Articles (2020)

INTRODUCTION

C’mon now, really. How often does a credible new pack company come along? It seems that relatively few makers delve seriously into backpacks, and fewer still into packs that would interest those of us in the ultralight and, increasingly, the broader backpacking community. When I first heard of the Boreas Buttermilks 55 I had little to go on: I knew it was a 3 pound 1 ounce, framed, 55 liter pack (much to their credit, my sample only weighed 2 pounds 12.5 ounces. The pack cover itself weighs an additional 3.6 ounces). At the very least it sounded worth a try!

OVERVIEW

After receiving the pack, my initial impressions were all favorable. First, let me quell the fears of those who tremble at the mention of an unfamiliar company: this ain’t no rinky-dink pack. They did quite a nice job. The pack design is simple and stream-lined, yet comprehensive. There is a large but “fitted” spandex-y center back pocket that proved excellent for swallowing rain gear and such. Two compression straps are thoughtfully placed on each side, the lower strap either overlaying or routed under a stretchy side pocket. The top of the pack is a simple roll-up with a strap buckling over the top. There is a single medium-sized zippered pocket that the factory rain cover was stashed in; I found the horizontal pocket, located just above the back stretch pocket, perfect for my little “daily” sundries.

The lines of the pack are clean, devoid of unnecessary or showy color-contrasting curved panels. Turquoise webbing, neatly placketed on each side of the back, and a single centered piece securing the top, are really the only accents. There is a hydration port on each upper corner of the pack, though I just strap my bladder on top and find the ports superfluous.

TOUR

The back-side of the pack, or rather, the working side, or if you want to get confusing, the front-side, the part interfacing with your sweaty body, inspired both confidence and quizzical considerations. The upper-most portion of the back, the “shoulders” of the pack if you will, are as clearly defined and toned as an athlete’s. There is a slight curvature away from your body behind the head, and a relatively tightly-radiused curve of the upper frame rod down into its effective stay on each side of the pack. Those stays radius body-ward from the upper-most stretch, until about 5 inches down, where they curve back away, following the curvature of the back. The space or panel in this entire upper region of the pack is smooth and semi-rigid, and gives the appearance of a pack frame that will provide more than adequate support for its loads. I liked that there is a solid 5” gap between the attachment of the load lifters at the top of the frame, and the attachment of the shoulder harness at the top of the back pad. That kind of differential in rise affords ample range for the lifters to, you know, lift. (Nice detail: hypalon-ish thumb loops on the load lifter straps.)

The back pad itself was not quite as confidence-inspiring as the upper reaches. It isn’t the pale blue of the foam, nor the holes punched in the foam, nor the corrugations of the foam, nor the curvature or even shape of the pad. But something about the combination of all those things is slightly off-putting. I have been trying to “reason out” this subjective impression, and I believe that part of it is because the pad and panel seem quite counter to the under-stated design of the rest of the pack. But logic does abide in this impression, as well. The curvature of the pack’s lumbar region is over-exaggerated, in my opinion. There is a bit too much protrusion of the lumbar pad, not consistent with the slightly less pronounced though perhaps slightly over-bent upper back contour. (More on this later.) I found that I also was questioning the utility of combined hole-punches and corrugations, which seemed born out later in testing. All that said, it is a fine and professionally executed back panel.

The shoulder harness is perhaps a little straighter in appearance than I would expect, with slightly less curvature around the neck than seems standard, but was reasonably comfortable. The foam is die-cut. Not sure if this helped with airflow or not, to tell you the truth, but could also be to address foam compressibility and weight. The uncut foam seems a little thicker and stiffer in-hand than others… just an observation during overviews, not something noticed on the trail.

That brings us down to the hipbelt. From what I’ve seen on the retail floor, many consumers expect a far beefier hipbelt than necessary. There seems to be a desire for hulking Hummer-esque hipbelts. But as many of us in the ultralight world have found, a much lighter-duty hipbelt can do the trick perfectly. When I first saw the Buttermilks’ hipbelt, I’ll admit that at absolute first-blush it struck me as flimsy and a wee lame. Then I felt ashamed of myself, and allowed that it would probably work just fine. The zippered pocked on each side is large enough for a compact digital camera or a few energy bars.

FIELD NOTES

On-trail I found the Boreas Buttermilks 55 a relatively comfortable and delightfully appointed pack. The features were exactly what I want and need in a pack, nothing more or less. The pockets were all well-sized and practical, compression straps all worked well in both actual compression and physical operation. I found myself using the hipbelt pockets more than I ever have before on a pack. It was a relief not having a floppy ol’ lid on top, getting in the way. The small zippered pocket was perfect.

I did find a few concerns in terms of carry comfort. The most obvious warning flag was that I found myself fiddling with adjustments quite regularly. Constant fiddling is a good sign that something about the pack doesn’t fit well. Properly fitted and adjusted, you should be able to pretty much put on a pack, fine-tune your adjustments, and hike away. You should, essentially, be able to forget about the pack, its burden, and its contact with your body… as much as possible or realistic.

