalist Footwear for Backpacking and touted their benefits relative to so-called minimalist shoeďżźs advocated by the running-without-a-pack community. Specifically, I like what they bring to the table for backpackers: a reasonably aggressive sole, a little bit of longitudinal stiffness, and some cushioning, while preserving what I think are two valuable attributes of minimalist footwear: zero differential and maximum toe splay. My son and I live in our Lone Peaks, whether waltzing around town or trekking across a 10,000 foot pass in the Spanish Peaks.
Weight: 11 oz/shoe (Men’s Size 9.5) |
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Hornbeck Blackjack Canoe | At twelve pounds, our Hornbeck Blackjack is an absolute joy to paddle. What a far cry from the old days, where the constant clanging of paddle on the gunwale, sore back, and agonizing portages relegated canoeing to one of the lowest forms of outdoor recreation for me. The Hornbeck Blackjack requires so much less effort than a more traditional sit-on-top aluminum canoe that it has completely restored my love for canoeing. Sitting inside the canoe, paddling with a kayak paddle, being able to carry it with my fingertips – and even sailing it with a Wind Paddle sail – what an example of a piece of gear getting out of the way so you can enjoy the natural world around you, like the sound and spray of waves lapping just inches from your elbows while the canoe glides silently through the water.
Weight:12 pounds |
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Detachment | As much as I enjoy owning and using cool gear (see above!) I enjoy – just as much – detaching myself from those things that I do not love. Whether itâs unused gear thatâs been in storage too long, clutter in our crawl space, time frittered on activities I no longer enjoy, or even junk mail – detaching myself from the obligation required to own or manage those things has given me immense satisfaction through the years. In 2012, new circumstances and intentional choices further increased my detachment from material possessions, awkward relationships, and old time commitments, and Iâm looking forward to the opportunities this detachment brings as we move into 2013.
Weight: Depends on your burden… |
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Trail Designs Caldera Keg Cooking System | The Caldera Cone has made cooking with alcohol or Esbit as reliable as canister fuel, even more so when you consider itâs wind protection and heat transfer efficiency. The entire kit weighs just 6.3 ounces, so if you want to go ultralight, this is a must have. The latest version includes some significant upgrades, including a durable Titanium cone connection and cook pot reinforcement. I prefer to use alcohol because its clean burning, but Esbit will boil water in this system in half the time.
Weight: 6.3 oz / 179 g |
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Vegetable Gardening | When Iâm not out backpacking and hiking I love to be outside working in the yard and garden. I have been a gardener since I was 10 years old, and perhaps thatâs what influenced my career choice. I love vegetables, both growing them and eating them. I grow all the usual stuff, and our freezers and cellar allow us to enjoy organic produce the year around. We also keep our friends and neighbors pretty well supplied too. (Minimal cost, a labor of love, valueâpriceless!) |
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Diet and Exercise | Paying attention to both has been my mantra since my 20âs. The reward is being trim, fit, and able to pursue my wanderlust. Iâm sure most backpackers can relate to that. I donât subscribe to any particular diet, just whole foods and low fat. (Doesnât cost any extra; I love being able to keep up with the younger guys; I plan to make it to 90, at least.) |
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Exped Synmat UL-7S plus Pillow Pump | While labeled ‘short’, this mat is not. It is 163 cm x 52 cm and 7 cm thick (64″x24.5″x2.8″), which is quite long enough for us. It has an R-value of 3.7 – 2.5, depending on inflation. This is much higher than an empty airmat of the same thickness due to the synthetic insulation inside it. I found it very comfortable down to sub-zero conditions (on snow grass), but I have since lost it to my wife. Very sad! It was included in our SOTMSurvey of Air Mats.It should be noted that the combination listed includes an Exped ‘pillow pump’. You see, if you blow up an airmat with your lungs you quickly get a whole lot of water condensed inside the mat. This is seriously ‘not-good’. Instead I use the Exped pillow pump shown in the picture – or rather Sue uses. It inflates the mat quite fast, and then makes a very nice pillow for me later on.
