Articles (2020)

New Balance MT875OR Joggers Review

Totally synthetic, luggy soles, and a breathable draining upper, plus a range of width fittings including really wide (4E). (Updated 9/22/09)

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Courtesy New Balance.

 

Editor’s Note: This review was updated September 23, 2009. See added text below.

Overview

The very low-cut Australian-made Dunlop KT-26 joggers, which I often wear when out walking, are very light (327 grams or 11.5 ounces each shoe) and have superb friction on rock. But, they have a very thin flexible sole as well, and in some country it is useful to have a shoe with a firmer sole and bigger lugs. For instance, slithering around on muddy farm trails in France (the cows had used the track as well…) proved a bit difficult as the light tread on the KTs just could not grip. The same problem happened on snow-covered granite scree.

Where I run into a problem with so many brands of joggers is the width. I have wide feet – EEEE width in fact, and many brands only go up as far as EE. Actually, many well-known brands don’t even tell you what the width is, which really irritates me. And if anything is going to give you sore feet at the end of the day, it is shoes which are just that bit too narrow for your feet. Yes, there are other factors as well, like the width of the heel and the height of the arch, but the width at the front of the shoe is what concerns me most of all.

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Camp and relax up in the mountains.

Fortunately, the New Balance company not only makes shoes in several different lasts, but also makes them in several different widths, and the company states the available widths on their web site. This is quite unlike so many other well-known shoe companies, which give you no idea at all what the widths are. In addition, their SL1 last in an EEEE width suits me fine. So, I rather like the New Balance shoes. But please note, the last and width which suits me may not suit you; select your shoe fittings carefully.

I recently reviewed the New Balance MT1110GT joggers and found that they may run just slightly larger than some other brands. For the MT1110GT shoes I tested in the winter, I had a US size 11 EEEE, and found that they were big enough for two pairs of socks. This was good in the snow. With another well-known brand, the US 11 was only big enough for one pair of socks, but the width fitting is only an EE on those. For these MT875OR shoes, I dropped back half a size, to US 10.5 EEEE, and wore them with one pair of Darn Tough Vermont ‘Hike Trek Boot Sock Full Cushion’ over a thin Gobi Wigwam nylon liner sock. This is a very reliable and quite popular combination among experienced walkers.

Product Details

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The lugged sole, courtesy New Balance.

The web site specifications for these shoes contains the usual array of fancy marketing buzz word names for the various bits. I’ll skip them. The rubber sole has fairly good lugs: you can see the pattern in the picture here. The lugs are about 5 millimeters (0.2 inches) deep over most of the shoe, dropping to about 4 millimeters (0.16 inches) at the front. The rubber is the usual grippy stuff.

The one place where some may find the New Balance shoes a bit light is in the amount of cushioning in the soles. New Balance describes them as ‘A highly responsive lightweight trainer built for the off-road runner,’ and that is what they are. They are not a big heavy trekking boot. The description goes on to mention ‘exceptional cushioning and ground contact,’ which is a contradiction in terms in my opinion. Lots of cushioning usually means not very good ‘ground contact.’

The inner sole is an ‘Ortholite’ – it looks like a standard inner sole. The laces are lumpy, like on the MT1110GTs: New Balance calls them ‘Sure Lace.’ The body is synthetic and mesh: no leather to get wet and heavy, then crack. The top edge comes up at the back of the heel as usual – exactly why I am never sure, because my favourite KTs don’t and suffer no problems from that. But, at least the back edge is well padded and causes no problems.

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The lining layer.

Where life gets interesting is inside the shoe. The outer surface of the upper is two strong mesh layers, and inside that is a padded layer. The padded layer is different from most other joggers, however. While it is sewn at the bottom to the bed of the shoe, it is free-floating around the top edge. Pull it away, as illustrated here, and you can see in between the mesh layer and the padding. While not visible in this photo, you can actually peer out through the mesh layer if you try. The padding is not going to crumple up either, as it supports one side of the orange tapes which hold the laces. It extends all the way around the front of the shoe as well.

Exactly what benefits this construction are meant to bring are not clear at this stage. But the construction does mean you should hesitate before wearing these shoes while river walking. The potential for getting a heap of sand and gravel in between the mesh and the padding is high. On the other hand, it would be very easy to wash the sand back out again. That said, the side of the tongue does press against the top of the orange padding layer, so there is some resistance to the inflow of debris.

The plastic finish on the outside of the mesh is rather shiny, and this makes the shoes look just a little ‘tacky.’ It would have been better if a matt finish had been used. However, that stuff is mainly just trim and not very structural.

Field Testing

The shoes were worn around home a bit, just to check, and were then taken on a twelve-day walk through the Australian Alpine region. This was a bit of a high speed hoon trip on tracks, rather than a bushwhacking trip through scrub and rivers. We covered 290 kilometers (180 miles) with 4,600 meters (15,000 feet) of major ascents and descents – not counting all the little ups and down. The longest day, when things went just a little wrong late in the day, saw us doing nearly 40 kilometers (24 miles) with full packs. There was no water where we had hoped to camp, so a 6 kilometers (3.7 miles) and 600 meters (2,000 feet) descent had to be made as the sun went down. The next morning started with a savage 400 meters (1,300 feet) ascent straight from the tent site. There were a few creaks.

The point of mentioning these details is that you don’t want big heavy boots or uncomfortable shoes on your feet when you are dragging down the last half hour to camp. These MT875OR joggers were feeling just fine when we hit the river at the bottom of that long descent, and I was able to delicately hop across rocks to cross the river dry-foot. In fact, most evenings in camp, I was still wearing the shoes while cooking dinner: I felt no urgent need to get them off my feet.

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Dirty toes at the end of a long day.

In places, we were walking on some very dry dusty dirt on the tracks – no rain for a long time. Inspecting my toes at the end of the day showed that the mesh construction had let some dust through. And if there is that much dust on my toes, through a pair of Darn Tough Vermont Boot Socks and a pair of Gobi Wigwam liner socks, then the socks themselves are going to pick up a bit of dust as well. This happens with the mesh uppers on such joggers. Our standard solution is to carry two sets of socks and to wash one set every two days. However, while some dust did get in, I did not find any build-up of dust or sand between the mesh and the orange padding shown above.

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The soles, before and after.

Many of us have read some horror stories about very light joggers collapsing after just a few days wear. The first-generation GoLites quickly became infamous for this. The picture here shows the soles of the MT875OR joggers ‘before’ and after the trip. (The before photo is actually a New Balance marketing photo.) There is a little bit of wear visible in my photo, but not very much. And the uppers came out looking just as good. The insides of the shoes and the footbed also look much the same as when new.

I dislike shoes with very thick cushioning or big air-bags in the soles: I find I lose contact with the ground and this makes it easy to sprain an ankle. On the other hand, light shoe weight usually means a limited amount of cushioning between your foot and the ground. And so it is with these shoes. This does not mean that every stick and stone dug into my soles; far from it, but I did find that I could ‘feel’ the surface I was walking on. I could tell whether I was on a smooth bit of grass or a potentially unstable bit of scree, and this let me control how I drove my feet. I found I could dance across small rocks while crossing a river with some delicacy.

All in all, my legs may have been very tired by the end of the trip, but my feet were relatively happy.


September 23, 2009 Update

Six Weeks in Switzerland

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Trails in Switzerland.

Starting in the middle of July 2009, my wife and I spent six weeks walking in Switzerland, doing the Chamonix to Zermatt trail and the Via Alpina trail right across Switzerland. Both routes seem to go over an Alpine pass a day, with nights spent in a valley at 500 – 1000 metres (1,600 – 3,200 feet) and the passes typically being from 2,500 to 2,900 metres (8,000 – 9,500 feet). In some cases there were several close passes in one day, but no matter. That meant we were typically climbing and decending over 1,500 metres (4,800 feet) each day, with packs.

Some of the walking was on a smooth track, but rough, stony limestone country and hard snow, shale, and serious boulder scree figured very prominently (left to right in photo above). There was practically no bushwhacking at all, though there was still plenty of abrasion on the soles and the sides of the shoes, especially from the limestone country and the scree.

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Wear on the shoes.

Of course the shoes suffered some wear – any shoes would! This was compounded by the fact that these NB875OR joggers are definitely lightweight shoes. The depth of the lugs on the soles was significantly reduced under the ball of the foot. I also noticed that the sole was a shade thin for some of the very rough surfaces encountered, and the lug pattern was a bit minimal under the ball of the foot (especially towards the end). Both were adequate, but a bit more thickness and a bit more tread pattern might have been nice. The result would have been a heavier shoe though, and the light weight of these shoes was really appreciated every afternoon.

The mesh at the sides of the shoes suffered towards the end. You can see the rips and wear holes in the photo. Frankly, I think the mesh was a shade light and weak: a stronger version would heve been good. Of course, brushing the sides of the shoes against sharp limestone for days on end can be expected to have some consequences, so maybe the mesh didn’t do too bad a job under the circumstances.

When I first looked at these shoes, I thought that the trim over the top near the front would probably die fairly quickly. It looked like cheap vinyl, and I expected it to crack and tear off. I’m talking here about the thin ribbon sections pointed to by the red arrows, not the toe-cap around the front. Well, the leading corners of the trim did start to peel off fairly soon from abrasion against all that rock, but that was a failure of the sewing, not of the trim material. I solved that by sewing the trim bits back on with some saddlery thread from my repair kit – very strong stuff. You can see my stitching in the photos. The fault here was in the design of the trim: you should never create a leading corner like that. Fortunately, once resewn there were no further problems there.

In fact, the trim material survived very well. Sewing through it and the rest of the shoe with a #100 sewing machine needle required a very high amount of force too: it is not cheap vinyl by any means! I inquired of New Balance about the material, and they replied that it was "a polyurethane based synthetic leather with a non-woven backer." Well, to me it seemed rather like the Hypalon they use on snow shoe decks. A bit glossy, but very, very strong stuff.

These comments have been forwarded to the design group at New Balance. I note that a later model of trail shoe from New Balance (which will be reviewed here in due course) has stronger mesh at the sides and no forward-pointing corners on the trim, while still using the same trim material. It would seem the design guys do take some notice.

In summary, despite being very light, these shoes proved to be strong enough to handle both our Australian and Swiss Alpine trips: almost eight weeks of continuous hard use. That seems a good enough life to me.


Specifications

  Manufacturer:

New Balance

  Year/Model:

MT875OR / Late 2008

  Manufacture:

China

  Materials:

Synthetic fabrics and rubbers, no leather

  Last:

SL-1 (see the New Balance site for further definition on their lasts)

  Size:

7 through 15, with half sizes 7 through 12; in D, EE, and EEEE fittings

  Weight:

Quoted 340 g (11.9 oz) each
Measured 385 g (13.6 oz) for US size 10.5 EEEE (BPL measurement)

  Colour:

Grey: what you see is what you get

  MSRP:

$100 US

What’s Good

  • A low weight
  • A wide range of width fittings (including 4E)
  • A flat inner sole and footbed (no arch support)
  • Good friction and good lugs on the sole
  • No leather or suede anywhere
  • No air cushioning to destroy ‘ground-feel’

What’s Not So Good

  • Dust gets into your socks and onto your feet
  • Sand could get inside the shell when river walking (but it will wash out easily)

Wilderness Cred for the Packrafting Noobs

I was perfectly content to let others do all the lightweight lifting, but at the first chance of a packrafting class (learning to play without buying the gear!), I jumped… and pulled my husband, Rob, with me.

Photos courtesy of Ryan Krueger and Outside Bozeman Magazine.

Wilderness Cred - 4

The paths that led me to eventually (and finally) plunking my backside into a packraft were circuitous at best.

Path 1

I grew up rafting. My family co-owned a ten-man raft with a few other families – we all chipped in because no one could afford one outright – but it “lived” at our house. We’d fill the cooler with drinks, grab a bucket of KFC, and hit the Yellowstone River by noon on a hot summer Saturday. Floating down the dun-colored river, slipping in to cool off when the tubes got too hot, pulling off at little islands that caught our fancy, jumping out to pretend that the three of us girls could help our parents drag the raft over shallow rock beds… it was heaven. We returned home happily tired and sunburnt, content in our day on the water.

As a result, I’ve always been comfortable on moving water, but large bodies of water freak me out. There are monsters in lakes, ponds, and oceans, so I tend to approach them with ambivalence and caution – much the way I approach my crawlspace and for the same reason. Rivers, however, have always been a source of delight to me, from swimming in them to camping near them to being surrounded by them in Bozeman.

Path 2

Though I was the customer support director for Backpacking Light Magazine for two years, my grasp of the written word and the proper use of mechanics, grammar, and spelling meant that I was regularly called upon to proofread articles before they were published, both online and in the print magazine. When Ryan Jordan worked with Roman Dial on a book dedicated to packrafting and educating the continental U.S. on the sport (packrafting is pretty established in Alaska, the original home of Alpacka Raft), I was included, copy-editing and proofreading and reference-checking the manuscript so many times that I thought my eyes were going to bleed. It was awesome. I gained insight into the complete process of publishing a book and what a pain in the rear it can be.

Packrafting sounded intriguing, fun, and a little bit thrilling given the size of the craft, though I was reasonably sure I’d never do it. I couldn’t afford a packraft, and probably wouldn’t have used it often enough to justify the purchase anyway. Ever since my late husband, Blake Morstad (who wrote for BPL), died in an avalanche, I was so preoccupied with our son that the idea of backpacking, camping, or hiking again was pushed firmly towards the back of my mind. Single parenthood was far too pressing, and I really only enjoy such recreational pursuits when done with others. I am not a solitary outdoor gal.

Still, I knew WAY more about packrafting than the general public, though that knowledge was largely useless unless I was at work giving customers counsel about the rafts they were considering buying. I was, in effect, an armchair expert. Which, when you think about it, is really the most dangerous kind of expert there is.

Path 3

Backpacking Light’s Wilderness Trekking School started off in a big way, with a trail-less traverse of the Absaroka-Beartooth Range that was long, technical, and out of my league. The idea of joining that first, expedition-length class in October of 2007 didn’t even cross my mind. I was too busy making sure the students were kitted out in the gear they needed, that they had signed medical forms, that I had emergency contact information for everyone, and that everyone coughed up their watches, cell phones, and mp3 players. Besides, I didn’t want to cross the Absaroka-Beartooth range in the snow. It sounded suspiciously like a LOT of work.

We’ve retooled and revisited the School since then, and 2009 has been our most ambitious year yet, offering a wide variety of courses of various lengths on several dates. Currently managing editor, I was so buried in the weekly articles and newsletter that the first I really heard about all this was when Ryan Jordan emailed ’round a link to the School’s homepage, asking for input, feedback, and proofreading. I immediately noticed the introductory packrafting class and its requirements, which I easily met. Now that I’ve remarried and have someone slightly less demanding and needy than my four-year-old son to add to play time, I read about the classes hungrily, anticipating a day when we’d backpack or even just car camp as a family, and all my head knowledge about going lightweight could actually see some use.

I emailed Ryan back, noting my changes and feedback, and remarked that the Introduction to Packrafting looked particularly intriguing. In a separate email, he invited me and Rob, my husband, to join BPL for the June class.

Bozeman Beach

Class started at Bozeman Beach for a primer and practice before heading out. Bozeman Beach is a man-made lake (see Path 1, above) that feeds into the East Gallatin River. A lake. And it was warm, but the water wasn’t 80 degrees, and we were going to get into the lake to practice tooling around in our BPL-provided packrafts.

To my surprise, the monsters must have realized they were outnumbered, and there were no attacks during our time on flat water. We practiced entry and exit at the shore, then wet reentry, which was frustratingly difficult. To begin the wet reentry, we had to forcibly flip our rafts over while in them, which was reassuringly difficult.

The spray skirt on my packraft, when sealed, also made being submerged upside down a little alarming, and I was grateful to have practice time on flat water, no matter how monster-infested. I’m an able swimmer and comfortable on moving water, but the very real dangers associated with water travel are sobering, and being stuck in an upside-down packraft while bobbing downstream would inspire panic in the levelest head. Entry and exit are a really big deal!

Yo-Yoing on the Madison

I’m the kind of girl who likes to get something just right the first time. That rarely happens, which may be why I have to be coaxed into trying new things. Despite my armchair expertise, I found each and every move that Mike and Andy taught us an exercise in frustration. I ferried across the river just fine, in good style with powerful strokes. Turning around, I kept hearing Andy yell “Addie! Forty-five degrees! FORTY-FIVE DEGREES!” as I carefully manuevered my bow forty-five degrees downstream and began ferrying back, ending up MUCH further downstream than I’d intended. I wasn’t scared (we were on the Booze Cruise of the Madison River, after all), but was exasperated that I had forgotten the second half of cross-current ferrying: upstream. To ferry across the current effectively, point the bow forty-five degrees UPSTREAM.

Thankfully, no one gave up on me, including myself, despite Andy offering to tie me to a tether to keep me in the right stretch of water. He’s so helpful, that one. The other students fared better, especially Greg, who floated around like he’d been doing this all his life. I kept laughing at myself and trying again and found that, while my technique showed little improvement, I was still having a good time. Maybe new things aren’t so bad. Maybe.

The packrafts are surprisingly comfortable, despite being about the size of an average bathtub, and it was a little strange to get used to being so close to the water level. Most packrafts have twelve-inch tubes, part of which are submerged, so you are right there on the surface of the water. Paddling wasn’t difficult, and though my arms sometimes got tired, I wasn’t ever sore, so no new muscle groups were overly exerted (something I had worried about beforehand). Rob and I also discovered the magic of polarized lenses, a small thing that has him more excited about learning to fly-fish.

Sunburnt Rednecks at Greycliff

Our first camp was at the Greycliff Fishing Access. Because of private land use and guide restrictions, we were limited to Fish, Wildlife, and Parks established campgrounds. Upside: picnic tables, flat ground for tents/tarps, and easy river access. Downside: other campers might not be as dedicated to anything like a true wilderness experience. It was surreal to come off the water to the sound of boozy neighbor campers and music blaring from their car stereo. Despite creating an otherwise hostile camping situation, they were friendly, and we did our best to rough it next to the local fauna and their firecrackers. We pitched a variety of shelters that I won’t even pretend to know, and dinner was a tasty mess of unexpectedly filling noodles with Mike Clelland!’s spicy peanut Thai sauce. Mike and Andy interjected lightweight lessons whenever applicable, and everyone slept as soundly as possible once all was quiet on the western front.

Wilderness Cred - 1

Because of runoff, the river was high enough to get us moving along quickly, though many of the features that appear later in the season were covered over, reducing rock garden playgrounds into smooth flat water. The downside of a beginner packrafting class on the Madison began to make itself apparent in the second half of the day. The river flattened and widened, to the point that we paddled enthusiastically whenever we saw the tiniest froth of white on the water, had a laughably short “Whee!” moment, and were back to a simple float trip.