Evaluating the cause of my fiddling found a few contributing factors. First, I felt that the upper region of the shoulder strap does need more clearance around the neck. Second, I found a pervasive pressure on my lumbar region, countered by the most mild of pulling-away sensation toward the upper back (yes, even with the load lifters fully engaged). I believe that the lumbar pad is curved and formed as to be too bulky, and that this character might be influenced by the overall curvature of the frame. I would recommend a little less “stylistic” curvature of the frame, slightly less differential in the convex lumbar region versus the concave upper back. That said, I think that the primary reason I noticed these points was because of the hipbelt.

Although I have used packs with flimsier hipbelts and found those belts perfectly adequate for ultralight loads, this hipbelt is not particularly well designed. The first problem is that it is too stubby. It would probably fit great on a pubescent teen or the uber ectomorph. The problem caused by the stubby belt is that it does not wrap around the iliac crest enough to lock the belt in place on your skeletal structure. End result, the pack keeps slipping down. I could not keep the pack in place. It would relentlessly creep down below my iliac crest, and I would again hoist the pack and cinch the belt and feel the creep back down. If the hipbelt were slightly stiffer, or had some structure above and below the center of the belt, it might grip the small section of iliac crest available to it sufficiently enough to hold the pack in place. But if I were doing a re-design, I would both lengthen the belt slightly and create slightly more structure above and below the center of the belt.

The last concern I had was the sternum strap. Either the specs of a sternum strap component are off, or the curvature of the lower part of the harness exerts too great a force on the sternum strap, because the strap does not stay in position. I found that the sternum strap consistently crept upward from whatever lower position I used. There is both a surprising amount of (relative) curvature at the low end of the shoulder strap, and the slider adjustment (while smooth) needs a little more friction; in short, I think both contribute to the creeping sternum strap. The creeping isn’t a deal breaker, but was one of the more irritating aspects of the pack on-trail. If I position the strap to pull tension in an area, I don’t want it to go back to position “A” all the time!

CONCLUSIONS

Boreas’ Buttermilks 55 strikes me, in many regards, as an ideal “jack of all trades” pack for the light to ultralight crowd. The design is uncluttered, but still manages to provide key features and more conventional suspension. I think that the perception or experience of some people with ultralight packs is that of packs that have no frame and use socks as shoulder-strap padding. This is not that kind of pack. The shoulder straps and padding are “real.” The hipbelt, well, is verging on “real.” I would not recommend this pack to someone who might consider themselves stocky. Actually, I would primarily recommend this pack to those who consider themselves thin… at least until Boreas adds a little length and structure to the belt (not the webbing, there’s plenty of webbing to go around… just more of the actual support part of the belt is needed).

What stood out the most during field testing was the mismatch of the pack frame to the pack hipbelt. The frame on the Buttermilks is pretty darn substantial for an ultralight pack. I am confident that the frame could handle just about any typical load I squeezed in there. The hipbelt, on the other hand, is not capable of supporting nearly the same amount of weight that the frame can carry. The end result is the somewhat peculiar feel of a frame that can, and is trying, to transfer weight to your hips, but a belt that won’t…. quite… get the weight… locked in place. The pack could be substantially improved by making the hipbelt a little longer and stiffer, having a little less differential between lumbar and upper-back curve, and by tuning the sternum strap so that it doesn’t slide unless moved by the user.

In case my above remarks make this sound like a not-quite desirable pack, let me be clear: The Buttermilks is a great pack. It is far better than many others I have carried. It is built to last, with materials and stitching that inspire confidence. The design element included and excluded are spot-on. And the pack carries pretty well. I hate to say it, but I’d be thrilled if I could slap a Granite Gear hipbelt on here and safety-pin the sternum strap in place. As it currently stands, I would highly recommend this pack for those who are slight-of-build. For those of medium build, I would recommend it as a pack to consider and try. If you’re on the stockier-than-average side, this is probably not your dream pack (but then, how many ultralight packs really are). I look forward to future iterations of this pack, and of the products Boreas continues to bring to market. I think they’re a company to watch.

Disclosure: The manufacturer provided this product to the author and/or Backpacking Light at no charge and is owned by the author/BPL. The author/Backpacking Light has no obligation to the manufacturer to review this product under the terms of this agreement.

Brad: Humor me, if you would. Pretend this isn’t a product review. Pretend that we’re hoisting a pint while talking gear, and get caught up in a discussion on backpacking stoves… It strikes me as a glaring discrepancy that we have canister-mounted stoves weighing less than two ounces, but the lightest (readily available) remote-canister stoves weigh at least three times as much. Take, for example, the Snowpeak Litemax, at 1.9 ounces, and the MSR Windpro, at 6.6 ounces. HUH? I mean, let’s see… you separate the canister-mount stove from its valve, add a fuel line, and a few legs. Where the heck does all the weight come in?!