Weight: 15.4 oz / 436 g (Synmat), 134 g / 4.7 oz (Pump), 570 g / 20.1 oz (total) |
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MYOG Winter Stove | Works with standard screw-thread canisters, French Campingaz canisters, and Coleman Powermax canisters, all in full winter mode. This means I can use it virtually anywhere around the world. It does not accept French Bleuet puncture-style canisters (which I regard as dangerous), nor does it accept the fly-spray cans of butane used in table-top wok stoves.The canister connector is the black bit. Safety on/off valve at canister (the white bit is the on/off valve.) Flow control valve at the stove – the wire handle. This valve controls the flow of gas, not of liquid, so I get really good fast fine control. The hose connections all rotate for ease of use. In the unit shown I have cheated and used the burner top from an FMS-116T stove, although I do also have a titanium burner head I made myself. Boil time for either burner head is similar to that of a standard upright canister stove – which depends of course on how wasteful you are of gas. Cooking for the two of us on a recent 6-day trip in the mountains required about 26 g of gas per day. In the right hand photo you can just see some yellow ‘things’ below the stove: they are Ti wire micro stakes with yellow heat shrink at the top hook. (The yellow colour helps me find the stakes when they fall in the grass.) These are optional, and serve to hold the legs of the stove down. Obviously on a table surface they are not used. I use them on the ground because the stove is now so light that it can skitter around rather easily. Fortunately the tendency to do so is reduced by the much lighter fuel hose used: it’s quite flexible. Manufacturing was by CNC machining (see the next item). This must be model/design 100 I think!
Weight: 88 g / 3.1 oz |
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Adept CNC Machining Centre | As requested, this ‘favourite’ is not exactly a walker’s item. However, it is how I make the bits for the stove, along with lots of other ‘toys’. It is a combination 3-axis mill and lathe unit, built extremely solidly for teaching use. It is far more than a simple 2.5D router. I program it myself in g-code rather than use a CAD/CAM package, in order to take most advantage of the machine. Price is vague. The original units were made in Australia some years ago for the tech-school market, but the idea was a flop as the teachers did not have the skills to handle it. The company listed below buys them from schools, upgrades the electronics and the software, and resells them. I find the machine to be very robust: I guess it needed to be to withstand students! |
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Rab Xenon | No other item in our gear closet elicits more praise than puffy insulation – my wife practically writes poetry about it. This past spring I picked up a synthetic puffy jacket from Rab called the Xenon. Warm, durable, light, and it fits well too. They even managed to squeeze in a full zip and hand warmer pockets and still keep the weight at 10.5 oz (300 g) for a men’s size medium. Coupled with a quilt and my BPL cocoon pants, it is the foundation of my three-season insulation system. When not on the trail, the Xenon never gets put back in the gear closet, as I always find myself reaching for it any time the temperature starts to drop. At $260 retail price, it isn’t exactly a low budget piece, but for something so light, practical, and versatile, it has been invaluable to me this past year.
Weight: 10.55 oz / 298 g |
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Sole Runner FX Trainer | I am a firm believer in building foot and ankle strength and flexibility in order to minimize injury. That is why on the trail I am a proponent of wearing minimalist footwear – as minimalist as I can get away with while maintaining the grip and protection I need. I also believe that conditioning the feet happens as much (if not more) off the trail than on the trail. My favorite off-trail shoe for everyday use – whether it be running, or running errands this year has been the Sole Runner FX Trainer. Slightly more protection than barefoot, a nice high-volume last, and a paltry 5.2 oz (147 g) per foot (in a size 43). They are durable too. Designed in Germany, made in Europe, they retail for $80.