It’s difficult to plan a beginner river course in the spring in Bozeman. Both river conditions and student conditions can vary wildly, and it’s better to plan safely rather than daringly when it comes to peoples’ lives. At least, that’s what I hear.

Rob actively pursued small side channels to vary the pace and view and was aggressive with the river, pursuing any riffle, obstacle, or wave train. I was more of a weenie, just enjoying the float. The freedom and independence of the packraft were deeply relaxing. I could drift with the current (which, for me meant backwards, based on the weight distribution), get closer to interesting cliff swallow formations, dodge the cliff swallow droppings, or practice the various skills we’d learned.

Despite practicing, I only got ONE skill right ONE time (a snicker-snack, perfectly timed). Otherwise, I would pirouette or snicker-snack too early and smack right into the rock. I got better at just avoiding obstacles outright (we had plenty of time to get out of the way), and will perhaps try again on a rockier river, where perfecting my form is a necessity rather than simply a diversion.

Three Forks

At some point on day two, we reached the confluence of the Madison, Jefferson, and Gallatin – making the mighty Missouri. The river widened and deepened again, slowing us to where paddling was needed at first, just to make enough progress to matter. Canoeists and rafters shouted hellos, and the Jefferson’s silty flow made our boats sing with suspected leaks. It was an eerie sound, hearing the millions of tiny pings colliding with our crafts, a shushing hiss that made us wonder at the sheer abrasiveness of the water.

Wilderness Cred - 2

We drifted under bridges both used and abandoned, opined at the function of a remote stone structure that looked like a long horse barn (we decided it was probably a kiln), and mused on what it must have been like for Lewis and Clark to portage up this monster, upstream on brush-clogged banks. We tried our hands at crossing eddy fences, finally seeing the power of those seemingly gentle two lane river roads. When most of the water is going downstream and the eddy is moving upstream, the line between them can suck a packraft under lickety-split, and Greg got dumped. He didn’t lose anything in the river and quickly made use of our learned wet-reentry.

The power of the water is easy to underestimate, and I had no desire to get stuck outside the boat (wet reentry was a chore for me, not because of my bosom, as I jokingly claimed, but probably due to a combination of my PFD getting stuck on the tube and a lack of upper body strength).

Camp that night was just slightly more pleasant in terms of company. Our only neighbors were still heavy drinkers, but instead of liquor, they went straight for our blood. The swarms of mosquitoes and alarmingly visible ticks kept me a little paranoid and kept everyone close to the small fire we built.

Greg brought out some Swiss chocolate he’d schlepped all the way over (he’s currently working in Switzerland), and we tucked in and enjoyed further conversation. Andy is an excellent talker, but he’s also skilled at asking questions to draw people out and gain their opinions, and since everyone there had one or two of THOSE, we had some lively discussions about some pretty random things. This particular feature of camping is my forte, where I feel most comfortable: the relationships. Getting to know everyone a little bit more than simply how they came to the class made them more complete, a three-dimensional rendering of a whole person rather than someone else in a packraft on the same river. A light drizzle sent us reluctantly to our shelters, and we slept like we’d earned it, for we had.

Wilderness Cred - 3

Toston Dam

Our final day of class and river started bright and clear. Breakfast was a delectable mueslix that was yummy enough I’ve since made it at home. We loaded up, consulted our maps, and pushed in. Travel had slowed with the flow of the river, and at about noon, we encountered a stretch that was so slow and still that hard paddling was required to make headway. Past submerged trees and bankside cows, we saw fish jumping and possibly a beaver or muskrat. Rounding a curve that we figured would narrow and speed things up, we instead encountered a dam, not anywhere near where we had expected it. That discovery finally explained our slow progress: we’d been paddling into a headwind on the lake formed by the dam!

The line on the map seemed clear enough though, despite us passing a similar line yesterday that was conspicuously dam-less, and rather than try our derring-do over the spillway, we pulled off and got out to explore, at one point getting close enough to a rattlesnake for him to coil and threaten anyone foolish enough to step within striking distance. We gave him a wide (and wide-eyed) berth. Despite growing up in eastern Montana, with rattlers common in the hills near my hometown, I had never seen a wild one before (though, to be fair, those in zoos can hardly be considered tame).

It turned out that the Toston Dam is a full three or four miles upstream of the small town of Toston, where we’d anticipated it. Since the shuttle wasn’t due for another four hours and none of us felt like waiting, the group decision was to portage around the dam and see what the last few miles held. This was a bit more exciting, since neither the instructors nor any of us had rafted this stretch, but the topo map made it clear that things were probably still pretty safe. Portaging was delightfully easy. The few hundred yards up and down a small hill were as simple as unstringing our loads and hoisting our rafts.

We got in, strapped on our helmets, admired the enormous American white pelicans trolling the tailwater for disoriented fish, and pushed off, making it to the Toston put-in/take-out in good time.

Black and Blue Burgers

A little post-class recon and an evaluation gave us time to think about the last three days, give feedback to the instructors, and watch Andy carefully pack everything into his backpack. He was leaving the next day for his big Alaska tramp and was subsequently peppered with questions about how he does what he does and tricks and tips for not going crazy in the solitude. Rob and I thought that just leaving everything there was a bit of a let-down, so we invited everyone over for burgers once they’d all showered up (we were all pretty ripe) and volunteered to bring a little something so long as it wasn’t Bud Light, which is not permitted in our home. It was fun to socialize a little more, give Andy a good home-cooked meal before he took off, and keep Mike in town for the night so he wasn’t driving back over mountain passes in the dark. Greg brought out another Swiss delicacy: elderflower cordial, which we thoroughly enjoyed after dinner.

It was a great way to cap a fun weekend. Cameraderie, boats, and lots of sun almost require a cold beer, tricked out burger, and happy laughter to complete the experience. I’m now plotting ways to sneak my friends and family in a packraft, and my son, Blake, has cheerfully requested that he come too. Perhaps being an armchair expert isn’t so useless after all!

Alpacka Ultralight Paddle Review

A packrafting paddle is not a particularly special thing. It’s simply a kayak paddle, capable of being broken down into two or four pieces for easy stowage while inside or attached to a pack.

Alpacka Ultralight Paddle Review - 1
The author’s son gives the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle a fair shake while playing bowman in the two-person Alpacka Double Duck packraft on the Jefferson River in June 2009.

INTRODUCTION

Ryan’s River Journal (June 2009): As I teach and watch my eleven-year-old son, Chase, to packraft, I can’t help but think that the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle is a godsend. He’s not yet grown into the full sized kayak paddles, and the little Ultralight gives him confidence on the water.

A packrafting paddle is not a particularly special thing. It’s simply a kayak paddle, capable of being broken down into two or four pieces for easy stowage while inside or attached to a pack.

I usually look at three key factors (other than length) when selecting a paddle: weight, durability, and blade surface area.

Weight

The weight of an average four-piece fiberglass packrafting paddle is about 40 ounces (e.g. the Aqua Bound Shred FG), although hybrid paddles with carbon fiber shafts can weigh in the range of 34 to 36 ounces (e.g. the Aqua Bound Splat Hybrid). Full carbon paddles are typically 28 to 32 ounces (e.g. the Sawyer Packraft Paddle). All things being equal, lighter is better, of course, and if you haven’t figured that out by now, then maybe you stumbled onto this website by accident. In that case, trust me when I tell you that yes, lighter really is better (with caveats of course). For the packrafter, a lighter paddle makes both raftpacking easier (less energy is required to haul the pack) and packrafting easier (less energy is required to lift and swing the paddle).

Durability

Durability is impacted primarily by the material used to construct the shaft and the blade. The most common materials are carbon and fiberglass. Paddles with fiberglass shafts and/or blades are generally considered to be more durable than carbon ones, but heavier and cheaper.

Durability is of some importance to me while packrafting (especially in the backcountry where paddles are hard to repair and sort of important for transportation). I use my paddle for all sorts of manufacturer-prohibited activities, including pushing off shorelines and rocks, slapping branches out of the way as I paddle brushy creeks, and pitching my tarp shelter. I have used my paddle as weapon against a grizzly bear (all for show, of course, but I wouldn’t hesitate to whack-a-bear right in the kisser if needed), a snow digging tool, a plate, and a packraft polo stick (using an inflated Aloksak with a little water inside as the ball) on a high mountain lake.

Blade Surface Area

The surface area of the blade is also important. Blades with a higher surface area can push more water, and make paddling stillwater more efficient, and make you more maneuverable on whitewater. The surface area of a kayak paddle blade generally falls into the range of 80 to 100 square inches (for touring paddles used on flatwater) or 110 to 125 square inches (for whitewater paddles). Most packrafters will realize the benefits afforded by a big-bladed whitewater paddle. The added surface area allows for a little forgiveness in bad technique. Since most packrafters come from a trekking background, and haven’t been schooled in efficient paddling techniques, big blade paddles are probably a good thing.

But, as you might suspect, more surface area equals more weight.

The Alpacka Ultralight Paddle

Sometimes, a less durable paddle, and/or one with a smaller blade surface area, may be OK for some types of packrafting. Of course, we’re not really after less durability or a smaller blade surface, we just want a lighter paddle and may be willing to make a few compromises.

And that’s where the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle comes in: a 23-ounce paddle for packrafters. Thus, the purpose of this review, is to let you know what my experiences with the AULP have been over the past several months of paddling, packing, and polo-ing.

FEATURES AND SPECIFICATIONS

A number of characteristics makes the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle unique relative to the packrafting paddles mentioned above. It has what I consider a “small-diameter” shaft (1.0 inch, vs. 1.25 inches for the Aqua Bound Splat), the shaft is made of aluminum, it’s a three-piece instead of a four-piece paddle, the blade surface area is quite small, and the length is pretty short. Whenever I pick it up, I can’t help but think that it’s a miniaturized paddle and not a serious packrafting tool. More on that later.

Specifications

  Manufactured by:

Pacific Designs

  Distributed by:

Alpacka Raft LLC (http://www.alpackaraft.com/)

  Shaft Material:

6061-T6 aluminum

  Shaft Diameter:

1.0 in

  # Pieces:

3

  Collapsed Length:

26.5 in

  Assembled Length:

74.5 in (190 cm)

  Blade Surface Area:

83 sq. in.

  Blade Material:

ABS

  Weight:

23 oz

PERFORMANCE

For this review, I will present my findings with the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle in the context of both RAFTPACKING (carrying packrafting gear on your back) and PACKRAFTING (carrying trekking gear on your packraft).

Raftpacking

The raftpacker is most concerned about how the paddle stows on the outside of the pack. Now, when I say “most concerned,” I only mean that it’s the most concerning thing about carrying the paddle. The real level of concern here is rather low: paddles stow easily on most packs. How easily it stows is almost never part of my decision-making framework when selecting a paddle.

However…

There are a few situations in which I select a “more” stowable paddle versus a “less” stowable paddle. One of them is when I packraft the creeks of the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness adjacent to the northern boundary of Yellowstone National Park. When I’m traveling through the Red Zone (the NP proper, where river paddling is expressly forbidden by law!) to access a non-Red Zone creek, I like to carry my paddles inside my pack. Meeting up with Park Rangers on a trail with two blades sticking up high is cause for serious job distress for them, and it’s worth simply avoiding any confrontations that may ensue – my experience with them suggests that any paddler inside the park (especially one carrying paddles!) is assumed guilty until time, storytelling, and perhaps a shared beer justifies innocence. Regardless, if you travel through the Park with kayak blades sticking out of your pack, you risk losing an hour or more if a ranger is encountered.

Ryan’s River Journal (June 2007): I’m finding it increasingly unwise to attempt to packraft rivers and creeks that flow across the borders of Yellowstone National Park (which is closed to river boating), not because of my lack of respect for the boundary or the rules, but because it takes such a darn long time to explain to a ranger what’s going on with the kayak paddles sticking out of my backpack. Today, we spent two hours explaining our story and showing digital photos of our descents of Slough, Buffalo, and Hellroaring Creeks from their headwaters to the Park boundary. I guess it didn’t help that we were now heading down to Gardiner, Montana, via the Black Canyon of the Yellowstone, well-known for its underground kayak descents by rogue boaters…

The other time I want a more stowable paddle is when I travel. I want the paddle blades and shaft protected deep inside my pack while the gorillas in air cargo toss it around.

The Alpacka Ultralight Paddle breaks down into only three pieces, instead of four, and its collapsed length is 26.5 inches, which is a few inches longer than typical four- and five-piece packrafting/kayak paddles (which have collapsed lengths ranging from 22 to 24 inches). However, the thinner shaft diameter, fewer number of pieces, and smaller blades actually makes the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle marginally easier to stow both inside, and outside, the pack. Unfortunately, its longer collapsed length (compared to my Sawyer Packraft Paddle, which breaks down into five pieces to a collapsed length of 22 inches) means that it won’t fit into my smaller (shorter) day and overnight packs.

The relatively compact size, low packed volume, and light weight of the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle make it a good raftpacking paddle and one that deserves a hard look when the packraft spends most of its time on your back rather than in the water.

Packrafting

Flatwater

Two characteristics I consider when selecting a paddle for flatwater paddling are paddle length and blade surface area.

I prefer longer paddles (> 220 cm) for flatwater paddling. A longer paddle allows for a wider stroke radius that makes it easier to keep the packraft tracking straight.

Packrafting philosophers like to espouse the smaller surface area of touring blades (which are sort of long and skinny, in contrast to the shorter and wider blades of whitewater paddles). As the packraft is tracking, they say that the little blades are easier to paddle and it seems to take less effort to keep the packraft going. However, this is probably a questionable benefit, since packrafts don’t really track straight. The efficiency differences between using a touring paddle and a whitewater paddle for flatwater packrafting are probably meaningless unless you are an extremely efficient paddler who is adept at keeping a packraft straight and have a lot of time for philosophizing.

For flatwater paddling on still water, because some efficiency is lost in poor tracking, the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle’s little blades are a liability relative to paddles with larger blades, and you’ll expend more energy propelling your boat.

Ryan’s River Journal (May 2009). I can’t compete today. I’m getting my butt kicked playing packraft polo and running the packraft races on the pond because I brought the little Alpacka Ultralight Paddle with me. What was I thinking? Of saving 8 ounces of weight on the long walk from the car to the beach? Sheesh.

However, for flatwater paddling on moving water, where propulsion is less important than ferrying and steering, the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle shines. I think this is the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle’s element, and the type of water that it was created for. I thus heartily recommend the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle on moving water where powerful ferrying is not needed. For a packraft, that typically means Class I and low Class II water (PR1 – PR2).

Ryan’s River Journal (July 2008). I was a little worried about toting this little paddle with me for such a long way, but for this big, flat, remote river (Thorofare River), I’m appreciating its weight while raftpacking and packrafting.

Whitewater

For whitewater paddling (high Class II and above), the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle is an inadequate tool. Short shaft length, small blades, and too much shaft flexibility means that the powerful strokes and ferrying required to avoid obstacles and hit the right current lines are going to be compromised.

Ryan’s River Journal (May 2009). What an idiot. I can’t believe I attempted to descend this river (Madison River, Beartrap Canyon) with this little paddle. I’m walking back to the car. Great little paddle, big honkin’ frothin’ river. I’m cold and wet and all swum out. Major user error.

CONCLUSION

In conclusion, the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle outperforms other paddles in a pretty narrow window – Class I/II- moving water where the risk of hitting obstacles and dangerous current lines is low. Its light weight and reasonably short collapsed length make it a solid raftpacking paddle, a suitable backup or spare for long group expeditions, and an excellent choice for young kids learning to packraft. However, its shaft flexibility, low blade surface area, and short overall length make it a poor choice for paddling both stillwater and Class II+ and higher whitewater.

Comments from two fellow packrafters and Backpacking Light staff reflect this conclusion:

"I prefer it to a set of Ping Pong paddles on flat water, but I’d rather spend another eight ounces for a more durable paddle with more surface area on Class II or above." — Mike Martin.

"The Ultralight Paddle from Alpacka is just that – ultralight. Having used it to paddle the Scout packraft on calm water, I would recommend it for similar pursuits. Not having paddled it in whitewater, but imagining the potential for breakage, I would not recommend it for this in any event other than an emergency." — Sam Haraldson.

I think it’s telling from both comments that the issue of durability was raised. I too, get pretty nervous when paddling the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle with any sort of power, or using it to keep my boat from bouncing against a canyon wall, or jamming its blade into the rocks to shove off from shore. I’ve not yet broken mine (I have that ultralighter’s disease whereby my gear gets abused right to the breaking point, but I don’t often exceed it) after many days of hard use, so maybe our lack-of-durability fears are a little inflated.

Finally, a caveat and note for packrafters with exceptional skills and experience. If your paddling technique is solid, you know how to handle a packraft in whitewater, and your boat weight is low (e.g., unloaded), you might consider the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle for remote expeditions where sustained Class II whitewater is possible. Still, even most experienced packrafters will be wishing for larger paddle plades and a stiffer paddle in Class III whitewater and above.

Chris Robertson, one of the winners of the 2009 Alaskan Mountain Wilderness Classic, said this about the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle:

"I think Sheri [Tingey, the founder of Alpacka Raft LLC] has done it again with this paddle. She continues to strive and challenge herself to make lighter weight packrafting gear. However, this paddle, like the Scout [a smaller version of the full-sized Alpacka rafts], is not designed for sustained whitewater. We took both this paddle and the Scout well beyond the lunatic fringe of Alpacka’s intended use [in the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic in 2009]. Doing so, we earned a few funny stories, but in next year’s race I will have my old standby Alpacka and [Aqua Bound] Splat paddle in my race pack."

With all the caveats, however, I still find myself tempted to grab the Alpacka Ultralight Paddle on more occasions than warrant its niche use. I really like its small size and weight, and that alone makes it a thoroughly enjoyable paddle for lazy days of packrafting down the Big Hole, Jefferson, Madison, Yellowstone, and Missouri Rivers near my home, as well as my two favorite "remote but easy rivers" – the Thorofare and South Fork Flathead.

Turbo Bear Bag Hanging

Learn the tips and techniques to ensure that YOU, not bears, are eating your food at the end of the day.

Introduction

Yogi and Boo Boo have nothing on Sierra bears. Those Jellystone miscreants snagged a few unguarded picnic baskets with their clever schemes, but for athletic achievement and cunning, Yosemite bears – the superstars of Rancheria Falls, Tuolumne Meadows and Little Yosemite Valley – take all the awards. A bear’s incredible sense of smell and voracious appetite naturally lead him to wonderfully smelling, calorically dense human food. What would you eat if you had to spend the summer eating to survive a winter without food? A few berries, leaves, and grubs? Or a backpacker’s bag of Molasses Chews?