Ryan: I would love a remote canister stove that weighs 3.5 oz. I would love it more if I could use it in the winter and run it in inverted canister mode for a liquid feed. I would love it even more if it could replace my MSR WindPro for both group cooking (2.5 to 4.5L pots) and winter cooking and snowmelting chores. I know, I know. What do you expect for 3.5 oz? So, we’ll let Brad approach this review as a wise and cautious reviewer might, so that he can counsel you into a wise recommendation about this stove’s performance-to-weight ratio. As for me, I’ll try to give my perspective on Reckless Use Scenarios (RUS’s) that might be well outside the scope of both manufacturer recommendations and the types of activities practiced by the traditional (is there such a thing?) ultralight backpacker.

Enter the Olicamp Xcelerator Ti (and equivalent Fire-Maple FMS-117T), a new stove to the US market – a remote canister stove that weighs only 3.5 ounces. (Note: While Brad was using the Olicamp model, Ryan used the equivalent Fire-Maple FMS-117T. Both stoves are exactly the same in terms of design, function, materials, and performance; they are just branded differently by two different companies).

Canister stoves can be a great, hassle-free option for three-season backpackers. The stoves are easy to use, just requiring you to open the valve and ignite the stove. Canister stoves generally give you excellent flame control. They’re almost impossible to break, burn clean, and tend to be small and light. But a top-mount canister stove does have some drawbacks. Top-mounted stoves are not noted for their stability, with the pot sitting relatively high above the ground… and on relatively narrow pots supports. Further, top-mounted stoves essentially preclude the use of a windscreen (to avoid over-heating the canister).

In contrast, a remote-canister stove sits closer to the ground, typically has a broader base, and using a windscreen is no problem. Remote-canister stoves would tend to work better for larger pots and/or more people per cook group. The ease of use associated with remote-canister stoves can also make them ideal for Scouting groups.

Remote-canister stoves can be excellent options for “actual cooking.” The fine control of flame adjustability, combined with a more stable stove, make these stoves good for more than just boiling water. Brad used the Olicamp Xcelerator / Fire-Maple FMS-117T to cook bacon and eggs, make pancakes, and grill bread on car-camping trips – Ryan used it to bake cinnamon rolls and fresh trout in a makeshift fry-bake pan. If you want a stove that can simmer a sauce and not tip the first time you stir the pot, this could be a good stove for you.

Both of our samples of the Olicamp Xcelerator / Fire-Maple FMS-117T weighed 3.4 ounces. The burner head is approximately 1.75 inches in diameter, and the base of the stove is approximately 5 inches in diameter. The titanium pot supports are reassuringly solid, and easily fold in to sit on top of the burner head. The legs pivot inwards toward the bottom of the stove. The valve is a clean, stream-lined assembly with a knurled aluminum knob that provides easy control. The fuel tube is flexible and thin, and thus, highly compactible.

Brad: I’m not usually a canister stove kinda guy, but I like the Xcelerator Ti. A lot! I find myself toting it along on trips just because it’s so… mindless. In a good way! It’s the kind of stove that you can do nearly anything with, without really having to think about the stove. You can concentrate on the food, the meal, instead. Or the conversation. Or whatever. The burner head is a good size for heat distribution, the weight is negligible.

Ryan: My choice for a solo canister stove is a Jetboil SOL Ti. What Brad calls mindless I call too much work. Call me lazy, but I like a stove that I can fire up from my bivy sack using one hand and no vision (I haven’t had my coffee yet, after all). So I approach the Olicamp Xcelerator / Fire-Maple FMS-117T from an entirely different perspective: I’m looking for winter or group cooking power, and fine control for simmering exquisitely gourmet dishes. Power to boil a 4.5L pot of water, or melt a pot of snow. Simmering control so that I don’t burn the cinnamon rolls that I’m surprising my guided clients with.

We have a few quibbles with the design: We’d like for the bottom of the stove to sit slightly higher off the ground. If there were any way to leave everything else the same, but machine some of the bottom off, that would be great. We suspect that the legs would have to be lengthened slightly, however. The only possible flaw we saw with this stove is that it requires a slightly flatter platform. Because the center of the stove is so close to the ground-roughly 1/8 of an inch-undulating ground can make the stove high-center a bit. It was never a problem for me. I’d just move the stove a few inches. But this is the stove’s only potential negative.

One issue with this stove, and it’s hardly a negative (unless your pipe dreams have been shattered for winter use, as in Ryan’s case) – is that the stove offers no pre-heat tube or other mechanism for vaporizing liquid fuel as it leaves the burner. That means running the stove in an inverted canister mode is … risky, due to the intermittent little blobs of liquid fuel (which turn into fireballs) that leave the burner head. Note that we said risky and not impossible. This is where Ryan’s RUS strategy for product testing was executed. Our conclusion, though: don’t expect a miracle, and be prepared for utterly low performance (wasted fuel) and extremely hazardous operation.