Weight: 5.2 oz / 147 g |
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Apple iPad | I feel so cliche by saying that the iPad had changed my life. But it really has. I am a geek at heart and by trade. In the past I have always lugged around some form of laptop/notebook/netbook but it always felt unnatural and awkward in situations where people would pull out a book/magazine to kill some time. I also liked to keep notes and todo lists on my computer, but could never make that work easily when out-and-about. While smartphones were better, they weren’t great for doing a whole lot of reading or writing using the small screen (maybe that is why Twitter was invented – so people with smartphones could be “bloggers” too?). Now with my iPad I have my books (for pleasure and for reference), my email, my notes and todo list, my RSS, the web, maps, … pretty much anything I need in a handy book-sized device. Where have you been all my life!? |
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Dimension Polyant DX40 Fabric | DX40 is not my perfect pack fabric, but it is the closest I’ve yet found. Cut resistance, relevant when carrying skis and bushwacking, is outstanding. Waterproofing is, as would expected of a D-P laminate, exceptional. Straight abrasion resistant is very good, even compared to heavier fabrics, but could be better if the face weave were tighter. This face fabric also absorbs water, though the amount is quite modest, and it dries quickly. For a pack which will be used hard in wet environments, nothing better currently exists, save (perhaps) some purer dyneema weaves whose prices make 30 bucks a yard seem cheap. Beyond the pure performance of the fabric, the real pleasure I’ve gotten from DX40 this year has been working with it. The hand is markedly softer than VX21 or WX40 yet still holds a crease, and given it’s dyneema content it is easy to cut (use a sharp rotary cutter). Most importantly, I’ve had the satisfaction of using DX40 and years of fiddling to make a pair of packs that work well and have gone on many grand adventures. The only obstacle for the home user is finding some. Currently none of the usual suspects carry it. Your best bet is emailing a friendly cottage manufacturer who builds with it and asking nicely.
Weight: 7 oz / 198 g per yard |
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Daiwa Soyokaze 27SR Tenkara Rod | There was a lot of noise this summer over what was and was not a tenkara rod, mostly as members of the billowing tenkara industry scrambled to take market share from TenkaraUSA. I’ve been happily using my TenkaraUSA Amago since they were introduced, and was only seduced into buying a second rod buy the relative cheapness of the 9 foot long Soyokaze and the fact that it is so different from the stiff, 13.5 foot Amago. It turned out to be some of the most enjoyable money I spent all year. I don’t care about the definition of tenkara. As a fair-weather fisherman, I do care about the 3-4 months a year I can use dry flies to stalk freestone streams and rivers for native trout. In my mind this is right up with skiing powder through widely spaced aspens, pedaling endless domes of Navajo sandstone, and soloing exposed 5.3 alpine granite as one of the most fun and fulfilling outdoor experiences possible under human power. The Amago has shown me that tenkara is the best way to do this, and the little Soyokaze took the intimacy and exactitude of tenkara and applied it to the tiniest of headwater streams. The same river-tugging thrill a 22 inch bull trout gives the Amago can be had with a 6 inch cutt hooked with a Soyokaze, and the nine foot reach is enough but not too much in truly small streams. On many days this summer I found myself catching 20+ fish an hour, hidden in the bushes within a mile of crowded, hallowed fishing grounds. Hunting wild trout, seeing no one while doing it, all while being 10 minutes from the truck? That is just cheating. The Soyokaze isn’t perfect. I find the grip a bit too thin for all-day casting, and the general build quality is a step below the Amago, but the price is competitive and the length, action, and stiffness combine into a great package for truly small stream fishing. Tenkara is one of those rare things were you really can believe the hype.
Weight: 1.6 oz / 45g |
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Unibroue La Fin du Monde Beer | The microbrew craze in the USA mercifully shows no sign of slowing down, and the cultural backwater of Montana is even turning out some impressive products, but none of them hold a candle to this exceptional libation. The ability of beer to enhance most things in the world has been axiomatic since the days of Socrates, and for me this is the best beer on earth. To quote Wittgenstein, “Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.”
MSRP: Between $9 and $10 per 750mL bottle |
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NEMO Equipment Siren 30 Quilt | NEMO has entered the sleeping gear market in a big way and being a backpacking-quilt fan my favorite item is their Siren 30 quilt. Using top-notch materials like 0.77 oz/yd2 (26 g/m2) 10-denier nylon and 850-fill power down it is the nicest retail quilt I have seen to date. With loft to as much as 2.5 in (6.3 cm) I think it is accurately rated at 30 F (-1 C), but I took it lower by adding a down sweater into the mix. I think what I like the most about it is just the fact that a large manufacturer is noticing, and catering to, us quilt users.
Weight: 18 oz / 510 g |
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Therm-a-Rest NeoAir XLite Sleeping Pad | The original NeoAir sleeping pad was the biggest step forward in sleeping pad design in many years, and has been wildly popular, grabbing a ton of market share in the category. So how do you follow the largest sleeping pad success is recent history? By making it about 15% lighter while increasing the r-value (warmth) by 28%. It certainly works for me. Coming in at an r-value of 3.2 now my Large model saw use in 5 states with many nights at or below freezing, all with a quilt, meaning I was right on top of the pad. With at least 26 nights on it since last spring (that I can remember) I have had no problems with it at all.