I’ve seen bears send cubs onto limbs too thin for a full-grown bear to go out on. I’ve seen them do full release dyno moves from tree to food bag. I once thought I had a bearproof hang, until mama carefully began testing branches to figure out which the food was hung from. Using the moonlight, she saw the food bag wiggle when she walked out onto my particular branch. When she started to chew on my slightly too thin hang branch, I spent the next half hour throwing rocks, yelling, and running to scare her to someone else’s camp. She spent much of the rest of the night unsuccessfully working on my better second food hang before wandering off with her twins (I typically split my hangs in high bear traffic areas such as Tuolumne Meadows).

In order to keep your food to yourself and to keep backcountry bears from becoming “problem bears” – that is to say, “dead bears” –  you’ve got to protect your food. Where bear hangs are allowed, an excellent bear hang goes a long way in protecting both your food and the bears. But… what constitutes an excellent bear hang? Rangers report that most backpackers can’t hang their food well enough to keep bears from getting it. Because of poor techniques, more and more Sierra Nevada wilderness areas prohibit hanging your food. For the lightweight backpacker, the inability to hang food – whether by personal limitation or mandate – means adding a minimum two pounds of bear canister to your lightweight load and subtracting $225 from your bank account. For a mere $80, you can get a canister just under three pounds, but no matter your choice, the weight penalty is severe.

If you consider the extra volume, weight, and durability of a pack needed to carry a canister, the net effect may be closer to three or four pounds, depending on your specific choices. Being required to contain all of your food in canisters makes longer, non-resupplied trips much more difficult. On longer trips, it may be hard to fit all of your food in a single canister and if two are required, well, you’d better be a superultralighter in everything else to bear the weight. Learn a few techniques, practice them to become proficient, and perhaps bear hanging will remain a viable option in most backcountry areas.

Turbo Bear Bag Hanging - 1
Hungry bears – protected from hunters in most of the Sierra – aren’t afraid to invite themselves to dinner.

The Branch

Picking a bear hang starts with finding a tree with an appropriate branch. Fifteen feet up and five feet from the base of the tree is the minimum required, but with ursine acrobats, the higher the hang, the better. If you can hang your food from a limb thirty to fifty feet high, it’s much more risky for a bear to attempt. It also gives you the option of placing your food bag ten to fifteen feet below your hanging branch, which further confuses bears. If possible, pick a limb that really sticks out, is six inches in diameter at the attachment to the tree, and has multiple branches – preferably that obstruct a bear’s progress.

It’s best if your branch stands somewhat alone – it’s easier to keep the food away from other branches the bear could use, and it helps keep your food from getting stuck when retrieving it. It’s important to pick a branch too thick for a bear to break off, but to hang your rope far enough out on this branch that it won’t support a bear’s weight – even a cub’s. Ponderosa pines and ancient lodgepoles most frequently have branches that meet these criteria. Pick a live tree and branch for your hang, because dead wood, even when very thick, is much more brittle and easy for a bear to break. The rope is less likely to slip off of your branch if the branch tip turns up or if there are perpendicular side branches to catch the rope. You don’t want your rope to slide off of the branch should your adversary bend it while walking partway out.

If you’re at high elevation or in an area such as Colorado, dominated by spruce, it’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to find an appropriate single branch for a hang. In these circumstances/areas, the “double hang” technique can provide suitable protection. Pick two trees ten to twenty feet apart with branches at least fiteen feet from the ground. The side branches will likely reach only one to two feet from the trunk of the tree. Hang one side of the rope over the best branch available, then the other end over a branch on the other tree (you may also use two separate ropes). Tie your food bag in the middle (the figure of eight on a bight works well and unties easily). Pull up one rope leaving your food bag three to six feet from the top, then pull up the other rope so that the food bag is approximately half way between the trees. While less than ideal, this technique can provide pretty good protection.

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Two amazing hangs were possible from this open Ponderosa Pine.

The Rope

You should carry at least fifty of rope for hanging your food. Even with fifty feet, the perfect branch can be just out of reach, and I carry a minimum length of one hundred feet to maximize my hanging options. Your rope should be at least three millimeters thick and have a tightly woven sheath. Too thin, and you run the chance of it getting stuck by sawing into your branch. Too thick, and it’s heavy to carry and harder to throw up into the tree. Loosely woven ropes are prone to snags and getting stuck on branches.

Although Spectra ropes are amazingly strong for their weight, the extra strength isn’t usually needed (who’s going to carry one hundred pounds of food?) and can be a liability should your rope get stuck during the hanging process. If you snag a 300-pound test, you have a chance of breaking the rope and retrieving most of it. If you snag 600- to 1000-pound test, the rope is going to stay there for good. In this same vein, I generally leave the inevitable nicks that occur when the hanging rock lands on the end of the rope. If you have small nicks in your rope near the rock, you have a better chance of breaking the rope should it get stuck. However, you want to tie off your food bag above the nicks.

The Weight

Once you’ve picked your tree and branch, you’ve got to get your rope over the branch. If you try to throw the coiled rope over the branch, you’re likely to get only a tangled mess. You’ve got to have weight at the end of the rope. If there are rocks, or even a dense piece of wood, you can tie this to the end of your rope. Rectangular rocks are easier to attach and keep attached to your rope. Rounded river rocks often become independent projectiles. While this may be entertaining, there’s a clear risk of injury. Goliath is rumored to have met his end while David attempted to hang the Israelite’s food.

If you’re camping in areas without rocks, a small silnylon bag (preferably padded with a small piece of insulite or a dirty sock) can be filled with sand or pebbles and used as your rope weight. Whatever you choose to throw, pick your weight carefully. Lighter weights throw higher, but are difficult to retrieve from the branch. Heavier weights severely limit your throwing range.

Turbo Bear Bag Hanging - 5
Other bear bag hangs.

The Throw

As pointed out earlier, the ability to hang your food high opens up options that help keep your food away from bears. Most people throw overhand style – like a baseball pitcher. However, even professional pitchers are rarely called on to strike out the man in the moon. Throwing upward is much more difficult than throwing forward. Generally, it’s hard to throw a rock more than twenty to twenty-five feet up with the overhand technique. However, using the “cowboy throw” a technique I have practiced since childhood, it is possible to reliably achieve heights of forty to fifty feet. This technique involves spinning the rope tied rock around in a counter-clockwise circle (clockwise for us lefties) and releasing the rope when the rock is on a trajectory to fly over your chosen branch. There is a learning curve to this technique, and your practice throws had better be far away from things you don’t want to break. However, once the it’s learned, there’s no throw that’s going to get your rope and food higher in a tree. You should still keep your backpack partner well out of range despite how impressive your hanging technique may be.

Since the highest hangs are achieved only with fairly light rocks, there may be some trouble getting the other end of the rope back to the ground. Whipping the end can assist when the rock won’t slide down by itself. It doesn’t always work: I’ve had to pull down otherwise “perfect” hangs when I couldn’t get the rock end of the rope back to earth.

The Hang

Once you have the rope over the branch and have retrieved both ends, there remain several choices to finish off your hang. Traditional teaching promotes the “counterbalance” technique, whereby two food bags of equal weight are made, one is pulled up partway into the tree, the second attached, and a stick or hiking pole is used to push the second up to the level of the first. This method relies on a perfect branch and finding a long stick to push the food up/down. The counterbalance method limits the height of your hang to the length of your reach extended by a stick or hiking pole. It is often difficult to fully equalize the weight of your food bags, and bears can shake the branch and gradually bring the heavier bag down without even getting near the rope. Counterbalancing also makes it more difficult to get the food up and down.

Because of these limitations, I prefer to pull my food up and tie off the rope to a second tree. If you use the “tie off” method, there are several wrinkles you need to know to maximally protect your food. First, walk back underneath the branch your food is hung over to shorten the angle of the hang and reduce the risk it could slip off the end of the branch.

Turbo Bear Bag Hanging - 2
A wide angle makes it easier for the rope to slip off the end of the branch (left). Walking back underneath the branch narrows the rope’s angle, making it less likely to slip off (right).

Second, walk a long way away from the tree your food is hung from and have the rope hit the “tie off” tree above your head level. This limits the possibility that the bear might accidentally bump into your tie off rope. Choose a tie off tree that is flexible, or at least has some flexible side branches to reduce the risk that the bear could snap the rope. Bears have generally poor vision and probably can’t see the rope. However, they may accidentally bump into it and will swat at it with their paws. With thinner ropes, high friction hangs, or heavy food weights, consider wearing gloves or wrapping the rope around a stick to facilitate getting your food into the air. Speaking of friction, try to make sure that you wrap the tie off end around the tree so that your knot alone doesn’t take the weight of your hang bag. On cold mornings, having tied an easily broken stick in your figure of eight knot on the food bag end makes the knot at this end much easier to untie as well.

A variation to the tie off method involves feeding your pulling rope through a carabiner attached to your food bag. This both narrows the angle of the hang and allows you to pull your food further away from the tree. It’s pretty impressive to have your food thirty-five feet in the air, fifteen feet below the hanging branch and twenty to twenty-five feet from the trunk of the tree. What’s a bear going to do if he sees this hang? Walk to someone else’s camp or start digging for termites!

Turbo Bear Bag Hanging - 3
People give perspective to just how high this bag is hung. Note the “through the rope” technique.

The “PCT method” is another variation that narrows the angle of the hang and doesn’t involve tying to a second tree. With this method, you tie a stick to the pulling rope as high as you can after you’ve pulled up the food. When you release the pulling rope, the food begins to slide down – until the stick you’ve tied wedges in the carabiner and jams its further descent. The free end of the pulling rope dangles below your hang until you pull it up in the morning to retrieve your stick, then retrieve your food. Bears can’t duplicate this delicate feat of dexterity, and the hanging rope is useless to them. This method allows a pretty good hang with a shorter rope, but doesn’t allow very good adjustments over final food placement.

More on bear bag hanging techniques can be found here.

Summary

A good bear hang is the crème fraîche on a cake and berry campsite. It serves as a conversation piece, a source of admiration, and can even improve your sleep. More importantly, it keeps you and your food safe from bears and bears safe from the ranger’s gun. Like nearly everything in life, little details can mean the difference between success and failure. A cheery breakfast greets you if you succeed, and a hungry hike points its finger back to your car if you don’t. Practice the techniques, learn the subtlety of rope, branch, tree, and throw and you’ll be rewarded with the satisfaction of a technique few can duplicate. Also satisfying: breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

New Wilderness! Dolly Sods North & Roaring Plains West

There were 37,000 new wilderness acres in my home state… how could I not go walking?

New Wilderness

On March 30, 2009 the United States gained more than two million acres of new wilderness. No, it wasn’t through the quiet annexation of Canadian territory – it was through legislation that set aside the federally-owned land as “designated wilderness.” Of all those acres, the first 37,000 were in my home state of West Virginia, and I decided to celebrate the occasion by visiting each of the new wilderness tracts in the state. The second trip of my endeavor was a forty-mile, two-and-a-half-day circuit through the Dolly Sods North and Roaring Plains West wilderness areas in the Monongahela National Forest. The experience left me with very wet feet, but also with cautious optimism about the future of my wild home.

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A large circuit through the wilderness areas, a total of forty miles. Roughly fifteen miles each of the first two days and just over ten on the final morning. Map by Jordan Klemick.

The Act

The law that created the new wilderness was the Omnibus Public Land Management Act of 2009. Aside from creating or expanding wilderness areas in nine states, it also gave protection to over 1,000 miles of “wild and scenic” rivers, established new conservation areas and scenic trails, and made permanent the National Landscape Conservation System, which incorporates into one plan myriad land protection designations in the American West. It represented the integration of 160 smaller bills and was the most significant legislation of its kind in years.

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One of several water falls cascading down the Sods’ rocky slopes.

It is ironic that such good news for some of the country’s most wild and pristine land came from an in-filled, over-developed former swamp on the Maryland-Virginia border, but it passed by wide margins in both the U.S. House and Senate. It was the result of years of hard work by wilderness advocacy groups and lawmakers friendly to the cause. After codifying the bill into law with his pen, President Obama captured its importance in an Oval Office address:

“It is fitting that we meet on a day like this. Winter’s hardships are slowly giving way to spring, and our thoughts naturally tend to turn to the outdoors. We emerge from the shelter offered by home and work, and we look around and we’re reminded that the most valuable things in this life are those things that we already possess.



As Americans, we possess few blessings greater than the vast and varied landscapes that stretch the breadth of our continent. Our lands have always provided great bounty — food and shelter for the first Americans, for settlers and pioneers; the raw materials that grew our industry; the energy that powers our economy.



What these gifts require in return is our wise and responsible stewardship. As our greatest conservationist President, Teddy Roosevelt, put it almost a century ago, ‘I recognize the right and duty of this generation to develop and use the natural resources of our land; but I do not recognize the right to waste them, or to rob, by wasteful use, the generations that come after us.’

That’s the spirit behind the bipartisan legislation I’m signing today — legislation among the most important in decades to protect, preserve, and pass down our nation’s most treasured landscapes to future generations.”

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A colorful moss-covered maple.

Wilderness Designation

A wilderness designation is the greatest level of protection that public land can receive and still be accessible to backcountry hikers and backpackers. It came into being in the Wilderness Act of 1964 and was poetically described by the Act as a place that

“[In] contrast with those areas where man and his own works dominate the landscape, is… an area where the earth and its community of life are untrammeled by man, where man himself is a visitor who does not remain. An area of wilderness is… an area of undeveloped Federal land retaining its primeval character and influence, without permanent improvements or human habitation, which is protected and managed so as to preserve its natural conditions and which… generally appears to have been affected primarily by the forces of nature, with the imprint of man’s work substantially unnoticeable [and] has outstanding opportunities for solitude or a primitive and unconfined type of recreation…”

It may not be surprising that the bill was co-authored by Wilderness Society advocate Howard Zahniser. It doesn’t match the writing of Meriwether Lewis, John Muir, or Edward Abby, but it’s not bad for a piece of legislation. It still describes the kind of places that are surely worth visiting.

For their part, the federal agencies that manage designated wilderness areas have interpreted the definition to generally mean no roads, no motorized vehicles or bicycles, no permanent shelters, and only minimal, if any, trail markings. Management practices generally shun convenience and comfort. The minimal exceptions that are allowed are made in the name of resource preservation and not ease of use. When read, such guidelines sound almost hostile towards the visitor, and to some degree that’s exactly what they are. Wilderness is not land under human dominion… it is where one is merely a “visitor who does not remain.”

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Boulder fields and flagged red spruce for which the northern Sods are known.

Aside from its strict management guidelines, what makes wilderness designation so important is that it is statutory. There are other federal lands that are governed by a similarly strict regulatory guideline, known as Management Prescription 6.2. The management of these areas, however, is subject to regulatory whim, and recent years have shown what vastly different approaches successive administrations can take towards undisturbed land. Designated wilderness can only be changed by an act of Congress, and until there is a constitutional amendment safeguarding our “great blessing,” the protection is as permanent as it gets.

Wild, Wonderful

Unfortunately for West Virginia and the rest of the eastern United States, the National Forest Service initially found no land east of the Mississippi River that it felt primitive enough to be designated as wilderness under the original act. There was scarcely an acre in the East that had been left entirely undisturbed by logging, roads, or some other kind of development. Fortunately, Congress recognized both the need for such protection in the East, as well as the “wildness” of even second or third (or fourth) growth forests and passed the Eastern Wilderness Areas Act of 1975.

The lion’s share of federally protected land in West Virginia is part of the Monongahela National Forest. The MNF consists of over 900,000 acres and is well known for its hiking, mountain biking, rock climbing, and white water rafting. Before 2009, the MNF had about 78,000 acres of designated wilderness in the Cranberry, Dolly Sods, Laurel Fork, and Otter Creek wilderness areas. The Big Draft, Roaring Plains West, and Spice Run areas are now added to that list, as are large extensions to the Cranberry and Dolly Sods wilderness areas. I planned to visit each over the summer.

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Clean, clear water from a mountain spring.

Unfortunately, there were also eleven other proposed wilderness areas, including the North and East portions of the Roaring Plains, that didn’t make it into the final bill. These areas will likely continue to be managed under the 6.2 “backcountry recreation” management prescription for the near future. It’s the approximately 88,000 acres under this management that stand the best chance of later becoming designated wilderness. Before this year, new wilderness hadn’t been added to the state since 1983, and hopefully it won’t be another twenty-five years before more of these lands are permanently protected.

Dolly Sods

There is perhaps no place that better exemplifies both the kind of abuse that our eastern forests have borne as well as their great potential for recovery. Dolly Sods gained its name from the Dahle family that once pastured their animals there, but it was at one time entirely covered with large red spruce and balsam fir. The land suffered fires, clear-cutting, and the incursion of railroad tracks in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. During World War II, the Sods were used for artillery practice by the Army, and live mortars have been found there as recently as 1997. Nothing says “wilderness” like a chance to really put that bomb proof gear to the test.

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Relic of the Sods’ former life. At least it appears to be from the old rails and not from the explosives that once called this place home.

Despite their misuse, the Sods are now one of the most popular wilderness areas in the East. The spruce are gradually making their way back to the northern Sods, which are dominated by spagham bog and blueberry heath. It’s actually this new growth, combined with the elevation of the Sods’ high plateau, that make it unique to the region. The Sods are frequently compared to Canadian muskeg, and experience severe weather because of both their elevation and position on the Allegheny Front, a ridge that disturbs weather patterns and constitutes the Eastern Continental Divide in the region.

With the new expansion, Dolly Sods has 17,371 acres of wilderness, a substantial increase from its original acreage of 10,215. While it is surrounded by National Forest land to the east, west, and south, these lands have been put to other uses, and it has likely reached the extent of its expansion.

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Crossing into the Dolly Sods Expansion.

Roaring Plains

To the immediate south of Dolly Sods and across the Red River Valley are the Roaring Plains. They are slightly higher than the Sods, reaching as much as 4,700 feet, and are wrapped to the east and south by the Allegheny Front. With over 3,000 feet of relief above parts of the surrounding valleys, the Plains are known for their beautiful views and nearly constant winds.

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Overlooking the Red Creek Valley with Breathed Mountain overlook on the right.

The Plains have their own mixed forest, but have more coverage than do much of the Sods. They are also rockier, with boulder fields that ride along the area’s ridge. They have received less formal protection than the Sods have, but have also received less attention, so it’s easier to find solitude.

Only the 6,792 western acres of the Plains have been designated as wilderness, but the recognition of this initial section is an important first step towards the preservation of the surrounding area. The 8,346 acres of the east and north Plains will likely continue to be managed under the 6.2 prescription. With continued advocacy and appropriate management, the Plains may some day see a wilderness expansion like that of Sods.