The Olicamp Xcelerator / Fire-Maple FMS-117T might be a stove most backpackers should consider in their gear closet. If winter is for sipping cocoa by the fireplace, then you couldn’t really want anything more, or less, from a backpacking stove. If winter means “Finally! Time to go campin!” then perhaps this isn’t your stove… unless you have a dedicated winter stove already. Reality, though, is that this is a very versatile, very light stove that is nearly as easy to use as your home stovetop. There is only a 1.4 ounce weight difference between the Olicamp Xcelerator / Fire-Maple FMS-117T and a Snowpeak Litemax… and frankly, the Xcelerator has relegated both of our canister-on-top stove to storage. The weight difference is negligible, and the benefits of the remote canister design are too many to ignore just to save an ounce or two.

Disclosure: The manufacturer provided the Olicamp product to Brad and/or Backpacking Light at no charge and is owned by the author/BPL. The author/Backpacking Light has no obligation to the manufacturer to review this product under the terms of this agreement. Ryan purchased his Fire-Maple stove directly from the Fire-Maple company in China.

Introduction

“They cut 5 ounces off a Fly Creek? Sweet! But HOW? Where? What does it sacrifice? Is it worth the extra money? If I sneeze in the middle of the night, will the tent be able to take the force of my sudden exhalation?” Such was the drift of my thoughts upon hearing about the Big Agnes Fly Creek 2 Platinum, and it seemed likely that many other users would have the same sorts of questions, so we put dear Platinum through a thorough evaluation.

First, what, if anything, does the Fly Creek 2 Platinum sacrifice as compared to the Fly Creek 2? Second, is it worth an extra $130? As natural extensions of those points, I wanted to see how the FC2P compared to similar tents on the market and provide an in-depth evaluation of the tent that would paint a clear picture of the tent even to those unfamiliar with the “standard” version.

Tour

First things first, yeah, it’s hard to believe there’s a legitimate two-person tent in the package. Tossing the stuffed tent in the air, you realize that this presumptuous little bag theoretically contains a double-wall, two-person tent… that’s lighter than many sleeping bags. That viewpoint put some perspective on things for me. We’re becoming accustomed to lighter tent weights, so I’m not sure that some of us continue to appreciate just how absurdly light a 1 pound 13 ounce tent really is. That’s the weight of my 900 fill, 20 degree down sleeping bag! And when I think of it in those terms… dagnabbit, how wispy and worthless could this tent be in a storm?!

It is a little hard to describe the hand-the feel and impression of-the tent fabric. I suppose that it reminds me of titanium, of picking up that first titanium pot with amazement, marveling at the rigidity of the paper-thin pot walls. The fly fabric of the FC2P is very thin, very light, very gossamer, yet imparts a reassuring sense of tenacity and inner strength. The color strikes me as being on the whiter, more silver side of gray… a bit luminescent, not dull or dreary. The seams, of course, are all taped. With a #3 YKK zipper in-hand (destined for a MYOG sleeping bag), it looks as though Big Agnes is using a #3 YKK on the vestibule zipper which makes me wonder, again, why more manufacturers are not using the zipper on sleeping bags. But that’s for another article. The fabric of the micro-ripstop fly feels like it has a bit of give or stretch.

The poles are somewhat larger in diameter than one might expect, with joints that seem plenty stout. It’s a light set of poles, with a simple “Y” shape. The color is a bright sort of anodized fluorescent lemon; I’m not sure if there is any other difference from a standard Fly Creek 2 poleset.

The floor of the inner tent is the same as the fly material, though in a darker gray. The noseeum mesh, though fine, feels plenty resilient in hand. For those of you comparing this to the standard Fly Creek, the canopy of the Platinum is all mesh, whereas the standard version is roughly half nylon/half mesh.

Pitching the tent is fast and painless. Whether I staked all four corners before inserting and clipping to the poles, or whether I started with the poles and then staked, I consistently got a nice, taut pitch without any fuss. I have heard people wonder about the rear corners of the tent, specifically that they aren’t supported by pole structure. In that light, I suppose the FC2P might not truly be a “free-standing” tent, but frankly, that is of no concern. The tent pitches quite solidly. One aspect of the design that caught my attention was the significant amount of clearance between the arch of the ridgepole and the steeply-raked inner roof of the canopy. More specifically, the gap of about 13.5 inches seems a bit incongruous on a tent of minimalist design. It seems like Big Agnes would have modified the poleset and fly to more closely match the slope of the inner tent. Doing so would not only save weight but should improve the tent’s ability to shed weather. In fairness, though, such a re-design would require a whole bunch of work that would yield a tent that didn’t stick to the original Fly Creek geometry. It might be in the best interest of Big Agnes to pursue such a re-design, though, even if it were considered a new tent. Shoot, maybe we could get this thing under 24 ounces!