Weight: 16 oz / 460 g |
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The TrekSta NestFIT Last | I just discovered TrekSta shoes at the end of summer and said, âWhy hasnât this been thought of before?â They made the last that their shoes are built on in the shape of a real foot, not a club with an ankle. I got a pair of their Evolution GTX Mountain Trail runners in time for a tough 10 days, 137 miles (221 km) of hiking in California and came away quite impressed. I have a weird foot as my toes are wide, yet my heel is narrow, so I canât buy a wide size. Too-narrow toe boxes are always the problem for me and the NestFIT seems to be the ticket. I plan to get a lot more use next year and may look into boots too.
Weight: US 11: 15.4 oz / 47 g each |
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Snow Peak SnowMiner Headlamp | The Snowminer is both a headlamp and a lantern. With two small magnets, the silicone globe collapses, putting the lens close to the LED emitter, This makes a headlamp that works really well for backpacking, even when scrambling off-trail at night. When the globe is lightly pinched, the magnets release, creating a wonderful diffused light. A hidden hook in the strap makes it easy to hang and the regulated electronics bring the lantern from very bright to less than a single candle. Despite the fact that the headlamp is fairly large and spills a bit of light to the sides and the silicone can pick up some dirt, this is a beautiful piece of gear. It serves both purposes well and adds a lot of cheeriness to my camps.
Weight: 3.5 oz / 99 g |
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CoMotion Periscope Tandem | I own five bikes, and I use all of them. But I use our CoMotion Periscope tandem WAY more than the others. With crank shorteners, pedal blocks, and a slammed seat, it fits Henry (age 6) perfectly and an iBert safe-T-seat fits Lily up front (sleeping in this picture, age 3). Together we explore our neighborhood, the San Juans, and everywhere else we can. With a 10 minute adjustment, my wife Amy can ride on the back and we can talk for miles and miles. I love our tandem! |
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The Beach Swing at Cape Alava | Backpacking with kids = playing. I love playing outside with my kids. This summer while backpacking on the Olympic Coast, we discovered this great rope swing just north of Cape Alava. Between building sand castles, checking out seastars, and studying whale bones at the Makah ranger station, this swing was the best part of the trip. |
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Jetboil Sol Stove | Following Willâs excellent review, I decided to try out Jet Boilâs lightweight integrated canister stove, the Sol. Saying farewell to my trusty (and often frightening) jet engine liquid fuel stove, the MSR Whisperlite International, was easy after taking the Sol out for a test run. Boiling times are incredibly fast, and this thing absolutely sips fuel, stretching canister life to a remarkable degree. From quick overnighters to weeklong car camping trips in the desert, the Sol is my first choice. For group cooking, the larger Sumo cup is the way to go.
Weight: 11 oz / 312 g |
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Dynafit Vertical ST AT Binding | No longer will I drag cement blocks (Marker Dukes) up the hill. Simple, lightweight, and reliable, the Vertical ST binding allowed me to reduce the weight of my backcountry touring set up by nearly 4lbs. The toe-pin system reduces underfoot mass on the ascent, and the releasable heel and low height inspire confidence on the way down â no matter how demanding the terrain.
Weight: 18.3 oz / 520 g |
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â93 Subaru Rust Bucket | After a long, emotionally draining, and expensive addiction to performance Subarus, I decided to sell my beloved Impreza WRX. The accumulating debts of college and a new-found lightweight mindset shifted my priorities (Do I really need 280 horsepower?), and led me to simplify my life, shrug off a precious material burden, and instead purchase a beat-up 1993 Subaru Legacy, courtesy of BPLâs own Sam H. Each body panel has its fair share of rust, dents, and scrapes, and I absolutely love it. The mileage could be 70,000 or 370,000 – I’ll never know. It gets me to and from the trailhead and the mountain in rust-bucket dirt bag Subie style, is unquestionably reliable, simple to maintain, and easy on gas. All wheel drive plows through deep puddles in the summer and dominates unplowed roads in the winter. The time I would have spent tinkering under my WRX and stressing over reliability issues is now spent worry-free on the trail or the slopes. The experience has taught me how rewarding it can be to reduce material possessions, no matter how seemingly precious, and do more with less.