Wilderness Circuit

Given the chance to visit both the Sods and the Plains in one trip, and on a weekday for even more solitude, I was more excited to make this trip than any other wilderness area I would visit. I planned for a more relaxed pace than I normally schedule, leaving plenty of time for exploring.

Day 1

Four hours and only a few missed turns after leaving my Pittsburgh apartment, I arrived at the Red Creek trailhead near Laneville, West Virginia. The weather forecast for my trip had recently gone from three days of sun to three days of likely rain and thunderstorms, so I flicked on my weather radio expecting the even, robotic narration of the National Weather Service. I found only static on all seven channels. I would later realize that I was on the outskirts of the National Radio Quiet Zone, created for the benefit of the nearby Greenbank Radio Observatory. At the time, it gave me the satisfaction of feeling more remote, if less certain about the weather.

I changed into my hiking duds, locked my car, and exchanged small talk with a photographer heading out for a day hike. With that, I started into the original Dolly Sods Wilderness. I was eager to start my route and walked quickly through the mixed forest. I made an unavoidably wet crossing of Red Creek and encountered the first of three modes the wilderness trails would take: rock. In some parts the trail became so rocky and steep that it felt like little more than an overgrown talus field from some long extinct mount. It was hard on the feet, but made for some nice waterfalls on a parallel stream.

As I headed north to higher elevation, the dense hardwoods became sparser, and the forest that was there became increasingly dominated by spruce, pine, and fir. Trail conditions also changed, and I met the trail’s second phase: water. My shoes had started to dry since my earlier crossing, but they were again soaked and would remain that way for the next two days. Streams that had rushed through the valley and trickled beside the trail on the climb now meandered across and sometimes down the path.

I also walked up and into the fog that had been hanging overhead that morning. As I hiked across the boundary of the existing wilderness and into the new expansion, an area known as Dolly Sods North, the clearing around the trail widened and mist started to float by under a light breeze. It obscured views that would have been to the west, but gave the area a quiet, ethereal feel. The strange atmosphere heightened the sense that I was walking into a foreign place. As beautiful as the main wilderness had been, it was this terrain that was most remarkable for the region, and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Continuing on, I came across large boulder fields of the area’s white sandstone. I must have spent over an hour off trail, scrambling among the rocks. Moist lichen made them slick, and I was lucky I could I carry my light pack with me as my route in certainly wasn’t going to be my route out. For my trouble, I was rewarded with more fog, but also a good view of the rocks and flagged red spruce that rose between the outcroppings.

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A trail that looks deceivingly dry, though just bog and cursing lay ahead.

As I hiked on, the winds picked up and I took shelter behind a rock shelf for a quick lunch, donning my rain jacket to break the chill. Heading east and then south, I came across the final and worst trail condition: bog. The nastiest was on an old railroad grade, and unlike the ground that just had standing water, some areas of bog looked deceivingly solid. No sooner would you plant your foot than you would be in real danger of losing a shoe!

By this time it was getting late, and I was lucky to find some solid ground and an established campsite to occupy for the evening. I set up camp, made dinner, and hauled my odorants up over a branch. That night, the damp soup I had been walking through would pour down all around me, and I was glad to have a full coverage shelter.

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Bundled up against the strong westerly wind.

Day 2

The morning was overcast, but with good visibility after losing its veil of the previous day. As I ate my breakfast I contemplated a large aluminum pot that sat discarded next to the fire ring. It was huge, probably between two and three gallons in capacity, and had a hole in its bottom. It was smack dab in the middle of the wilderness, miles from the nearest road. I had picked up some small bits of junk I found at the site, but was perplexed by what had led to the abandonment of this monstrosity. Either a seriously heavy, solo hiker had left his bathtub after it sprung a leak, or a whole group had made the collective decision that they couldn’t be bothered to take it back out. Either way, I discovered one more benefit of a light load – it leaves plenty of carrying capacity to pack out even the most obscene garbage.

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Packing out Paul Bunyan’s discarded mug in improved visibility.

As I crossed back into the main wilderness the sun made its first appearance, and I took the opportunity to dry out and eat lunch. The trails had turned back into stone, and I was treated to some gorgeous vistas of the Red Creek Valley. I hiked down and across the creek twice more, welcomed by basking river snakes. The trail here, as elsewhere in the old wilderness, was marked by nothing more than cairns, which hid among the rocks of the river’s shores. After finding my way across and up a steep climb, I came to some fresh springs with water that, thankfully, didn’t bear the slight spagham aftertaste of that in the north Sods.

Hoping to make it into the heart of the Roaring Plains by that night, I hiked quickly to the southern border of the Sods. I was lucky to find a trashcan at the trailhead, and bid farewell to my aluminum stow-away. I walked a short distance of forest road and entered Roaring Plains East. This was one of the proposed wilderness areas that hadn’t made the final cut.

As I walked on, I saw some of the reason why. There had been a few bridges in the north Sods, evidence of its long life before designation, but the beginning of this trail was practically a boardwalk. It surely kept day hikers’ feet dry, but was out of place. Moving past the tracts of planking, the trail eventually turned back into the familiar rock and water. I made a ballet of hopping from island to island, for entertainment value more than anything else. My feet were still soaked.

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Navigating thick brush and a narrow trail.

The altitude here was higher than that of the north Sods, but it had kept more of its tree cover, which was primarily coniferous. The first part of the trail followed a wide ridge with the Allegheny Front to the east and a valley of the inner Plains to the west. As the trail turned east, I had to decide between going off trail to stay on the ridge or sticking to the beaten path. Given the lowering sun, the dense brush of the cross-country option, and the fact that it was my first time in the area, I decided to see what the marked trails had to offer. If there’s one thing I will change for my next trip, it will be to stick to the ridge to catch more of its dramatic views.

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Just into the Roaring Plains West Wilderness. Established campsites feel too civilized, but protect larger sections of forest when an area sees high use.

Heading east, I dropped into heavy rhododendron thickets. Giving rise to the state’s flower, the plant was common on the route, but not in such abundance. I pictured what the trail would look like later in the summer, covered in a blanket of large pink blossoms. Turning onto another section of forest road, I imagined what it would look like if it were allowed to fall into disuse, with green sprouts erupting through its tracks.

I crossed over the utility road that followed a buried natural gas pipeline and signaled my entry into the section that had been newly designated – Roaring Plains West Wilderness. After only a few hundred feet, I made camp for the last night of the trek, falling asleep to the white noise of a rushing nearby stream.

Day 3

I woke with the sunrise and ate my oatmeal as I started to hike. It was my last day, and I figured I could get back to my car by noon. I was once again on flat, more open terrain, but the surrounding bushes were more substantial than they had been in the north Sods. Contrary to their name, the Roaring Plains were also calmer this morning than the Sods had been two days earlier.

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Fast food on the second and final morning.

The marked trail kept me further from the ridge than I would have liked, and I hurried to a section that would take me closer to the view. Among a tall stand of pines I finally saw an overlook and realized what I had been missing. The sky was overcast, but the coverage also provided the contrast for a thick field of sunshine to illuminate a valley two ridges over. Looking south, much of the thickly forested land of the closest valley and ridge was still within the new wilderness and would likely remain unchanged well into the future.

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A view from the Plains’ famous ridge. Overcast, but with a ray of sun.

After enjoying the view for a while, I headed north and down, down, down into forest similar to that of the lower Sods and much of the rest of the state. The brush here became sharp, and I rolled down my trekking pant legs to save my skin. There was more rushing water, but by now my thoughts drifted away, split between reflections on the trip and anticipation of returning home.

As the trail flattened out, it became apparent that I was now leaving the wilderness to walk a thin right-of-way slicing through private land. The barbed wire that flanked the trail’s right side reminded me of what happens to private land and how lucky I was to have spent so long hedged by nothing but the terrain. The final trailhead I came to was marked with only a small sign, and I walked awkwardly onto the public road – my head still in the woods. The sun was shining, and I made the two-mile jaunt back to my car.

Reflections

At first glance, there may be little difference between “designated wilderness” and other wild backcountry. Neither the Sods nor the Plains gained a single new tree or mountain spring the moment Congress finally recognized and designated them as wilderness. There are surely other, more remote places in this country where man has had less impact than on those areas I visited. The real difference that I noticed on this hike was a psychic one. On too many trails I’ve felt a faint melancholy when I consider the future of the land I walk over. I frequently come across signs for available acreage, or worse… soon to be available condos. When walking in these new wilderness areas, as troubled as their past has been, I get a feeling of cautious optimism. In all likelihood, these areas will actually get better with time. I imagine my great-great grandchildren being able to return to the north Sods, and walk all day shaded by red spruce too large for them to wrap their arms around.

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Private land adjacent to the end of the trail – a bit prickly, but still a lovely view.

More Information

Wilderness

West Virginia

Further Photography

About the Author

Devin grew up and went to college in Morgantown, West Virginia. He now lives in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania with his wife Leslie, where he attends the University of Pittsburgh School of Law and Katz School of Business. The trip that brought him back to the outdoors after a brief hiatus was a 128-mile row down the length of the Monongahela River, racing coal barges and dodging lock spillways.

GoPro Wide Helmet Cam Review

Practical application review on using the helmet cam in the backcountry… essentially, how does it do?

GoPro Wide Helmet Cam Review - 1
The actual camera sans housing is tiny – 2.25 x 1.5 x 1.5 inches and 2.4 ounces – making it (or the non-wide angle standard GoPro model) suitable for YouTube-quality video for the backpacker.

Scope

This review is quite limited in scope. I had one singular objective in testing this product: to evaluate its utility as a helmet camera while packrafting on a longer expedition, where kit weight, battery life, and ease of use in bad weather matter the most. My intended output for the footage from this camera included projection on a large auditorium screen as supporting material during public speaking engagements, and, well, YouTube!

Thus, the review focuses more on practical use of the camera in a backcountry context rather than the technical merits surrounding its image quality or specifications.

Wide vs. Normal

A wide angle helmet-mountable lens was important to me because I like to maximize the field of view while packrafting. It allows me to capture some of the scenery, it forgives imprecise aim, and it it imparts a crazy curvilinear shape to my packraft paddle (the fisheye effect) that has more than once caused somebody to email me and ask me where I got that cool paddle.

My GoPro Packrafting Kit

My GoPro camera kit for backcountry packrafting focuses on the minimally simple, and includes the following:

  • Petzl Meteor Climbing Helmet. The helmet is a vented, “bike-style” foam helmet, with perfect spacing between front vents and a stable platform for securing the GoPro camera (weight: 9 oz)
  • GoPro Wide Helmet Cam (weight: 2.4 oz with 2xLiAAA batteries)
  • Waterproof Housing (weight: 4.0 oz, includes helmet attachment strap and hinge mount)
  • Extra Lithium AAA Batteries
  • Extra 2G SD Cards

GoPro Wide Helmet Cam Review - 2
Perhaps somewhat ironically, the housing weighs almost twice as much as the camera. However, it’s the essential feature that makes the GoPro suitable for packrafting. Note the convex lens shape on both the camera lens and the housing lens – this give the GoPro its massive field of view relative to other helmet cams on the market.

Workflow

I’d like to walk you through the workflow required between the time the camera is retrieved from my pack (in the field) and the time a video is uploaded to YouTube (at home).

In the Field

  1. I store the camera, batteries, and SD cards in a 12 x 12 inch Aloksak, which is oversized for the kit, so that the bag can be rolled up a little to protect the contents further while in the pack.
  2. Each morning at camp (and time permitting, the night before), I make sure there is an empty SD card loaded into the camera, and if needed, a fresh set of LiAAA batteries. The kit gets stored in my pack, near the top.
  3. When it’s time to hit the water, I attach the camera to my packrafting helmet.
  4. When I foresee a section of water that I’d like to film, I usually remove the helmet from my head, so I can verify visually that the camera is turned on. While the helmet is off, I press the record button, then return the camera/helmet to my head. I added this step to my workflow (removing the helmet so I could see the camera) because the tactile response of the record button is poor, and I ended up missing some shots when just reaching up to turn it on.
  5. When done shooting the clip, I reach up and hit the record button again to stop recording. I usually don’t remove it from my head to stop recording, because the consequences of stopping a recording are less severe than missing a shot. Again, because of the lack of tactile response when pressing the record button, I end up shooting a lot of footage by accident.
  6. If I’m camping on the river at night, I’ll leave the camera attached to the helmet and ready to go in the morning. If I’m coming off the river and ready to start a hiking section, I repack the camera into the Aloksak and return to Step 2.

GoPro Wide Helmet Cam Review - 3
The complete setup, with the camera secured in its waterproof housing and attached to a helmet strap. Weight is 6.4 ounces with batteries.

Field Notes:

There is no preview LCD, so unlike most of my digital photography and videography, I do not do any shot previews in the field. Thus I have no idea whether I am being successful or not until I load the clips to my computer after the trip.

The housing lens loses its hydrophobicity quickly, minimizing its ability to bead water droplets and allow them to roll off. Thus, when it’s raining or I’m running water that is particularly splashy, I make a habit of regularly reaching up to the lens and swiping it with my finger. I also found that wiping the lens with an anti-fogging wipe once a day helped immensely.

At the Computer

  1. First, I back up all of the original files on the SD cards to my RAID disk. This constitutes my archival copy.
  2. Import video directly from the SD card into iMovie.
  3. Create a movie within iMovie and publish directly to YouTube from within iMovie.

See, pretty easy.

Video

Play the video below to see some footage from the GoPro camera as part of a story about a packrafting trek in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex from July 2009. I mounted it on my helmet and either wore the helmet, or attached the helmet to my pack, which was lashed to the bow of my boat. The latter configuration was noticeably more wobbly in the rollers, but provides a fun perspective of the packrafter.

GoPro Wide Helmet Cam Review - 4
Mounted to my helmet (the 9-ounce Petzl Meteor), I definitely felt the added weight of the 6.4-ounce camera when I first put the helmet on. However, it wasn’t uncomfortable, nor did it impair my ability to use my head normally [sic]. In reality, I seldom noticed it was there, unless I was making a conscious effort to shake my head.

Summary

All in all, I love the concept of a waterproof helmet cam for packrafting. As you can see in the video sample, I also wore it fly fishing! I’ll undoubtedly try that more often, too. The GoPro meets my needs of being able to produce a decent quality YouTube video that doesn’t look like it was shot with a cell phone. Its main shortcoming is the lack of tactile feel in the housing button that engages the record button on the camera. A simple click button would suffice, so I had a little bit of feedback, allowing me to avoid taking my helmet off my head to know with certainty that I was starting or stopping a recording.

Ultralight Economies of Scale: Budgeting for Your Pack & Wallet

How can lightweight backpacking translate and relate to financial management? Doesn’t all that lightweight loot cost money?

Introduction

In learning to lighten my pack, I’ve also learned to better manage my finances. That might sound like a strange statement to make – generally speaking, lowering your base pack weight is associated with buying lighter gear. What I’ve learned, though, is to do more with less, and to buy only those things that will make a real difference to my base weight or in terms of practical use. I’ve learned to do more research before making purchases. I’ve learned that sometimes the best approach is to make something yourself – and yet, sometimes it makes more sense to pay someone else for their products. Sometimes it makes the most sense to make a sizable investment, and sometimes making that investment means saving up some money and not having the immediate gratification we seem to enjoy so much.

Pack Lighter, Pack Less

The most dramatic changes in lowering my base pack weight came from taking less stuff. It seems obvious enough… fewer things means less weight, just as fewer expenditures means less debt or less financial (instead of physical) strain. But getting to the point where I could leave things out of my pack meant wrapping my head around the concept of needs versus want. I found myself doing a cost-benefit analysis of the things that traditionally appear on my gear list: "I really like that jacket, but is it worth the extra twelve ounces it adds to my system? I mean, it’s nice to have, but the down vest is plenty warm." I was surprised not only by how little I needed, but by how little I missed once I got rid of it. And frankly, I was surprised by how unencumbered I felt by having fewer, more functional things on my back.

We all have different ideas about how to approach ultralight gear lists: how to budget the ounces and pounds we carry. We each prioritize categories differently. There are some things we’re just not willing or able to do without. If you’re unwilling to compromise or sacrifice in one area, though, you’ll likely have to make adjustments somewhere else to get to your target base weight. Ultralight backpacking, I’d argue, is ultimately about balance – balancing your budget of pounds and ounces.

If you wanted to design a house, at some point you’d have to adjust a sliding scale to reflect your needs and desires. Given a fixed budget, you can have a tiny house with incredible build quality and craftsmanship, or you can have a bigger house with lower-quality finishing. Designing the house means determining what you’re passionate about and what will suit your needs. Designing a low base pack weight requires the same sort of approach.

For example, I’m a side sleeper with a history of back and shoulder problems. There is no way you’ll find me on a thin closed-cell foam pad. I carry a thick self-inflator or a plush insulated air mattress instead. My sleeping pad weighs about two pounds versus the three-ounce micro-pads that some die-hards carry. Because I carry a heavier sleeping pad, I try to compensate for the "extra" weight by cutting weight somewhere else. I’ve been using a nineteen-ounce sleeping bag, for example, and just designed and made a fourteen-ounce sleeping bag. By comparison, many people carry sleeping bags that weigh twenty-eight or so ounces.

Making "Light" Affordable

Perhaps most importantly, ultralight backpacking has led me to take painstaking measurements and considerations for everything in my pack weight budget. I had to relearn, as well as reframe, my concept of "light," much as the process has taught me to re-evaluate my fiscal concept of "affordable." With the economy right now, the timing of my ultralight rebirth couldn’t have been better.

Perhaps the best illustration of my new found philosophy is my examination of the fire-starting items I’ve always packed. Lighters are tiny; they have essentially no mass. Matches are wispy little dried twigs. Having the ability to start fire can be vitally important. So traditionally I’ve carried a lighter in my pocket, one in my stove kit, one in my survival kit, and another one stashed somewhere in the bowels of my pack. I would also have two or three lightweight plastic bottles stuffed with matches and a striker pad. Once I got serious about lowering my base weight I bought a digital scale and started weighing every single item that could end up in my pack. Each lighter, I found, weighed about 0.75 ounces – next to nothing! Each filled match safe weighed only about an ounce. Again, the weight seems inconsequential. But then, I tallied up the total weight of my firestarters: four lighters at 0.75 ounce equalled 3 ounces. Three match safes at an ounce each weighed 3 ounces. I had 6 ounces of firestarting stuff in my pack – over a third of a pound! I grimaced at the thought of the flint and steel still stashed in my possibles bag.