In Use

The first thing I notice after set-up is the amount of room in the FC2P. It is obviously and significantly larger than other tents that claim to have 28 square feet. In fact, I once overlaid another manufacturer’s “29 square feet” tent on top of a 28 square feet Big Agnes Seedhouse SL2 (the Fly Creek 2’s slightly stockier twin), and found that the other tent was more than a foot narrower than the Seedhouse. In other words, if you’ve been in a tent with the same reported square footage but found it too small, I would still consider trying the Fly Creek. There is a surprising amount of room available for the weight.

More than just square footage, there is also a respectable amount of overall volume available in the Platinum. I have found that many tents on the market have a canopy that significantly encroaches upon the total floor area. I don’t want to start on a diatribe, but on top of reporting highly inflated dimensions, many manufacturers give a false idea of available volume within the tent. In other words, if you look at a diagram of the tent floor, you have the impression that the floor space depicted is also available or practical for use. In reality, as many of us have found, tent walls can slope so significantly upon the floor that the usable area of a tent is much smaller. So when I talk about overall tent “volume,” I’m talking about not only the amount of total floor space, but the amount of total space inside the tent – room you have to lay down, sit up, stash gear, change, stretch, play cards… whatever. And for a modified A-frame design like the Fly Creek 2 Platinum, I think there is an excellent amount of available room. This is a realistic 2-person tent, at least for average-sized people.

There is a stash pocket on each side by the door, and one pocket over the door. They’re simple and effective. The side of the inner tent has a pull-out loop that is clipped to the outer rainfly; when you stake out the side of the tent, then, it creates more available volume inside the tent. Again, simple but effective.

When I see the Fly Creek 2 Platinum pitched I am struck by its grace. Perhaps it reminds me a bit of full sails arcing through a weather-beaten sea. The FC2P fly is taut and athletic, gracefully curved, maybe even supple (does this sound like a wine review yet?). It pitches and sets “just right.” Despite the lingerie-weight fly material, the tent invokes a sense of durability. It lends an air of solid confidence. What this means, outside the somewhat bizarrely poetic description, is that I do have faith in the tent’s ability to weather a storm, as it has also proven to me during prolonged wet and windy hours.

Improvements?

Consider the automotive industry and its extensive use of “platforms.” I remember, for example, people joking about how a given GM car was just a re-badged Chevy/Pontiac/Olds/ etc. Heck, consider the publishing industry… how many revisions of “The Complete Walker” have there been? My point is that platforms can provide legitimate launching points and legitimate differences. Big Agnes has been able to develop a useful and wide range of products on its Seedhouse platform. The most significant architectural difference, in my mind, is the elimination of the rear “wishbone” pole on the Fly Creek models. Aside from incorporating that skeletal change, much of the geometry of the tent seems to have been “tweakable” or left unchanged. Given the Seedhouse platform, I can’t think of anything I’d really want to change with the Fly Creek 2 Platinum.

If I were to change anything about the tent, as mentioned earlier, it would be to aggressively alter the ridgeline. I envision a pole junction with a permanent bend at the tents peak, the pole sticking much more to the ridgeline of the inner tent, perhaps with another “elbow” joint at the feet. It seems as though they could cut pole and material weight while making the tent a little more slippery in the wind. I might consider, if I were undertaking such a revision, adding a 9 to 12-inch stub past the front wishbone, creating a dry entry. That, of course, could take some monkeying around to keep the weight at a net loss.

The only glitch that I really notice is that the ridgepole can have a tendency to get a little snaky. When you stake out the tent it helps to pay attention to what you’re doing, applying equal tension all ‘round the tent, or you can induce some mild “S” curves along the ridge. I didn’t notice this affecting performance, but in theory it would be less stable in a good blow. I envision it being more of a problem if sideways to the wind. Realistically though, for most three-season backpacking conditions I see no issue with the structural rigidity of the tent.

I was mildly disappointed to find that my sample Fly Creek 2 Platinum weighs a little over spec. It’s not really a big deal, I guess, but it is 1pound 14.4oz instead of 1 pound 13oz with guylines removed. Given that Big Agnes has been so good about reporting the dimensions of the tent, I wish the weight had been just as accurate.