Weight: 3,200 lbs and dropping as rusty bits fall off |
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ULA Circuit Pack | This is my go to pack for trips from 3-7 days. It has a great balance between lightweight and durable–it’s not the lightest pack on the market but I’m not afraid of taking it through heavy brush or scraping it on the wall of a tight granite gully. It has a great set of usable features–its waistbelt pockets keep the calories I need to keep moving close.
Weight: 28oz (currently 35oz) / 794 g |
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Garmin 310XT | My favorite training tool. I can gauge my pace, heart rate and distance while I’m out running. With the Garmin I can turn any road or trail into a controlled workout space. Keeps my training in the beautiful outdoor spaces I enjoy. When I download my Garmin data to Strava I get additional information about my performance and can virtually “race” others on popular segments.
Weight: 2 oz / 57 g |
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A Hot Shower | Many of the best “things” in life are not things. To me these include the happy energy of the kids I coach, being indoors and warm when it’s raining and the health I currently enjoy. In that vein a hot shower is high on my list of daily simple pleasures. Think about how amazing it is to have perfectly heated water conveniently delivered to wash away the dirt and sweat from my workout and get me relaxed and ready for bed. Feel the enjoyment! |
Previous Years’ Staff Picks:
Join us in the forum below and let us know what your favorites are from 2012!
It is natural for skiers, as their skills improve, to seek more challenging terrain. And, with access to mountainous landscapes, it is inevitable for a skier to enter the realm of ski mountaineering. An overview of UL backcountry ski mountaineering gear and discussion of proper gear choice.
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A 22-ounce waterproof dry suit designed for packrafters with an eye towards saving weight and bulk on longer expeditions.
This review presents a summary of features, specifications, usage context, field immersion testing and use, limitations, and strengths of the Alpacka Stowaway Dry Suit based on my experience with it in the context of both wilderness and roadside packrafting for the past three months.
The Alpacka Stowaway Dry Suit is uniquely characterized by the following features:
For roadside packrafting, day-tripping, or other types of trips where I donât have to haul a lot of gear on foot over long distances, a conventional (and heavier) dry suit is usually a better option for me than an ultralight drysuit like the Alpacka Stowaway. These things are expensive pieces of equipment that we want to last a long time, and sometimes, durability trumps weight.
But there are times when an âultralightâ dry suit fills a particular need, especially on long treks where weight matters most, and in conditions where I spend a lot of time packrafting in cold, wet, and windy conditions.
A dry suit layered over warm clothes is not just a luxury on a cold and rainy day, but an essential item when running any sort of whitewater in winter conditions (i.e., water temperatures near freezing and air temperatures below freezing, with the predominant form of precipitation being snow).
But a dry suit for packraft trekking has to serve multiple uses as part of my overall layering strategy. First and foremost, it must serve as storm clothing when Iâm trekking in especially inclement conditions. Second, it must serve as a layer than can integrate with winter insulation, including my insulating jacket and pants, and my insulating quilt. The âuniâ nature of a dry suit makes it an exceptional piece of apparel for retaining heat, and I want to capitalize on this as much as possible when integrating it with my clothing and sleep system.
I tested the Alpacka Stowaway dry suit in a number of immersion scenarios in water temperatures between 35 deg F and 55 deg F, and air temperatures ranging from about 15 deg F and 50 deg F:
Test locations included the Schumaker Canyon stretch of the Grande Ronde River (Washington State), the Bear Trap Canyon stretch of the Madison River (Montana), and the “Mad Mile” stretch of the Gallatin River (Montana).
My observations include:
See below for the in-depth video review of the Alpacka Stowaway Dry Suit.
If the video does not display below, refresh this page by clicking this link.
The Alpacka Stowaway Dry Suit will occupy an important part of my non-summer-season wilderness packrafting kit, and for most of my wilderness trips in inclement conditions, will replace one of the following other systems that I’ve been previously using:
My only recommendations (my personal preferences, really) are:
Disclaimer: This product was provided to me by the manufacturer with no obligation or agreement whatsoever to review the item and is owned by the author.
A Primer to Backcountry Ski Travel â Why you can and should overnight ski in the backcountry
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