Discovering that I had about half a pound (once I added the flint and steel) of firestarting stuff in my pack was… profound. It was a moment of clarity that has stayed with me. It led to a paradigm shift in my worldview: even teeny tiny things add up to be very significant.

Happiness is…

Since then, I’ve become a bit obsessed about weight. I know how much most of my gear (and much of the gear I’ve considered buying) weighs to the tenth, if not hundredth, of an ounce. Not because I want the absolute lowest possible pack weight, but because I want the lowest possible pack weight that keeps me happy. I now take just enough clothing to keep me warm, dry, and comfy without having a number of extra layering options. I no longer have enough spare clothing to make a decent pillow, so I’m playing with the most flexible options to add a few usable ounces to the pack. (I have a down pillow that weighs 4.5 ounces; when I realized that the 3.5 ounces of down in it was the same amount of down insulating my vest, I ditched the pillow as a possibility. I just made a Climashield vest that weighs 3 ounces total; it should be just enough for my new "pillow," too.

The rest of my life has come under closer inspection since I started thinking about my gear list in a more cognizant way. Money started to make more sense to me, became more tangible. The scale of my life came into better focus. In the grander scheme of things, five bucks for a sandwich at lunch isn’t much. And the buck and a quarter for my once or twice daily coffee refill isn’t significant – barely registers on the financial scale. And my afternoon snack of a buck or two is really pretty cheap. And if I spend another buck or two on a drink later in the day, well, it’s only a buck or two… right? My new-found ultralight perspective helped me realize that, hey, in my life, those inconsequential food purchases added up to ten or twelve dollars every day. Working four days a week, I was realistically spending about fifty dollars each week, two hundred dollars a month, two thousand four hundred dollars a year on "cheap" filler food.

If I were making $100,000 a year, maybe two hundred dollars a month wouldn’t be all that much. What I’ve come to realize, though, is that I don’t earn that kind of money. I have been living on the wrong scale. I hadn’t been living in reality. I hadn’t been paying attention to how quickly all those little things add up and was nickel and diming my budget to pieces. I’ve learned to live with a scale more appropriate to my budget – and last month, I had an extra hundred and twenty dollars in the bank and two pounds less in my pack.

Backcountry Fly Fishing with Tenkara: Ultralight Style and Simplicity

The literal translation of the Japanese word ‘Tenkara’ is ‘from Heaven.’ Fitting for a lightweight fly rod characterized by elegance, grace, and simplicity.

Introduction

The literal translation of the Japanese word ‘Tenkara’ is ‘from Heaven.’ If Heaven’s character is defined by elegance, grace, and simplicity, then Tenkara fly rods may indeed be Heaven’s answer for backcountry fly fishing enthusiasts passionate about ultralight gear and style.

Ryan’s Tenkara Gear

  • Tenkara Ayu (3.5 oz) or Tenkara Iwana Rod (2.3 oz)
  • Simblissity Unslack Pack, modified for lanyard use (0.7 oz)
  • 10.5′ Braided Tenkara Leader on Tippet Spool
  • 30M 5X Frog Hair Tippet on Spool (I sometimes add a spool of 6X and/or 7X as well)
  • Hydrophobe Floatant in Small Squeeze Tube
  • Yarn Strike Indicator
  • MicroDrop Bottle with Qty 16 Split Shot
  • Morell Small Foam Fly Box (includes weight of four dozen flies)
  • MicroZip Bag with Fishing License

Total Weight of Kit: 5 to 6 ounces

The Movie

A short introduction to what Tenkara is all about, including some fish-catching footage and expository comments from the South Fork of the Flathead River in the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

Resources

Learn about Tenkara at Wikipedia.

Read Tenkara feedback at Twitter.

Read the author’s blog posts about Tenkara: Post 1, Post 2.

Race Report: 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic

“We all know better than to do this race.”

The sound of recirculating holes and giant wave trains greeted us when we rounded the next bend. Failing to see a good line in the midnight light through this next series of rapids – or, really, failing to even see the rapids at all – we opted to take out then and there. Chris and Bobby, my two soaking-wet teammates, were shivering as they climbed ashore – their penalty for floating twenty-five miles down the flooded, fast-moving glacier-fed Yanert River in glorified three-pound pool toys known as the Alpacka Scout. (I was in much better shape thanks to my whitewater-worthy, decked five-pound Alpacka Yukon Yak.) We hurriedly packed up our boats and followed a mile-long riverside horse trail to the mouth of Ravine Creek, where we were hoping to find an ATV track that would take us seven miles to a gravel pit on the Parks Highway, the anticlimactic – yet somehow fitting – finish of the 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 1
The 2009 course traversed the northernmost portion of the Delta Range and then the length of the Hayes Range, with a total distance of about 180 miles (both ranges are sub-ranges of the Alaska Range). After skirting around or over Granite Mountain, the conventional route passes through foothills north of the Hayes Range’s crest, which is a series of 10,000- to 13,000-foot glacier-covered peaks. Three enormous glaciers – the Trident (pictured), Hayes, and Gillam – spill out into valleys along the route and must be crossed.

At the creek mouth, in the fading beam of Chris’ headlamp, I saw, freshly etched into a sand bar, a word that would invigorate most people who have been tramping through Alaskan bush for three-and-a-half days: “Cabin,” with an arrow pointing upstream. Immediately every four-letter word that my sleep-deprived mind could recall was emanating from my mouth. Chris and Bobby joined my outburst when they saw it too.

“How did they do it?” I demanded to know, feeling like a villain whose plans to take over the world had just been foiled by a super hero – in this case, my plans to win the Classic as a non-Alaskan rookie, a feat that has occurred only three times in the race’s twenty-eight-year history. “We haven’t seen any footprints the entire race! We took the most efficient route! They could not have passed us when we were sleeping – we’ve slept just two-and-a-half hours over the last eight-five! Ahhhhh!”

Chris and Bobby were equally mystified, yet we were convinced that somehow we had been outsmarted and outraced, probably by the famed Roman Dial and his partner Forrest McCarthy. We concluded the sandbar etching was playful ribbing by the race’s leaders and interpreted it to mean one thing: “Ha, ha! We were here before you and we’re going to win. You might as well pull into the cabin and get some rest – second place is the first loser.” Completely dejected, we picked up the ATV track and began a heavy-eyed trudge towards the finish.

About the Classic

The Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic could be considered “the original adventure race.” It was first held in 1982, seven years before the first Raid Gauloises, thirteen years before the first Eco-Challenge, and twenty years before the first Primal Quest. I’ll add that the Classic could also be considered the only “real” adventure race – today’s most well-known races are really just a prescribed sequence of outdoor sports – and burdensome rules, substantial mandatory gear lists, aid stations and support crews, and numerous checkpoints neutralize much of the “adventure” from these television-oriented events.

The Classic has always been an organic, non-commercialized insider’s race. The race is not coordinated by a formal organization; the race organizer is a volunteer position; there is no dedicated race website or online forum; entry forms are distributed via email to a select group; publicity about the race rarely goes beyond the Anchorage Daily News and a few low-traffic blogs; some portion of the $150 entry fee is always returned to the racers after expenses are paid; there’s no prize money, sponsors, race standings, or official records; and racers are explicitly told before the race, If you get yourself in trouble, you need to get yourself out of trouble. We’re not responsible for you; you are. If you’re not okay with that, don’t come.

This setup is completely intentional: as the 2009 race organizer told me in an email, “[The Classic] is absolutely unique, and we want to keep it that way. Small, limited to folks who can survive the thing, and who have a certain frame of mind about wilderness racing. Publicity beyond what we already have would almost certainly doom the race.” (It’s with some reservation that I submit this article, then, to Backpacking Light; though I have no doubt that the Classic will successfully stay true to its roots even if there is an unlikely surge of interest in 2010.)

One of the most redeeming features of the Classic is the near absence of rules. The information I was given before competing in the 2009 race went something like this: “The 2009 race starts on Sunday, July 26 at 10:00 a.m. at the Gerstle River bridge over the Alaska Highway. Racers must reach the gravel pit located three miles south of McKinley Village on the Parks Highway by Saturday, August 1 at 5:00 p.m. There is one mandatory check-in point at Mile 238 on the Richardson Highway. All racers must be self-propelled and self-contained (i.e. no motorized vehicles or pull/pack animals; and no caches or aid stations), and they must have a satellite phone and either an Alpacka or Sherpa raft (no Sevylors). Mapped roadways are off-limits. See you there, and good luck!”

As a result of so few rules, racers become very creative with their route choices and forms of travel, and complete surprises in race positions are common. At the start of this year’s race, racers scattered in three distinct directions. In past years, racers have toed the line with mountain bikes, skis, and even a paraglider. In the 2008 race the two winning teams took two entirely different routes and ran into each other four days later, just eight miles from the finish. Furthermore, having minimal rules adheres truer to the race’s wilderness ethos – for in true wilderness, there are no artificial, manmade rules.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 2
At the starting line the field could have been broken into two groups: fast backpackers and suffering-tolerant racers. This latter group (which included Roman Dial and Bobby Schnell, left and right, respectively) carried the ‘essentials’ – a packraft and satellite phone (the only two mandatory items), a few days of calorically dense food, a rainsuit, and maybe an insulated parka and/or space blanket. These participants came to win, or at least to perform well, and they didn’t believe that things like shelters, hot meals, bear spray, or polarized sunglasses were worth their weight.

Between its loose organization, twenty-eight-year history, big-personality participants, and wilderness locations, more than one night around a campfire would be needed to recall all Classic lore. One of the more well-known stories involves Dick Griffith, finisher of seventeen Classics, with the last being in 2004 at the age of eight-one! In the Classic’s inaugural 1982 Hope-to-Homer race, Dick outsmarted the other racers by carrying a packraft, which he used to float across the glacier-fed Skilak River and then down the glacier-fed Fox River, while all the other racers nearly drowned in the Skilak and then bushwhacked through alder down the Fox.

As he unpacked his raft on the Skilak’s braids he donned a fuzzy red Viking hat with blue horns, looked at his competition (which included the then twenty-one-year-old Roman Dial), and said, “You may be fast, but you young guys eat too much and don’t know nothin’. Old age and treachery conquer youth and skill any day!” A story from the 2009 Classic that will probably enter the history books comes courtesy of Craig “Chunk” Barnard and teammate Jordan of eastern Oregon, who attempted a dangerous but straight-forward route on the Black Rapids and Susitna Glaciers. After crossing miles of jumbled moraine and then more miles of earthquake-caused debris slides, they put in to the East Fork of the Susitna River.

Chunk poorly scouted a Class IV rapid while clutching riverside willows, flipped his boat and began Maytagging. Jordan, on his second packrafting trip ever, dropped into the same hole and pushed Chunk out, but got himself stuck. He lost his boat, paddle, and a shoe; he thankfully was wearing a PFD and eventually got tossed out. The PFD served a second purpose when he reached terra firma: with some duct tape, Jordan fashioned a shoe and started hiking out, only to find his boat and paddle a few miles downriver. They floated to the Denali Highway and called it quits.

Even if it’s not lore-worthy, it seems that every Classic racer goes home with a story to tell. What’s remarkable is that “character development” is the only potential “prize” for this suffering, and that there is never a shortage of individuals who want to compete, some year after year. Appropriate taglines for the Classic (courtesy of my teammate Chris) could be, “The race that everybody loses,” and “We all know better than to do this race.”

About the 2009 Classic: Gerstle River to McKinley Village

The 2009 course was an extended version of the 1994-1996 course, from Donnelly to McKinley Village. The new starting point was the Gerstle River bridge over the Denali Highway; Donnelly was made the one mandatory checkpoint. The course’s straight-line distance is about 117 miles; the actual distance of the conventional route is 170-180 miles, with a maximum of 35 miles (20%) being packraft-able. See the Skurka team route (red) and Dial team route (green).

The course traverses the northernmost portion of the Delta Range and then the length of the Hayes Range. After skirting around or over Granite Mountain, the conventional route passes through foothills north of the Hayes Range’s crest, which is a series of 10,000- to 13,000-foot glacier-covered peaks, including the namesake 13,832-foot Mount Hayes. Three enormous glaciers – the Trident, Hayes, and Gillam – spill out into valleys along the route and must be crossed. Most of the conventional route is above 3,000 feet, which is the upper limit for trees, so racers find themselves trekking mostly through brush, tussocks, “sponga” (soft, energy-sapping tundra with ankle-biting vegetation like dwarf willows), or joyous hard tundra. Racers who had competed in the 1994-1996 race recall the route being less brushy than it is now – whether this is a global warming-caused reality or a function of old age and fading memories is unclear.

Challenges specific to this year’s race were mostly related to unseasonably high temperatures. Glaciers were melting rapidly and glacier-fed waterways were dangerously swollen. Hayes “Creek,” for example, was a frothing Class VI torrent of filthy gray water and had to be crossed by climbing atop the glacier above where the creek emerges below it. And the Yanert River, usually a pleasant Class I float, developed Class III holes. The high temperatures may also have placed additional stress on racers’ feet in the form of increased sweating and friction. Destroyed feet seem to be an inherent part of the Classic, so it’s difficult to say whether this year’s field suffered any more than those in the past.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 3
The terrain from Mile 40 through 90 alternated between ‘sponga’ (soft, energy-sapping tundra with ankle-biting vegetation like dwarf willows), swollen waterways, and treacherous moraines (pictured). The moraines, in particular, were tough: our progress across the jumbled, pattern-less fields of ice, loose rock, and sand was painfully slow and dangerous.

The 2009 Race: My Story

Some Background

The 2009 Classic was designed to be the final bookend of my first trip to Alaska. I first heard about the race in 2003 while developing content for GoLite’s website – Roman Dial was a GoLite-sponsored athlete at the time and included his Classic accomplishments in his bio. I looked online for details about the race, found nothing, and wondered what the big deal was. Over time I heard more about the Classic and about Roman, and concluded that no one made a big deal of either because too few people truly understood them. Really, how many people can relate to racing across remote Alaskan wilderness on no sleep, with no potential for fame or fortune, and with no outside assistance or safety systems?

And who can comprehend the many accomplishments of Classic racers: the late Chuck Comstock pioneered hard ice climbing routes in Valdez and the Wrangell’s, and also traversed the Brooks Range and Chugach Range in cross-country racing skis in the 1980s; Barney Griffith made many first descents of classic kayak runs in the 1970s, including Devil’s Canyon of the Susitna River (when he was eighteen) and the Talkeetna Canyon (when he was seventeen); Rocky Reifenstuhl is an eighteen-time finisher of the Iditabike and eight-time winner; and Roman became the first person to mountain bike the length of the Alaska Range in 1996 and successfully hiked 600 unsupported miles across northwest Alaska in 2006, in addition to outstanding performances in the early Eco-Challenge races.

The primary focus of my first trip to Alaska was a 700-mile 4-week trip through the south-central part of the state. I started in the small hamlet of Hope, located across Turnagain Arm from Anchorage, and followed the original Classic route to Homer, from where I took an Erin- and Hig-inspired route through the Kenai Fjords to Seward. From Seward, I made my way north into the western Chugach Range and then, after more vertical gain and loss than I care to remember, I crossed the Matanuska Valley and entered the Talkeetna Mountains. This final section was the climax: 200+ miles in eight days, mostly on hard-packed tundra; daily caribou sightings and several glorious packrafting sections; and four days without seeing a human footprint, five days without seeing a manmade track, and six days without seeing anybody. The Talkeetnas were so good that I resupplied and returned there for four more days and another 100+ miles.

As I expected, I showed up to the Classic in great shape: my body was leaned out, my feet and legs were strong, my skills had been sharpened, and my comfort level in Alaskan wilderness was much higher. Even so I was still unsure about how competitive I would be – are Alaskan-bred racers just on a different level than Outsiders like me? Do racers really run off the line and go days without sleep? I didn’t think I could maintain that pace, and I’ve never stayed awake for more than forty-eight hours. How was I going to outrace and/or outsmart Classic veterans and multi-time winners?

Gerstle to Donnelly

At the starting line the field could have been broken into two groups: fast backpackers and suffering-tolerant racers. The former carried ultralight backpacking loads: frameless packs, tarps, stoves, foam sleeping pads, decked packrafts and PFDs, etc. They were planning to hike fast, get some sleep, and stay safe. The latter group carried, well, the bare essentials: a packraft and satellite phone (the only two mandatory items), a few days of calorically dense food, a rainsuit, and maybe an insulated parka and/or space blanket. These participants came to win, or at least to perform well, and they didn’t believe that things like shelters, hot meals, bear spray, or polarized sunglasses were worth their weight.

I fell somewhere in between these two groups. I was willing to forgo my shelter and sleep system, figuring I could always pitch my packraft like a tarp and wrap myself in a space blanket; and I left behind my PFD, knowing that the rivers were usually just Class I-II, which is within my comfort zone. But I was reluctant to leave behind my bear spray, since I was planning to race solo, or my 5-ounce alcohol cook system – a full, steaming pot of potato spuds on a rainy night… priceless. My base weight came to 15.3 pounds – the packraft setup was 7.9 pounds and the remainder of my gear (including the 12-ounce satellite phone) was 7.4 pounds. See my full gear list. And I was carrying about 4.5 days’ worth of food, which weighed another 11 pounds – more than I would normally have taken, but my metabolism was very hot due to the 800 miles I had just finished.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 4
Unseasonably high temperatures during the 2009 race resulted in rapid glacial melt and swollen waterways, including the East Fork of the Little Delta River (pictured). In an effort to save weight, teammates Bobby and Chris took the three-pound Alpacka Scouts, which were inappropriate for the whitewater we encountered. I fared much better in my Alpacka Yukon Yak.

Just before the start I approached Bobby Schnell and Chris Robertson, two Anchorage-based pararescuemen (“PJ’s”) who had six wins between them since 2003 and who were probably the race favorites. I met Bobby and Chris at a pre-race cookout two days earlier and had exchanged a lot of route beta; we seemed to have similar temperaments and to be approaching the race with a similar mindset. So they were very welcoming when I asked if they would mind if I accompanied them for at least the first forty miles, to the checkpoint at Donnelly, from where I thought I would pull back and settle into my own race. I never really thought that I would race the entire way with them.

A starting gun would be too fancy for the Classic so the race director simply says, “Go!” Bobby, Chris, and I took off running northwest down an ATV track, with the intention of going around the north side of Granite Mountain by stitching together various tracks with short cross-country segments. Other racers went in complete opposite directions — some headed towards St. Anthony Pass while others took the proudest line, up and over Granite Mountain. The fact that we were running down the track concerned me – doing nine-minute miles with a twenty-five-pound pack seemed unsustainable.

A south wind became fierce as we approached the Delta River – a weather front was trying to push north across the Alaska Range but was hung up by the range’s high peaks, and so the whole system was trying to squeeze through this corridor, just one of three that cuts through the range. We checked in at Donnelly at 10:30 p.m. in first place and headed out onto the gravel flats.