That brings me to the big question: is the Big Agnes Fly Creek 2 Platinum worth $130 over and beyond a “base model” Fly Creek 2? Well, that depends. If price is your most significant consideration in a tent purchase, or if you have developed a price:weight spreadsheet for all the gear you own or are considering, you could probably save 5 ounces in your overall pack weight for less than the $130 difference in the Fly Creek 2 and Fly Creek 2 Platinum. If, however, you’ve already stripped the rest of your weights down, or if what you’re most concerned about is tent weight, then yeah, the Platinum wins. As I’ve said in other reviews, that person you see driving down the street in a Ferrari would probably do just fine with a Civic. But sometimes the performance or the specs provide an element of fun or interest that appeal to a user. I have found no disadvantage of the Platinum as compared to the standard Fly Creek. For me, and in my recommendation to UL friends, the Fly Creek 2 Platinum is one of my highest recommendations for an ultralight 2-person tent.

Disclosure: The manufacturer provided this product to the author and/or Backpacking Light at no charge and is owned by the author/BPL. The author/Backpacking Light has no obligation to the manufacturer to review this product under the terms of this agreement.

The Foray is not the Muzak version of backpacking tents. It does not blend quietly unnoticed into the background. That is not to say that it is punk rock, or death metal, or jazz or country. I suppose if any kind of music, the Foray would be classic rock, AC/DC perhaps, or ZZ Top. It’s there, it’s in your face, it’s doing things its own way, it’s confidently different, but it also fits within convention. There’s some fuss and theatrics, but at the end of the day, the Foray is clearly all about getting the job done. Righteously, with fun.

Brooks-Range jumped into the market with a slew of exciting products. Shelter-wise, though, their initial offerings left a bit to be desired. Not everyone needs an aluminized cuben single-wall like the Rocket! Not to worry. Brooks-Range is now offering the Foray, a 2-person double-wall backpacking tent that weighs a scant 3 pounds. Sounds great, but were the specs like an online dating profile? Was the area of 30 square feet accurate? How’s the living space? What’s shakin’ in the Foray world?

TOUR

You can’t miss the bright yellow, the black dots on the fly, the hooded vestibule vents, or the profile of the Foray. Bright yellow, hey, you’ll get found when your GPS batteries die and you have no idea how to navigate out. Color, whatever. The black dots intrigued me, though. They’re kind of… brutish, purposeful swatches boldly proclaiming their presence. The 4.75-inch diameter dots are, naturally, guyout reinforcement patches. The patches over the front pole also have ties to secure the pole; the ridgeline patch at the rear also ties off to that pole. The front-most patch on the ridgeline has a direct link to the pole. The center side tie-outs are canopy-only, and those half-moons along the bottom are just for staking out.

The vestibule is a well-considered, practical application of the concept. It uses two stakes, providing a wider entry. The generous overhang provides a ton of protection for the inner. The hooded vents zip closed if the weather so requires. They call it a 6-square-foot vestibule, but it’s the biggest darn 6’ vestibule I’ve ever seen. My rough measurement suggests an actual floor area of about 9 square feet for the vestibule!

That dramatic ridgeline slope is all business. It is clearly intended to provide serious storm-worthiness while keeping the interior, well, livable. In fact, the combination of serious guy-outs, steeply-raked side profile, & color give the impression that this is, first and foremost, a mountain tent. It is a mountain tent designed for minimum weight. Oh, and then we look inside and see a summer “liner.” But that’s all good.

A CLOSER LOOK

The poleset, as so many are these days, is permanently connected via stout plastic swivels. Pole ends have a ball that snaps into a socket receiver. The ridge pole extends about 1-foot forward of the main arch; the rear end of the ridge extends about a foot past the rear arch. The Jake’s Foot connection of rainfly to tent body/pole tip seems like a nifty idea. The plastic foot that the pole fits into has a cross-wise rod for the fly to clip to; the fly has a wide flat clip that snaps onto the rod with a positive “snick.” It works fine, but in practice I found it required some futzing and fumbling, both in attaching and taking apart, that I would rather not experience. I’m surprised this fitting continues to see use.

Although there are robust center-panel guy-outs on the fly, there is no correlating link to the inner tent. There is less air space between the fly and body of the Foray than we typically experience; if there were a simple toggle or something so you could hook the center of each side to the fly, it would provide a bit more livable space for essentially no weight.

Bottom-edge side tie-outs are a bit odd. There is one on both the tent body and the fly, but the loops do not “meet up,” thus requiring a stake for each loop. There’s a tiny second loop on the fly, and it just about meets up with the tent body loop, but if you use that second loop it “staples” the edge of the fly right to the ground, minimizing airflow. The bigger loops are frequently referred to as “ski loops” on winter tents, but seem a bit out of place here. This brings up one issue I have with the Foray’s design. On one hand, storm-worthy tents are great, and this is clearly designed for such weather. However, this is NOT a four-season tent, and I feel that the fly should not go as close to the ground as it does. In summer you usually need maximum ventilation, and having the rainfly extend nearly to the ground reduces available ventilation.

Sorta kinda along this line of thought, I get the impression that the inner tent was adapted to the dimensions of the fly. Well, yeah, duh. But what I mean, more specifically, is that there is so little air space between the inner and outer tent that it almost seems like the designers said “Okay, we’ve got this fly. Let’s just make the inner the same, but scaled down two inches all around.” I had more “inner meets fly” incidents than I’ve had with any number of other similar tents I can remember.

So how ‘bout that body? It kind of strikes me like that person you keep dating, and dating, and dating… there’s a ton to love, but you’re not quite sure whether to take the hook. First, you can easily get a couple of standard-sized sleeping pads side by side, with a bit of room to spare. Bonus! There’s (relatively speaking) a ton of room in the “upper half,” nearest the door. The side walls are relatively steep, plenty of shoulder room, and not spacious but a realistically usable space for two. I am, however, completely baffled by some aspects of the door.

A tight zipper radius is found at the apex, doesn’t zip as readily, and frankly I didn’t find that extra bit of zipper particularly useful, anyway. I would just straighten out the zipper run. Second weird part of the door: there is roughly a foot of netting (of the upper canopy) that extends past the floor of the inner tent. Now, this does mean that the floor of the inner is very well inside the fly, and very well protected in any weather, but the upper volume added is not as useful as a longer floor would be. Although Brooks-Range specs the Foray as having an overall floor length of 90 inches, the real-world usable length is the 78” measurement they give, which I confirmed with my own measurements. The front width I found to be 50” and the rear width I found at 42”, both of which are precisely the measurements B-R has posted. After fiddling with some numbers, I think that B-R came up with an area of 30 square feet by using the full 90” length (the max usable length, from door into depth of foot “V”, was 86”) and erring toward the 50” width. Using the 78” length and calling the width an even 47” by my rough calcs are about 25.5 square feet of practical, usable floor area.

There is a distinct relationship between the front and back “halves” of the tent. While I greatly admire the low profile of the rear end, I found that with two people in the tent (or one person on one side, gear & dog on the other) my feet hit the top of the tent inner. What’s remarkable about this is that I’m 5’6” and have size 9 feet, and my feet are hitting the top of the tent inner when my head is just about butted up to the bottom of the tent door. WHOA! Not cool. Brooks-Range could fix this problem without too much futz (yeah, right… like re-patterning a tent is no futz!). I suggest inducing slightly more arch in the foot/rear-end pole and correspondingly raising the foot area of the inner. Wouldn’t require much to be effective. The easier part of the fix: make the door go straight down from the end of the ridgepole, instead of sloping foot-ward to the floor. It would be an easy gain of a foot in overall length, and I think users would far prefer the livability of the resultant space. The inner tent would still be very well protected from weather.

Anecdotally, I had the tent set up in my yard when we were hit with winds strong enough to remove the top half of a maple tree about 40 feet away from the Foray. The Foray stood proud through the storm with no evidence of, well, anything afterwards.

I feel as though I’ve used an undue amount of digital ink describing shortcomings of the Foray. It is, however, an excellent tent. It’ll stand up to just about any 3-season weather you throw at it, you can actually fit two people in there, and it’s wicked light for its class. (Brooks-Range specs the tent at 2 pounds 9 ounces, I found 2 pounds 9.75 ounces.) I believe that the attention I gave to the shortcomings was because this tent has a ton of promise, and is “so close to being there.” I would be really stoked to see a revised version. In the meantime, the Foray is very worthy of your consideration, particularly if you want a very light, very storm-worthy 3-season tent.

When I first heard that I’d be testing a Timberland boot, I couldn’t help it: First image that came to mind, the leather boat shoes I used to wear. Second thought, rap. Third thought, the bright custard-y work boots. “Timberland” did not equal “ultralight backpacking” at any part of my mind. But I enjoy experimentation and surprises, and waited, somewhat bemused, for the arrival of my sample Cadions.

The Timberland Cadion, as I soon discovered, could do the trick for ultralighters. This isn’t a boot to dismiss based on brand familiarity.

When I pulled the Cadions out of the box I immediately noticed the aesthetic and the light weight of the mid-top. The aesthetic brings to mind the swoopiness and busy-ness, with consideration for stream-lining, of a trail runner. Its upper fabric is reminiscent of a stout laminated fabric that you might find on a heavier rain jacket; for some reason it reminds me of a mid-weight dry bag. The boot appears to be well-constructed. There is a significant rand surrounding the boot, with a rubbery diamond matrix wrapping from the heel to over the instep. The hardware is all stout metal, and the upper hooks have a lot of depth… a lotta hookage, as it were. The Cadion’s tongue is gusseted up to the second hook, some extra height helping the Goretex liner keep your foot dry.

Next thing even a casual eye would probably notice: the relative narrowness and low volume of the boot. It is not a bulky or cavernous boot. Rotating the boot in hand reveals a relatively deeply-lugged Vibram sole.