Donnelly to Gillam Glacier

Given the river’s swift current and the strong headwind, which was now approaching a steady 50 MPH, we decided to put in a half-mile upstream of our planned take-out point, just above the mouth of McGinnis Creek; it looked as if we would have to cross three or four braids. We tucked behind some alder to inflate our boats, which we lashed to our paddles knowing that our boats could take flight once beyond our windbreak.

Bobby put in to the first braid and was quickly carried downstream of the intended take-out – his Alpacka Scout looked squirrely in the current and he couldn’t ferry well with his Ultralight paddle. I put in next and ferried smoothly across in my Yak. Chris squeezed his 6’1″ 190-lb frame into his boat and immediately flipped, twice, before adjusting his center of gravity and paddling across to meet me. We crossed the remaining three braids without incident and grouped back up on the other side behind another alder thicket, somewhat shaken but also pleased with our success under such challenging conditions.

The sun struck McGinnis Peak, Mount Moffit, and Mount Shand a few minutes after we emerged from the woodlands into tundra. The peaks were now protecting us from the wind but we could see dust being blown down the Delta River flats below. “For their sake I hope no other racers have to deal with what we did last night,” remarked Chris, feeling a little fresher after our first break, a fifteen-minute snooze. I thought the comment was indicative of the friendly competition among the small Classic community.

We went across-the-grain of sponga-covered benches towards the Trident Glacier and its 1.5-mile-wide moraine. After dropping down steep, loose slopes of dry glacial silt and embedded rocks, we started across the moraine directly in our general line of travel but realized quickly that our progress across this jumbled, pattern-less field of ice, rock, and sand was painfully slow and treacherous. So we cut straight across instead and then paralleled the glacier downstream once we reached the other side.

More sponga awaited us on our way to the Hayes Glacier and its outlet “creek” (see the story above), and again on our way to the East Fork of the Little Delta River, which is fed by the Gillam Glacier and which had plowed an entirely new channel through its valley that forced us to slog several more miles in a swamp forest than we had hoped to. By the end of the day it was clear that the course’s alternating variety of sponga, swollen waterways, and treacherous moraines over the last thirty miles was wearing on us – we all felt as if we’d put in a fifty-mile effort. We were definitely no longer running.

Gillam Glacier to the Yanert River

The course conditions improved west of the East Fork: our route was consistently above 4,000 feet, just beyond the upper limits of the sponga; the river crossings were more manageable; the creek bottoms were gravel-filled and the river bottoms were wide and braided; excellent game trails paralleled the waterways through willows and birchbrush. We made good time over 6,200-foot Buchanan Pass to the West Fork of the Little Delta River, and we were looking forward to getting off our feet after crossing a 5,700-foot pass in the dark at 2:00 a.m. and reaching the Wood River at 5:00 a.m. The Wood is normally too low-volume to float but we assumed correctly that it would have enough water this year.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 5
By night three, the effects of trekking 120 rugged miles in 2.75 days on two hours of sleep were showing. When I had to apply Krazy Glue to cracking trekking pole-caused calluses along the inside of my thumbs, I demonstrated my not-so-sharp mind by gluing the tube securely to the pad of my thumb. In order to remove it I had to cut off the top layer of skin with my knife.

Our arrival at the Wood marked the beginning of the homestretch – the remainder of the race consisted of just a ten-mile float, an easy seventeen-mile trek over a pass, a twenty-five-mile float, and seven miles on ATV tracks. We knew we were getting close and with some degree of confidence we began projecting a finish time. It must have been entertaining to watch us calculate: using the same assumptions about our rate of travel, we calculated three different finishing times before having a repeat number on the fourth try. With our brains overwhelmed by the simple mathematics we stopped calculating and decided that one must be correct.

Even though our spirits were lifted by the proximity of the finish line, the effects of trekking 120 rugged miles in 2.75 days were definitely showing. A few hours earlier I applied Krazy Glue to the cracking trekking pole-caused calluses along the inside of my thumbs, and in the process I glued the tube securely to the pad of my thumb and had to cut off the top layer of skin with my knife in order to remove it. Bobby’s lower back was horribly chafed and almost bleeding due to pack-rub. Chris had bad tendonitis in his ankle and carried on only with the help of regular “Tylenol cocktails” that consisted of 800 mg of ibuprofen and 200 mg of Tylenol. Chris and Bobby had fashioned trekking poles from debarked alder they found on the gravel braids in order to aid their tiring legs. And we were all walking gingerly on our macerated feet, which we had treated with fresh air and dry warmth for about the same amount of time that we had slept — cumulatively, two hours.

We floated ten miles down the Wood in two hours to Big Grizzly Creek. Rafting had been faster than walking, but it was not straight-forward: we occasionally had to walk our boats around short, shallow sections where the river braided out; and Bobby and Chris got soaked by the river splashing above the ten-inch tubes of their boats. Everyone was drier and happier after thirty minutes around a big fire, though, and I also inhaled a bowl of creamy hot soup.

Old horse trails took us up Big Grizzly Creek and into Edgar Creek. Along the way we had our only bear encounter – a sow and two cubs ran a quarter-mile towards us across a meadow only to run even faster in the opposite direction when they saw we were humans, not delicious moose or goats. That encounter was typical of all my bear encounters in Alaska, where the animal seems to still have a healthy fear of man.

We reached the Yanert River at 5:00 p.m.; Chris and Bobby requested a thirty-minute time-out before getting in the rafts. I was buzzing from a caffeine pill and couldn’t rest, which came back to haunt me later in the evening: I managed to both “sleepraft” and sleepwalk, thankfully without consequence. While they were resting I broke out my large-scale maps and concluded that there was no obviously better route than we had taken, and I was happy to tell them when they woke up that I thought we were going to win.

Race Report 2009 Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic - 6
Starting around sixty hours into the race we all began walking gingerly on our macerated feet (pictured on left, post-race), which we treated with fresh air and dry warmth for about the same amount of time that we slept — cumulatively, 2.5 hours over 3.75 days. My teammate Chris developed bad tendonitis in his ankle and carried on only with the help of regular ‘Tylenol cocktails’ that consisted of 800 mg of ibuprofen and 200 mg of Tylenol. The picture was taken 1.5 days after we finished.

The Finish

After our discovery in the sand at Ravine Creek, we dejectedly plodded along the ATV track towards the gravel pit. It was the lowest point for all of us: our bodies were demanding rest and recovery, especially since there was barely enough light to see and there was nothing along the tracks to demand our attention. Yet we continued to push onwards and self-inflict further pain and misery, struggling to justify it for second place but ultimately unable to halt our own locomotion that had apparently become automatic after three days and eighteen hours of near-constant movement towards the finish line.

A brightening sky helped us pull it together for the last mile; our conversation was marginally sensible. We located the sign-in sheet, which was duct-taped to a post, and cautiously approached it, looking for signs that other racers had been there. None had been – the sign-in sheet was blank! We had won.

Two-and-a-half days later, after returning to Anchorage and enjoying an eighteen-hour slumber, Bobby, Chris, Roman, Forrest and I recounted our Classic experience over burgers and beers. And we also solved the Ravine Creek mystery: one of the racers who had dropped out at Donnelly hiked in from the Parks Highway to the cabin and thought she was doing us a favor by telling us where the cabin was. Little did she know how we would end up interpreting her note in the sandbar. Oh well, it made a good story and it certainly will not dissuade us from competing in the Classic again.

 

Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket Review

Perfect balance of warmth, light weight, and performance for less extreme conditions.

Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket Review - 1
Front and back views of the Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket. The Flash is an ultralight minimalist jacket with thin shell fabric, 850+ down insulation, and an essential feature set consisting of an attached hood, two insulated pockets, and a full front zipper.

Western Mountaineering targeted the 9-ounce (manufacturer specified average weight) Hooded Flash Jacket to provide sufficient warmth in less extreme temperature ranges, like spring and fall backpacking in warmer climates, and summer backpacking in the mountains. Its 0.9 oz/yd2 shell is filled with 850+ fill power down, and the jacket has no drawcords, cordlocks, or Velcro. Rather, it’s a minimalist jacket with an essential feature set consisting of an attached hood, two insulated pockets, and a full front zipper. Its quest is to achieve the perfect balance of warmth, light weight, and performance. This review evaluates how well it succeeds on that goal, and how it compares to some other minimalist down jackets.

I like the sizing of the Flash (see measurements below). I am a typical size Large (6 feet tall, 170 pounds, my arms are a bit longer than average), and the Flash fits me perfectly. It has enough room inside to layer over a thick baselayer, sweater, or vest. The sleeves are extra long, and the body extends about six inches below my hips.

Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket Review - 2
The sculptured hood (left) fits well without any adjustors, and has room to layer over a warm hat. Side pockets (middle) are roomy and insulated. The cuff openings (right) are finished with a simple elastic piping, as are the hood, pockets, and hem.

The Flash Jacket contains about three ounces of 850+ down fill (the actual amount varies by jacket size) and has sewn-through construction. Chamber size varies in different parts of the jacket, with smaller chambers in the front, and sleeves and larger chambers in the back. The down is uniformly distributed and chambers are uniformly filled and puffy. I neglected to measure the jacket’s loft when I first received it, but the measured double layer loft (mid torso and sleeves) after five months of use is 1.75 inches.

Performance

I tested the Flash Jacket over a five-month period while backcountry skiing, snowshoeing, tent and igloo winter camping, day hiking, and spring backpacking. In cold weather, I wore it as a mid-layer with a shell over it, and on warmer days I wore it on breaks and in camp. I typically wore it in my sleeping bag for extra warmth.

Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket Review - 3
I wore the Flash Jacket on a February igloo camping/backcountry skiing trip (left) and an early May visit to the alpine tundra on snowshoes (right). In both cases, nighttime temperatures dropped to 25 F and I stayed warm with the Flash Jacket layered over a heavy baselayer and a shell over it.

Western Mountaineering Hooded Flash Jacket Review - 4
Early spring backpacking in southern Utah (shown) and summertime backpacking in the mountains – where nighttime temperatures can drop down to freezing or below – are more typical applications for the Flash Jacket.

The Flash’s lightweight shell fabric is superb (see specifications). The micro-ripstop fabric is quite durable, very wind and water resistant, fairly breathable (calendering makes it stronger and downproof at the expense of some breathability), and has a soft hand. Western Mountaineering pays extremely close attention to details in the manufacture of the fabrics used in their products.

Overall, I found the Flash Jacket to be warm down to about freezing when inactive, and warm down into the teens when active. It performs equally well as a mid-layer and outer-layer. The jacket’s shell has a good DWR finish that effectively sheds snow and light rain, but it does wet through at the seams with extended exposure. The shell is adequately durable, but not bomber, and requires reasonable care to avoid snags and punctures. It’s also downproof; I experienced very little down leakage, even from the seams.

It’s important to note that I did not test the Flash in temperatures colder than 0 F, and that was only briefly on a cold morning at the igloo while getting ready to go skiing. On another occasion it was 9 F with a 12 mph wind après-ski, and I had to wear another jacket under the Flash to stay warm.

Assessment

Is the WM Flash Jacket the perfect balance of warmth, light weight, and performance? In my opinion, it’s pretty darn close for the applications I have described. For summer backpacking in the mountains and spring/fall backpacking in the desert, where it’s not unusual for nighttime temperatures to drop down to freezing or below, the WM Flash Jacket is just right to provide the needed warmth with minimal weight.

Similar jackets in this category would include the hoodless Montbell Ex-Light Down Jacket (6.3 ounces, $160), Montbell Down Inner Parka (7.4 ounces size M, $160), and the Nunatak SkahaPlus Pullover (9.6 ounces size M, $325). For me, the first two, containing 1.8 and 2.1 ounces of down, respectively, are barely warm enough for mountain backpacking, except in mid-summer. The SkahaPlus, with 5 ounces of down and baffled construction, is plenty warm and very light, but it’s also very pricey. Western Mountaineering seems to have done their homework well; the Flash Jacket is very close to the perfect balance of warmth, light weight, and performance.

Specifications and Features

  Manufacturer

Western Mountaineering (http://www.westernmountaineering.com/)

  Year/Model

2009 Hooded Flash Jacket

  Insulation

850+ fill power down, average fill weight 3 oz (85 g)

  Fabrics

Shell is calendared 20d 0.9 oz/yd2 (30 g/m2) tightly woven high tear strength Dot-Ripstop nylon with DWR; lining is breathable downproof plain weave 20d taffeta

  Construction

Sewn-through; attached hood; elastic binding on pockets, cuffs, front of hood, and hem

  Features

Insulated hood (no adjustors), full height lightweight reversed coil front zipper, down filled draft tube behind zipper, two insulated hand pockets

  Measurements

Size L tested. Front neck seam to hem 23.5 in (60 cm), rear body length 27 in (69 cm), tail dropped 2.5 in (6 cm), sleeves 35 in (89 cm)

  Weight

Measured weight men’s L 10.5 oz (298 g), manufacturer specified average weight 9 oz (255 g)

  Sizes

Unisex XS-XL (women’s specific sizes and colors available in July 2009)

  MSRP

US$260

Garmin Oregon 550t Handheld Color Mapping GPS Review

Garmin trumpets the addition of a camera to this gadget, but are the improvement they DON’T mention even more impressive?

Overview

Garmin touts the addition of a digital camera as the most significant improvement in the Oregon 550t, but I am more excited about number of other improvements. Some the improvements listed below are not even mentioned in Garmin’s list of upgrades in the press release for the Oregon 550t .

Ranking of Improvements of the Oregon 550t vs. Oregon 400t (and in some instances the Colorado 400t):

  • More daylight readable screen (an improvement over the hard to read, matte finish, touchscreen of the Oregon 400t)
  • Improved Features/Usability (especially touchscreen)/Software updates (since the introduction of the Colorado series)
  • New three-axis magnetic compass (unit does not need to be held level for accurate magnetic compass reading)
  • Longer battery life
  • Greener: Ships with rechargeable NiMH batteries and charger
  • Lighter and more pocket friendly shape (than the Colorado series)
  • 3.2 Mp Camera (useful for basic documentation of your trip, and for “visuals” of waypoints, it not a “photographic quality” camera.)
BPL Measurements Summary  
Weight: 200 g (7.0 oz) with supplied 2,000 mAh NiMH batteries
195 g (6.9 oz) with alkaline batteries
150 g (5.3 oz) without batteries
Battery Life: Tested 16.5 hours with supplied 2,000 mAh NiMH batteries
Estimated 20 to 22+ hours with 2,700mAh NiMH batteries

Field Performance

Garmin released the Oregon 550 series GPS units just prior to ORSM 2009. I had a chance to test drive the new unit on a five-day backpacking trip after the show. The most touted upgrade from the 400 to 550 series is the addition of a camera, but I found another upgrade (which Garmin barely mentions) is more significant: its display.

Display

The touch screen introduced in the Oregon 400 series was a significant improvement in ease of use and speed of use over the Colorado series. The Oregon was smaller, lighter and a much more appealing and pocketable shape. But the touch screen display had a slightly matte finish that made it difficult to read in broad daylight. We had already dinged the Colorado series for being hard to read and the Oregon units were even a bit harder read*.

When I turned the Oregon 550t on, I the first thing noticed that it was easier to view than the Oregon 400 units. It is at least as readable as the non-touchscreen Colorado 400t display, if not a smidge better. I double-checked with Jake Jacobson of Garmin at the OR Show, and he confirmed that the display had changed for the Oregon 550t. “We thought the display was a lot more readable for the 550 but were hesitant to make a big deal of it for fear that end users might think it wasn’t that significant an improvement.” Is the Oregon 550t as easy to view as a GPS Map or e-Trex? No. But the new display turns the Oregon 550t into what may be Garmin’s most field-useable GPS unit.

Note: Turning off the Shaded Relief (in the Map Setup, Advanced menu) makes topographic maps a lot more readable on the 550t. In this mode, the map screen looks much more like the higher contrast, easier to read e-Trex units of the past.

*To be fair, it seems that most of the new high-resolution GPS displays, the Garmin Colorado and Oregon series and the Magellan Triton 1500 and 2000, touch screen or not, are not as bright, high contrast, or as easily viewed as their lower resolution predecessors, e.g. Garmin eTrex, or GPS Map series. After an initial disappointment with the new high-resolution GPS displays, I have learned to live with them as a necessary inconvenience to gain significant improvements in other areas. Even though I may have to tilt the display or use a backlight now and then to make it more viewable, I still prefer the new GPS units (especially the touch screen models) higher resolution maps, faster processors, and improved usability over the older GPS units. That being said, I am still looking forward to the next generation high-resolution of touch screen displays that will hopefully be brighter and higher contrast.

Battery Life – Rechargeable Batteries

Battery Life Oregon 550t*  
Tested: Garmin supplied 2,000 mAh NiMH batteries 16. 5 hours
Estimated: 2,700mAh NiMH batteries (if user supplied) 20 to 22+ hours
*Unit in 15-second backlight timeout 65% of time and backlight always on 35% of time

One of our complaints about the Colorado was that it had about half the battery life of the previous e-Trex series units. The Oregon 500t has improved power management and has better battery life.

On our five-day trip, the 550t never dropped below indicating a full charge. This is probably due to the unit powering down the screen completely when timing-out and the reinstatement of a “battery saver” mode for the GPS receiver. We welcome back this function, which worked well for the e-Trex series.

The Oregon 550t ships with the newest technology, low discharge, AA NiMH, rechargeable batteries and a very nice four-cell charger. In our testing, the 550t made its sixteen specified hours using these batteries.

Low discharge batteries retain their capacity even after twelve months of storage (90% plus capacity after six months, and 85% capacity after twelve months). This is a great convenience and means that you do not have charge your batteries all the time keep their capacity up to spec. The Garmin supplied batteries are rated at a nominal 2,000 mAh, and a minimum of 1,900 mAh. We tested them at 1,925 mAh.

Higher capacity NiMH AA batteries can run up to 2,700 mAh, true tested capacity. These batteries are not low self-discharge and typically lose around 5% of their capacity the first day and 1% per day thereafter. Thus, they need to be re-charged frequently, even if they are not used. To get the full usable capacity, you need to use the batteries in a short period after charging. If you did so, one might expect a run time of 20 to 22+ hours for the 550t. This would put the runtime of the 550t in the same range as the old e-Trex series.

We welcome the green advantages of rechargeable batteries. But rechargeable batteries have another advantage. No more wondering if you should take partially used batteries into the field for your next trip (I usually do, and carry a backup for when they run down). Now, you can just top off the NiMHs in the charger and you have fully charged batteries for each trip. Not carrying spare batteries would save you about 50 g (1.8 oz).