In my work as a buyer, pack-fitter, and boot-fitter, I found that people (primarily men) frequently think they need a huge, super-wide boot… but, in reality, they do not need such a boot. On one hand, you want some room to prevent blisters. On the other hand, too much room makes a boot sloppy (and blistery, and less sure-footed). I throw these thoughts into the ring here because I’ve found that so many people think they have monster feet when, in reality, they measure a very average “D” width. That said, my feet are a very average “D” width. And, although my biggest problem fitting shoes is excessive width and volume, I found the Cadion to be a relatively low-volume, narrow fit.

The Cadions let me know if I mistakenly wear a pair of my thicker socks. If you use aftermarket inserts, you’ll have to use lower-volume ones. While these boots are probably ideal for those with distinctly narrower feet (the fit reminds me a bit of La Sportiva, perhaps a hair more snug?), I found them perfectly serviceable for my average feet.

Timberland did a nice job balancing the amount of support with some trail-feel. It’s been years since I’ve worn Salomon XA Pros, but I remember wearing that shoe on the trail and thinking that it had a great amount of support underfoot, and a slightly unusual amount of feel under my big toe. I get the same kind of feeling with the Cadion. (This is just an impression, folks… If you research the midsoles and combined support or flex of each piece of footwear, and find that, actually, the Cadion has 124 pounds of resistance at 60 degrees flex, compared to an old XA Pro of 119 pounds at 54 degrees flex-and yes, I’m completely making up bogus “testing” specs for things that aren’t really tested-if you find, somehow, that the two are not all that similar… that’s okay! I’m just trying to relay my initial impression of the feel.) I spent a stupid amount of trail miles contemplating whether the amount of feel under the ball of my foot was too much, or just right… and finally realized that I didn’t seem to be having any problems, so all was probably good.

I don’t know how I could have possibly been so… stupidly absent-minded, but there were several occasions when I grimly pulled on the Cadions for a day hiking in the rain, forgetting that the Cadion is a Goretex boot! After splashing through several deeper puddles in a row I remember being surprised at how perfectly dry my feet were. Ha! The flip side: some days my feet were warmer than I cared for, but, for whatever reason, I didn’t find the Cadion to be as hot as other Goretex footwear I’ve worn. Maybe there was just less foam and stuff in the boot, maybe it’s just mental, maybe Timberland worked some kinda magic, but they seemed a bit cooler than your average GTX boot.

The Cadion also feels noticeably light, for a mid-top. I’ve worn heavier shoes, to be sure. It’s not a boot that will weigh your feet down after a day on the trail. With its sleeker fit, it’s also not a boot that will be jutting out to grab roots, rocks, and trail debris as you pass through. This stream-lined profile, combined with a closer fit, vaguely remind me of a rock-climbing shoe, but without the discomfort.

If you tend to think “waffle-stomper” when you hear the word “boot,” even though that boot is arguably half-way to a shoe, these will change your mind. It doesn’t have the clunkiness. It doesn’t have the weight. And it doesn’t have the “I have a 2 x 4 strapped to my foot” kind of feel. Shock absorption and walking comfort are excellent, without those qualities jumping out and calling attention to themselves.

The upper hook eyelets have the best, grabbiest hold I’ve noticed. The eyelets themselves are quite deep, with a recessed pocket of sorts furthest in. I never had the boots come untied. Conversely, sometimes I found it a bit more difficult to unlace the Cadion than I expected. In the end, I felt that having a boot that didn’t come untied was worth having to futz a wee bit more when taking them off.

The sole durability issue I had was, er, the sole. Both the right and left boot experienced some delamination of the sole from the midsole under the ball of my foot. It was just that lug on both boots. It did give me the opportunity to see the integration of the webbed midsole integrated under the outsole. The outsole and midsole otherwise have shown no sign of premature degradation.

When it gets right down to it, I would, indeed, consider this a mid-high (or mid-low, if you prefer) boot for ultralight or lightweight backpacking. It is not a boot that I would recommend buying online. Instead, I would recommend trying on the Cadion at a brick-and-mortar store. Although the fit could be considered roughly parallel to a broadly generalized “La Sportiva” kind of fit, it would be in your best interest to try this one on. Although relatively low volume and relatively narrow, as compared to a vast market of wide and voluminous footwear, I think this will do well for a number of backpackers.

The Timberland Cadion feels good after a day of logging some miles, gives a decent amount of support without announcing itself, and keeps me plenty dry splashing through early-season puddles. I was pleasantly surprised by how well Timberland approached this segment of the market, and they’ve reminded me to keep an open mind to purveyors I wouldn’t normally consider as “ultralight.” I wouldn’t describe the Cadion as my “end-all” boot, but I’ll gladly wear it on the trail.

The manufacturer provided this product to the author and/or Backpacking Light at no charge and is owned by the author/BPL. The author/Backpacking Light has no obligation to the manufacturer to review this product under the terms of this agreement.