Operation/User Interface

The Oregon User Interface is a significant improvement over the Colorado, solving many of our gripes. The touch screen is just a better tool than the Rock-n-Roll Wheel. Menus, functions and capabilities have also improved. Text input is the easiest of any GPS I’ve used. In just a few minutes in the field, I constructed a couple of 12-20 waypoint routes on the 550t, including creating all new waypoints using the GPS unit’s maps. (The inability to easily build routes using the GPS unit’s maps was a big complaint about the Colorado.) On the Oregon a seven-year-old could do it. And no longer does the GPS “vexingly jump back to your current physical location on the map,” a big complaint when we tested the Colorado 400t.

Customizable user profiles and menus keep the “riff raff” and “fluff” features (and there are many) hidden and out of the way. It is fairly simple to configure a streamlined first menu screen with the essential navigation functions you use most often. In this mode the unit is very fast and very easy to use. Many screens have multiple display fields that can be quickly customized in a dizzying array of options.

GPS Performance

GPS performance is excellent. Without tree cover, we got a GPS fix as soon as the 550t booted and loaded maps. In a deep canyon with heavy tree cover, it took between one and two minutes to get a fix. This is no surprise. The Colorado 400t had excellent GPS performance when we tested it, and we assume that the Oregon 550t has an equal or better GPS reception chipset (Garmin considers its GPS unit processors and reception chipsets proprietary information and will not release details on them).

Water Resistance

We had a very wet trip with lots of light rain and showers during the day with some torrential afternoon to early evening thunderstorms. We used the 550t in the rain and stored it in a none-too-dry hipbelt pocket that had water pooling in the bottom. We had no problems with usability or water entry into the GPS.

Unlike the Colorado with the Rock-n-Roll Wheel interface, the 550t and its touchscreen interface is completely compatible with a flexible waterproof case. All functions can easily be used though the case cover – great for saltwater use and other harsh environments.

The Camera

The Garmin Press Release for the 550t states: “There’s no need to tote a separate camera in your pack or pocket, as Oregon 550’s 3.2 megapixel autofocus digital camera with 4x digital zoom…”

Well maybe not. The camera is certainly useful for basic documentation of your trip, and especially useful for capturing a visual record of critical navigation points, geotagged with their locations. If you are happy with cell phone quality pictures, you are in luck. The Oregon 550t can do double duty as a GPS/Camera for your trip. If you want a “photographic quality” camera for a trip, you’ll need to look elsewhere. Even an inexpensive point and shoot camera has a lot more features and produces better pictures.

What’s Good

  • Fast, powerful and easy to use with touchscreen display and good menu/functions/software.
  • Excellent GPS reception.
  • Better battery life. Improved power management. Battery Save mode.
  • Green: High capacity, low discharge, rechargeable batteries.
  • Lighter and more pocketable size than Colorado Series. Closer to the weight and pocketability of old e-Trex series.
  • New three-axis magnetic compass.
  • Good 1:100K maps for the US. 100% coverage with nice shaded relief display.
  • 850 Mb of internal memory sufficient for most map uploads and photo storage.
  • Included 3.2 megapixel camera.
  • Ships with rechargeable batteries and charger.

What’s Not So Good

  • While improved, the display could still be brighter with more contrast.
  • MicroSD card slot is under the batteries and a bit difficult to access (although you probably won’t need to use it often).
  • Unit hung a couple of times in the field, but was quickly rebooted by holding down the power button. (This is a debut GPS unit. We assume a firmware upgrade will fix this in the next few months. This appears to be an industry norm for many manufacturer’s new and more complex GPS units, which requiring multiple firmware updates over a period many months to fix bugs, and add features.)
  • No 100% national coverage of 1:24K maps. Limited 1:24K map availability from Garmin: only for some National Parks, and only as an additional purchase. Magellan and DeLorme both provide 100% coverage for a “per map” fee.

Things to Know

The included US topographic maps are still only viewable on the Oregon 550t, not on a personal computer. To view the topographic maps and use them to enhance route planning on your PC, you need to purchase Garmin Mapsource Topo U.S. software.

Specifications

(as stated by Manufacturer)

  Unit Dimensions, WxHxD:

2.3" x 4.5" x 1.4" (5.8 x 11.4 x 3.5 cm)

  Display Size, WxH:

1.53"W x 2.55"H (3.8 x 6.3 cm); 3" diag (7.6 cm)

  Display Resolution, WxH:

240 x 400 pixels

  Display Type:

Transflective color TFT touchscreen

  Weight:

6.8 oz (192.7 g) with batteries

  Battery:

2 AA NiMH batteries included

  Battery Life:

16 hours

  Waterproof:

yes (IPX7)

  Floats:

no

  High-Sensitivity Receiver:

yes

  Interface:

high-speed USB and NMEA 0183 compatible

  RoHS Version Available:

yes

  Maps & Memory:

  Basemap:

yes

  Preloaded Maps:

yes (topographic)

  Ability to Add Maps:

yes

  Built-in Memory:

850 MB

  Accepts Data Cards:

microSD™ card (not included)

  Waypoints/Favorites/Locations:

2000

  Routes:

200

  Track Log:

10,000 points, 200 saved tracks

  Features:

  Automatic Routing (turn by turn routing on roads):

yes (with optional mapping for detailed roads)

  Electronic Compass:

yes (tilt-compensated, 3-axis)

  Touchscreen:

yes

  Barometric Altimeter:

yes

  Geocaching-Friendly:

yes (paperless)

  Camera:

yes (3.2 megapixel with autofocus; 4x digital zoom)

  Outdoor GPS Games:

yes (Wherigo only)

  Hunt/Fish Calendar:

yes

  Sun and Moon Information:

yes

  Tide Tables:

yes

  Area Calculation:

yes

  Custom POIs (ability to add additional points of interest):

yes

  Unit-to-Unit Transfer (shares data wirelessly with similar units):

yes

  Picture Viewer:

yes

  What’s Included:

Oregon 550t
AA battery charger
2 AA NiMH batteries
Carabiner clip
USB cable
Owner’s manual on disk
Quick start manual

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera

A compact digicam with a professional pedigree, the LX3 tempts outdoor photographers with a fast wide angle (f:2.0/24 mm equivalent) zoom lens, RAW file capability, high-definition video and solid performance.

Introduction

Digital camera development continues apace, shabby economy or no. Hundreds of compact models tempt backpacking photographers (or photo-taking backpackers) from store shelves and internet ads. Folks who want a compact that’s a legitimate substitute for a dslr quickly narrow down this supposed field of riches to a relative handful of ambitious compacts. Introduced mid-2008, the Panasonic Lumix LX3 (and its Leica D-LUX-4 twin) deserves serious consideration for membership in this tiny group.

The LX3 is a high-end compact digicam, part of a small but hopefully growing market segment of lightweight cameras that deliver very high quality point-and-shoot results and still give the shooter significant control over most camera settings. The metal-skinned LX3 has an especially fast f:2.0 wide-angle Leica DC Vario-Summicron lens of modest 2.5x zoom range – a range that must seem particularly loony to anyone impressed with the new twenty-something-times zooms recently dropped on the market. In another notable countercurrent to pretty much every other camera maker, Panasonic retained the approximate pixel count from the previous LX2. Rather than raising the count they chose to enlarge both the chip itself and the size of its photosites. These moves decreased image noise and kept image file sizes small.

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Spanning four decades, one classic compact backpacking camera, the Rollei 35, meets a potential classic, the LX3.

The LX3 doesn’t share the Sigma DP1‘s big-chip ambitions, despite being effectively the same size (if half the price). Its closest true competition is the Ricoh GX200. The Canon G10 is another obvious and popular competitor, but is much larger (half again as heavy and more than twice the bulk) and lacks the LX3’s lens speed and wide angle of view, though it reaches much further at the telephoto end. The G10 also has an optical viewfinder. The two are very different creatures, each offering some distinct advantages over the other.

Specifications

  Lens:

F2.0-2.8, 5.1-12.8 mm, 2.5x zoom (35 mm equivalent 24-60 mm)

  Megapixels:

10.1 effective (maximum available is 10.0 at 4:3 aspect ratio)

  Sensor Size:

1/1.63-inch (approx. 6×8 mm) CCD

  Screen:

460k dots, 3.0 inches diagonal, 3:2 aspect ratio

  Shutter:

60 seconds to 1/2000 second

  Aperture:

f:2.0-2.8 to f:8

  ISO:

80 to 3,200

  Exposure Modes:

Program AE, Auto, Aperture Priority AE, Shutter AE, Manual, Custom (2), Video, Scene

  Metering:

multiple zone, spot, center-weighted

  Focusing:

Normal, macro, quick, continuous, manual, one shot AF, AF area select, AF tracking, face detection

  Image File Formats:

RAW, JPEG, RAW+JPEG

  Still Image Aspect Ratios:

4:3, 3:2, 16:9

  Video Modes:

Standard 4:3-640 x 480 pixels 30 fps, 320 x 240 pixels 30 fps, 10 fps; 16:9-848 x 480 pixels 30 fps

  HD (16:9 Aspect Ratio):

1,280 x 720 pixels 24 fps 16:9 Aspect Ratio: 848 x 480 pixels 30 fps

  Image Stabilization:

optical

  Drive Modes:

single, continuous, self-timer, multiple exposure

  Flash:

popup plus hotshoe

  Low-light Focusing Illumination:

LED

  Storage:

SD/SDHC card, maximum capacity 4 GB/32 GB, respectively

  Cache Memory:

50 MB

  Audio Recording:

5-sec audio clips with still images

  Battery:

Li-ion, Panasonic CGA-S005 (no AAA option)

  Battery Life (CIPA standard):

380 frames/190 minutes video

  Dimensions
(W, H, D):

108.7 x 59.5 x 27.1 mm (4.28 x 2.34 x 1.07 in.)

  Weight:

265 g/0.58 lb with battery and memory card

  BPL Weight:

255 g/9.0 oz with battery, wrist strap and storage card

  Colors:

black or silver

  Cost:

$499

  Weatherproof?

No

  Shockproof?

No

  Firmware Version:

1.3

  Notable Optional Accessories:

DMW VF1 24mm optical viewfinder: $230
DMW-LA4 Accessory adapter/lens hood
DMW-LW46 0.75x wide angle adapter lens

Description

The LX3 body is roughly a pack o’ cards in size, but the parked and capped lens extends nearly an inch from the body. The lens keeps the LX3 from stowing into a standard pant or shirt pocket, but jacket and cargo-type pant pockets are fine. The zoom control is a tabbed ring around the shutter button, operated from the front. Also on the top deck are a focus lock, the power switch (a slider, not a push button), the flash release switch and the mode dial.

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LX3 viewed from the top, showing lens at maximum wide angle setting, several controls and the hotshoe and popup flash.

While the big three-inch LCD display dominates the back, it thankfully hasn’t driven off all the controls, leaving space enough for several buttons, a slider switch, and a clever and tiny joystick. These are arrayed on the right-hand side.

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LX3 viewed from the back, showing the large LCD display, the joystick, and several control buttons. The extended flash just clears the third-party optical viewfinder.

The front is blank, save for the lens, the self-timer/autofocus LED, and a small grip. The lens barrel hosts a pair of three-position slider switches for focus mode and aspect ratio. The combo battery and SD card hatch is on the bottom, and the covered I/O ports are on the right side. In sum, the LX3’s layout and appearance is quite clean compared to most contemporaries.

The buttons are small and many require thumbnail operation – no surprise on a camera this wee. While miniscule, the joystick is still a boon for several quick access menu functions. It also operates manual focus.

The Lens

The 5.1-12.8 mm/f:2.0-2.8 lens is a small wonder. For many years, my favorite backpacking lens was a 25/2.8, so this is like a visit back in time. The 24-millimeter (equivalent) wide angle, especially paired with the 16:9 aspect ratio, renders wonderful panoramic scenery. At the other 60 millimeter end, it’s not much longer than a “normal” lens – good for portraiture, but not foreshortening distant peaks or snagging wildlife.

Very wide angle lenses this fast are almost unheard of, and they even allow handholding in very low light. Coupled with the LX3’s effective optical image stabilization (“Mega O.I.S.”) the ISO can be kept relatively low in poor light, which reduces image noise while minimizing or eliminating camera motion. Note: subject motion can only be managed by high shutter speed or flash.

On startup, the lens opens to its widest setting, which, ironically, is the longest extension. This explains the camera’s relatively poky start-to-first-shot time. Zooming long brings the lens inward. (If the camera were to leave the lens at the long zoom setting on startup, the first shot could be taken more quickly.) Zoom adjustment is slower than I prefer and while it’s not truly continuous, it has enough individual zoom steps to not be a limitation. Note: zoom does not function while shooting video. You have to stop recording to change the zoom setting.

Macro

The closest macro focus is achieved at full wide (24 millimeter), and puts the lens a scant one centimeter away from the subject. It’s challenging to do without creating a shadow, but using the onboard flash that close is out of the question. Nearest focus of the tele end is thirty centimeters, which isn’t macro at all.

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Moderate macro shot at 5.1 millimeter captures fine detail and still renders background out of focus.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 5
Maximum macro – handheld in natural light. Subject mushroom is about a centimeter in diameter. Side lighting keeps camera’s shadow out of the frame.

(Note: unlike proper cameras, compact digicams measure their subject-to-camera distances from the front lens element, rather than the chip/film-plane-to-subject distance that God and Ernst Leitz intended. A one-centimeter subject-to-chip distance would place the subject well inside the LX3 itself.) I find macro focusing faster with auto focus than manual focus, but you can set it on manual and move the camera to get sharp focus. A small magnified image appears mid-screen as a focus assist; this can also be changed to full-screen magnification.

Of Caps and Straps

The LX3’s uncommon (for a compact) tethered lens cap garners interesting responses on photo forums, causing some to thunder that the humble plastic-and-metal disc immediately disqualifies the camera from purchase consideration. I’ll confess it’s not the handiest system and once removed, it dangles a bit annoyingly alongside the camera, but since nearly every camera I’ve owned has a lens cap and because they’re still the most robust way to, you know, protect the lens, I’ve learned to deal with this little issue. To see the LX3’s unprotected front lens element is to appreciate the need for the stout cap. It’s very close to the lens surround and the typical digicam shutter-style cover wouldn’t fend off a direct blow. Video buffs may want to de-tether and pocket the cap so it doesn’t bang on the camera while filming and show up on the soundtrack. (Clever customizing can adapt an accessory automatic cap from the Ricoh GX series to the LX3, eliminating the stock cap entirely.)

The LX3 ships with a neck strap, which seems silly on a camera this small. Instead, I cobbled a wrist strap from a neck lanyard and attached it to the right-hand strap lug. This setup gives me confidence that the little camera should be safe if it squirts from my grip. The vertical grip on the front is helpful for, well, gripping (and, oddly missing from the Leica D-LUX-4) but the camera’s otherwise smooth metal skin can be a challenge to hold with cold or wet hands. With a long enough wrist strap, the camera can also hang from my neck, where it’s light enough to be barely noticeable.

LCD display

‘Til now, I’ve avoided cameras lacking some sort of view finder – optical or electronic – and I’m still adjusting to its absence on the LX3, especially in the sunlight. This LCD is gratifying sharp and bright (dramatically more so than my other digicams) with a resolution of nearly half a million dots. It’s visible well off axis – also a help. But, its high-gloss surface causes some problems (see below). The clever display can automatically ramp up illumination in seven steps in response to ambient light, and also has full brightness and power-saving settings.

Among the many display information options is a histogram (metering display). There’s also a playback mode that flags blown highlights (overexposure). Optional display gridlines help keep level horizons when shooting wide angle, especially held overhead. The LCD is a 3:2 rectangle, meaning that aspect ratio setting fills the screen completely while 4:3 masks out the left and right outer edges and 16:9 masks the top and bottom edges.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 6
Occasionally the mountains are a riot of color, and good color response is key to capturing these amazing moments. Small highlight details “blown out” on a few (scarlet gilia?) petals here.

An ironic struggle I’ve had with the LX3’s display is evaluating my shots during review to see whether I need to adjust exposure and reshoot. The screen compensates so well for underexposure errors, I often don’t know there are errors until reviewing them on a computer display (the histogram helps here). I have to evaluate shots differently on the LX3 than I do on my other cameras, with their dimmer, lower-resolution screens.

To assist composing, especially outdoors, I sometimes use an optical 21-millimeter hotshoe viewfinder from another camera, pressing it into service as a crude but helpful framing aid. I keep the viewfinder in a small padded bag, clipped to the rest of the kit, when not on the camera. Panasonic offers a 24-millimeter optical hotshoe finder as an expensive accessory, but it only has a single set of framelines, limiting its usefulness with the zoom. A power-saving optical viewfinder setting shuts off the display except for focus and flash indicators and shot review. Focus confirmation beeps tell me the camera has focused on something, but without a look at the display, there’s no telling what.

Controls

Commonly used controls are fairly easy to identify and operate by touch alone, but it’s not always easy on a camera this small. Some competing cameras have dedicated dials for functions like manual focus, aperture/shutter speed or ISO, and I could argue for one or more being an improvement here (focus and exposure compensation would be my top choices).

Luckily, many key functions are accessed by a single press, then either pressing a button or operating the joystick to make the adjustment. But, other features are well buried in the menu system and aren’t easy to find, or even remember they exist. After half a year, I’m still discovering “new” features.

Aspect Ratio

I didn’t think I’d use the variable aspect ratio at all, but from day one I’ve been hooked. Kudos to Panasonic for placing the switch atop the lens where it’s easy to use and to quickly see the of effect varied framing on a scene. Had they buried this control deep in the menu, I might not use it at all, but as designed, it’s quite handy. The LX3 doesn’t use a simple masking scheme that just cuts out part of the image to simulate a wide (or narrow) view, as with the old LX2. The three settings – 4:3, 3:2, and 16:9 – all access a unique portion of the imager while cropping out other parts. (The CCD totals 11.3 million pixels while the maximum image size is 10.1 million.) The way Panasonic executed the cropping scheme maintains the angle of view when switching among them. Complicated to describe, easy to use.

Image sizes at maximum quality are as follows:

4:3 Aspect ratio 3648 x 2736, 10.1 MP
3:2 Aspect ratio 3776 x 2520, 9.5 MP
16:9 Aspect ratio 3968 x 2232, 8.9 MP

Can’t decide which aspect to use? An aspect burst mode records all three with a single shutter press.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 7
Sequential shots using the three LX3 aspect ratios, merged in post processing to show their coverages.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 8
Full frame view shows impressive detail and color saturation in late afternoon winter light, demonstrates that wide angle and 16:9 aspect ratio aren’t only for distant landscapes. 5.1 mm at f:4.0, 1/640, ISO 80.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 9
100% crop of upper left corner demonstrates lack of chromatic aberrations and light falloff. f:4.0, 1/640, ISO 80, 16:9 sample.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 10
Modest telephoto pulls distant storm clouds closer. 16:9 ratio enhances horizons.

Focus Modes

Also on the lens barrel is a fast and helpful focus switch with manual, macro, and AF modes. This control is easily dislodged into an accidental setting – usually macro. I’ve learned that if autofocus is really hunting, I need to check and make sure I’ve not knocked it to macro. When manual is selected, it’s operated via the back panel joystick, and the display even presents depth-of-field calculations. Brilliant.

Other Items

This review could easily become a massive recapitulation of the owner’s manual. Luckily for the curious, the manual can be downloaded. Between it and the myriad on-line reviews, anybody should be able to get a very detailed rundown of each and every bell and whistle (I found the pdf on the Panasonic Australia Web site). Still, a few more features warrant note.

The sturdy metal tripod mount is placed far off-center to allow battery and storage card access without first removing camera from tripod. This thoughtfulness unfortunately renders the LX3 quite off-balance on a tripod, and it shouldn’t be used with very small models such as the Ultrapod 1. It just tips over.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 11
Off-center tripod mount means lightweight mini-pods are out. Tiny ballhead easily supports the 9-ounce LX3.

The popup flash is adequate, nothing more. It covers the widest lens setting reasonably, but with some dropoff towards the edges. I use it mostly for daytime fill, and there are settings to force the flash to fire in bright ambient light and for variable output. The open flash doesn’t collide with my optical finder, which is handy. The hotshoe provides fully automatic through-the-lens flash metering via several Panasonic and Olympus-brand flashes. My Olympus FL36R works quite well on the LX3, even controlling the zooming flash head, but it’s as big as the camera itself and needs to be handled with care.

Storage and Mobility

I keep the LX3 in a Lowepro Ridge 30 case, which has spaces for an extra card and battery. The case attaches to a belt or pack strap; I usually slide it onto the right-hand shoulder strap to keep the camera close at hand.

Modes & Such

There are far too many LX3 modes, menus and options to describe and explain comprehensively. My hunch is most camera owners use a small fraction of the tools and options available and, living up to my own theory, I’ve skipped a host of the LX3’s. Let me acknowledge Panasonic for providing a usable make-all-my-decisions-for-me mode called “intelligent auto mode” to set it apart from those uneducated auto modes – clever enough to have not just face detection but SCENE detection.

Anybody who just wants the LX3 for the unique lens can leave it on this “iA” mode and the camera will consistently deliver very good results in a vast array of settings. It’s uncanny. Point and shoot… and it delivers. Some LX3 fans bristle at its being called a point-and-shoot, but that’s exactly what it is. It’s just one of the best ever made, and one that also offers manual overrides of nearly every decision that all the clever programming will otherwise faithfully do for us. To wrap up the point, any backpacking photographer can appreciate a camera that can reliably do our thinking for us when we’re too exhausted (cold, wet, verklempt) to do it ourselves. Nothing wrong with that!

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 12
Afternoon light enhances detail and challenges both lens and imager.

But pointing and pressing the button doesn’t describe everything camera enthusiasts want from their camera. We like to adapt to our setting and situation, and the LX3 provides adaptability aplenty. Most of my shooting is in P, A and S modes, with the occasional foray into M. Settings are “sticky” in P, and there are two custom modes for special setting combinations worth committing to memory.

Ninety percent of my interventions are to exposure value, and there are two ways to access it quickly: the +/- button and the joystick. EV adjustments are as much as two stops in third-stop increments, and the histogram helps verify the screen image. I often shoot, review the highlights, adjust and reshoot. Auto-exposure bracketing greatly speeds up this process and also fills the storage card faster.

Image Performance

“How’sl she do?” is the obvious question about any camera and I have to say, “She does purty good.”

The lens is sharp shooting wide or tele, wide open or stopped down. From what I’ve read, Panasonic manages wide angle barrel distortion electronically in the camera, and since I don’t notice barrel distortion shooting architecture I certainly don’t see evidence shooting scenery. Chromatic aberration is likewise well controlled (another challenge with very wide angle lenses) and I don’t notice vignetting (light falloff) in the corners.

Like any digicam I’ve used (and like slide film), it’s best to expose the LX3 for the highlights and work with underexposed areas in post-processing. Shadow noise is well controlled. Flare can intrude shooting towards the sun, especially just off frame. Its presence is another vote for the optional hood. Bright lights and reflections don’t often create flare, implying effective control.

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Widest zoom shooting towards the sun, just off-frame. Limited flare appears mid-frame. Snow surface and shaded tree detail render with some post processing.

Camera output demonstrates further good design. Through ISO 400, noise is very well controlled indeed and even at 800, the results are quite workable. I don’t typically shoot above that rating and the auto-ISO controls let me set 800 as my upper limit.

Dynamic range – perhaps the biggest headache presented by scenic photography – is surprisingly good. Few scenes are more challenging than sunlit snowy woods, and the LX3 manages to deliver usable detail in these conditions. It’s demonstrably better in this regard than my circa 2007 dslr, while giving up some range to my more clever circa 2009 dslr. Again, great performance from a small-chip camera.

The lens is sharp out to the edges, with minor softening at maximum aperture when shooting wide. The best lenses are sharp wide open and the Summicron seems to at least approach this ideal. Put another way, finding evidence of LX3 sharpness problems requires “pixel-peeping” that most would never bother to pursue. Let it also be said that one advantage of a fast lens is the ability to shoot it at “sweet spot” apertures much of the time. One to two stops from wide open seems to yield best results.

Color and Contrast

Each camera maker emphasizes different parameters dialing in their “look,” and Panasonic seems to have parked in the “neutral color” camp compared to, say, Kodak and Olympus – two makers I have the most experience with. I always adjust levels when post-processing JPGs and don’t often find much to working with LX3 images. Natural light JPG white balance has always been good but artificial white balance performance was initially spotty – weak with pure tungsten or fluorescent, better with mixed sources. However, with firmware update 1.3 (June 2009), white balance performance is much better across the spectrum (literally). White balance can also be set and adjusted manually.

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Color rendition and saturation on overcast days are quite good.

“Mega O.I.S.” Steady as She Goes

Related to the ISO and noise discussion is controlling camera motion blur via the two-fisted approach of fast lens plus optical image stabilization. The LX3 f:2.0 lens and O.I.S. keep the ISO setting as low as possible and enable hand-holding at low shutter speeds. When pixel-peeping against the competition, keep in mind that the LX3 is at a minimum one stop faster than the others (two stops faster than the DP1). Of course, the 24-millimeter equivalent wide angle inherently means you can handhold at lower shutter speeds. Bottom line: I can get the shot handholding the LX3 in a wide variety of circumstances without extra camera support. A further incentive to use an optical finder is it allows the camera to be held close, which is more stable than holding it at arm’s length.

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A 1/5 second handheld exposure taken in candle and headlamp light. 5.1 mm at f:2.0.

Note: small, light cameras are considered more affected by unsteady hands, and even our pulse, than larger ones. You might not normally consider this an issue but the day will come when you top a brutal mountain pass to unparalled views, and you’ll be quivering like an aspen leaf, holding your digicam at arm’s length in the wind. All this technology will work like mad to keep your pictures as sharp as possible.

LX3 in the Field

Carry and access: It’s nice to get back to stowing my camera in a handy pouch and not slinging it across my shoulder or worse – stuffing it into a backpack. This encourages shooting on the go, and also means I won’t be leaving the camera at home due to packweight slashing. The LX3 is a bit slow on power-up because the lens always extends fully, to the widest setting. The power switch is easy to use, even with gloves, and the zoom control is likewise easy to use.

The display is visible off-axis and allows composition when held overhead or at ground level. It’s not as good as a flippy screen, but that may not be possible on a camera this thin with a screen this large. The optional gridlines are great for leveling the horizon when holding the camera at arm’s length, or keeping the shot level when shooting video.

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High-contrast morning light.

Composing on the big, sharp, and bright LX3 screen is easier than with other digital cameras I’ve used, but even so, has the inherent problems of a viewfinderless design. Even on the brightest screen setting, the sun effectively washes out the image and, because of its glossy surface, it acts as a terrific mirror when I’m composing facing the sun. I know what I look like or what my shirt looks like; I’m trying to see the scene. Here, an optical finder proves better than nothing, which is exactly what I can get from the LCD at times.

Focus response is fairly fast, partly depending on the focus mode and partly on how contrasty or complex the scene is. Either a shutter button half-press or the focus lock button allows the scene to be recomposed after focus lock. Manual focus mode turns the little joystick into a focus control and the display showing focus distance. I’ve found manual focus useful for setting to infinity, as autofocus systems often conspire against finding focus when shooting objects in the sky or very flat scenes (e.g., a foggy, snowy slope). Manual focus assist has two magnified viewing modes to help precise focus. They’re especially nice for macro work, when depth of field is scant millimeters. There’s also a dedicated low-light focus assist red LED.

I was dubious of the LX3’s macro potential, but have had decent success. In addition to watching for my shadow, I sometimes accidentally touch my subject with the lens. An unexpected benefit: the wide angle macro and very small camera also allow me to shoot upwards from ground level at certain small subjects in a way that no dslr can.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 17
Good exposure of a difficult scene; lots of fine detail in the crimson columbine.

Are there times I’d prefer a longer zoom range? Certainly. Would I surrender the 24-millimeter wide end to get it? No.

Video mode is not something I’m drawn to, but in the interest of educating myself, I’ve tried it out. Video works in 4:3 and 16:9 modes only, and at only one focal length per shot. It’s simple to use: turn the mode dial to video and press the shutter button to record, pressing it again to stop. The display shows elapsed and remaining time. When panning, it acts as though it has automatic gain, which is a plus. You can also extract video frames as still images, in-camera. Sound is recorded in mono and to my knowledge there’s no provision for an auxiliary mike.

I don’t like using the LX3 in the rain, and I won’t if it’s more than a drizzle. The good news is, a long-brimmed cap can shield it (provided your eyes can focus that close). The bad news, beyond the lack of waterproofing, is that the exposed front element collects drops easily and must be wiped off frequently. The adapter/hood will help here.

Battery and card replacement is quick and easy, taking all of ten seconds. The official Lumix battery is a fairly expensive accessory, but aftermarket equivalents are available for a little more than ten bucks, which makes carrying a spare or three a painless proposition. That the battery is tiny and light will surely warm the lightweight backpacker’s heart, and because it’s Li-ion, it holds a charge. The spec shows 380 frames or 190 minutes of video from a charge. I can verify the 380 shot spec and have no reason to doubt the video figure.

If you’re trekking, the charger is very small and light. In the States, the supplied charger is of the plug-directly-into-the-wall variety; overseas, LX3s likely ship with an IEC cable charger (both are pictured in the manual). The camera will not charge via USB connection.

Trekkers might likewise be interested in the extensive in-camera editing features, should they want to print or send photos directly from the camera.

What’s Good

  • Brilliant, fast, sharp wide-angle lens
  • Very good image quality
  • Compact and fairly light
  • RAW file option
  • Selectable aspect ratio
  • Extensive user control and customization
  • HD video
  • Crisp and bright LCD display
  • Hotshoe

What’s Not So Good

  • No viewfinder
  • Lacks water- and dust-proofing
  • Slow zoom response
  • High-gloss LCD sometimes makes outdoor composition impossible
  • Mind the mode dial and focus switch settings

Assessment

Does the LX3 deserve to tag along on your backpacking excursions? Yes. Is it a complete replacement for a dslr or the big-chip DP1&2 compacts? No, but it’s closer than I thought possible. Will it deliver useful pictures of difficult scenes? It can.

Panasonic Lumix LX3 Digital Camera Review - 18
f:/2.0 @ 1/50, 5.1 mm, ISO 80. Capturing this scene is a challenge for any camera; minor shadow detail is lost here.

The LX3’s goodness begins with the wonderful Leica zoom and closes the deal with the features and controls needed to wring out its performance potential. Fast lens+effective OIS+good high-ISO performance produces sharp images in surprisingly poor light. Vast user control means tailoring the camera to your exacting needs. That it delivers the goods at nine ounces means it warrants consideration. Value delivered for the money depends on whether you’re bothered by the fact that an entry-level dslr and lens can be had for the same price. Take slrs out of the equation and there is no better camera available today for the money.

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montana’s Jefferson River

Father and son float trip in the lowlands. Experience Ryan Jordan’s wild ride through skeeters and heat exhaustion, including running low on key supplies. Or… not.

 

High Water Philosophy Class

In June 2009, my son Chase and I embarked on our first outing with our new Boy Scout troop: a float of the Jefferson River during high water season. Our entire gear list seemed centered around our boat selection: the Alpacka Double Duck, a sort-of-two-person packraft that weighs only six pounds.

However, once we hit the water, our gear became less of a concern, and we relished in the joy of floating such a big river (6000 cfs) in such a tiny boat.

The experience is hard to convey with media, but impossible without, so I hope you enjoy the photos and video and that they will inspire you to consider what going light might mean for you outside the realm of trail corridors (be sure to check out the related gear list, too!).

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 1
Getting ready to launch at Limespur, me (Ryan) and my son (Chase) wondered if the enthusiasm would wane after long days in a very small boat.

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 2
OK, so I’m not exactly Captain William Clark, but I have one thing he didn’t – the Sawyer Packraft Paddle (28 oz).

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Big river, little boat.

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 4
Paddling in tandem as we ferry across the current. Tandem paddling in the Alpacka Double Duck, we were able to achieve speeds (with help from the current) of up to nine miles an hour (as measured by a GPS).

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 5
We paddled with the “raft flotilla.” The canoeists, being faster, floated in their own group.

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 6
Our Mountain Laurel Designs SuperMid (22 oz) seemed a lonely outcast among more conventional tents.

Two in One Boat: A Photo and Video Essay from Montanas Jefferson River - 7
Mosquitoes!

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It’s not often I paddle wearing a headnet, but we sure appreciated them in June on the Jefferson. In fact, I turned down at least one offer for $50 in exchange for my stellar skeeter protection.

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Mutiny on the HMS Double Duck?

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The Alpacka Ultralight Paddle is perfect for kids (and calmwater adult paddlers) at only 23 oz.

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The Jefferson is lined with big cliffs and thick willows. Chase keeps his eye out for rattlesnakes, a common critter here.

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This is how you enjoy river life when you live on the dark side (non-portage-able boats that carry all the accoutrements of modern civilization)!

Two in One Boat: Sharing a Packraft on a River Trip

With 40 lbs from skin out for both father and son, would our contingency plan of “snuggling for warmth” come into play?

Preface

As the rear of the boat was sucked back into the eddy fence, I felt water rushing down my back. "Paddle! Hard! Now!" I yelled to my little companion in the front of the boat. In tandem, we gave it all we had and managed to eke back into the current, leaving the foot-high eddy boils behind us.

Such is life in a packraft, which is more sensitive to load:boat weight ratios than other boats, making the consideration of weight even more critical when there are two people sharing a single six-pound packraft.

Two in One Boat: Sharing a Packraft on a River Trip (Gear List) - 1
Fully decked out – two people in one boat, with a fully skinned out gear and supply of weight of 40 pounds, including the boat.

Introduction

We graduated from Webelos in April (me as Den Leader, Chase with his Arrow of Light) and immediately crossed over into our new Boy Scout troop, particularly enthused about our first outing: canoeing the Jefferson River in June. Because this was a family trek, we weren’t confined to the constraints (and some of the freedoms) of camping and cooking using the Patrol Method (the BSA philosophy by which groups of boys camp and cook as a single unit of 4-8 people). Instead, we’d camp and cook together as father and son.

When we saw the trek on the calendar, we looked at each other and smirked: the obvious message that neither of us needed to communicate was that this would be a great opportunity to try out the new Alpacka Double Duck, a two-person packraft designed for calm water.

Along with the packraft – which, once occupied by two inhabitants, doesn’t have much room remaining – we’d share a bunch of other stuff too: first aid kit, cook kit, shelter, firestarting supplies, and go pretty thin on the rest. We would eliminate a shelter floor, sleeping pads, and gas stove; we’d both bring hoodless down mummy bags that weighed 17-19 ounces each (snuggling for warmth if we needed to), leave home that extra "insurance layer" (snuggling for warmth if we needed to), employ multiple use items as much as possible, and eliminate some food weight (snuggling for warmth if we needed to).

We didn’t actually have to employ our contingency strategy (snuggling) and fared rather comfortably on the trip, traveling down the river fully skinned out with about 40 pounds of gear and food for the two of us. That 40 pounds included all of our gear, supplies, clothing worn, boating gear, and of course, boats.

Two in One Boat: Sharing a Packraft on a River Trip (Gear List) - 2
The big platform of the Double Duck makes it a very stable boat, allowing Chase to paddle on his knees, one of the more comfortable positions he found.

Boating Gear

It’s no surprise that I’m a fan of Alpacka rafts (www.alpackaraft.com). I’ve enjoyed "two-in-one boat" trips before, in what was formerly known as the Alpacka Dory (now called the Fjord Explorer). The Dory/Explorer benefited two people in rough water conditions with an upturned bow and stern that helped to spill waves to the side without filling the boat. However, interior room was pretty cramped, especially for longer floats. For this trip, we used an Alpacka Double Duck, the company’s newest model.

At less than six pounds, it’s remarkably light for a boat that accommodates two occupants in comfort. Neither bow nor stern is upturned on the Double Duck, so it’s intended for flatwater paddling only, thus making it the perfect choice for a river like the Class I Jefferson. However, at 6,000 cfs, the diversion dam we’d have to cross would be too much for the Double Duck, so we’d portage around. Also, because we’d be a package of 300 pounds (including boat, gear, food, water, and people), we’d be pretty cautious negotiating the Jefferson’s gigantic eddies, which form during the snowmelt season and have been known to swamp canoes, rafts, and drift boats alike.

In addition to the raft, we’d each take a kayak paddle – the powerful Sawyer Packraft Paddle for me and the easier-to-paddle Alpacka Ultralight Paddle for Chase. Together, we could forward- or backferry around obstacles quickly, and double paddling would be essential for us to make it into the tiny, hidden side channel that led to our campsite – at a right angle to the Jefferson’s 6 mph current. Hitting that side channel meant that we would avoid a half-hour of hip-deep swamp portaging to our campsite.

My paddle would serve a dual use – as our shelter’s center pole (without the blades), while remaining paddle parts would be distributed around the mesh skirt of the shelter to seal it to the ground for mosquito protection. PFDs and the inflatable seats from our boats would serve as pillows and footrests while sleeping, and, in case snuggling wore itself out, as insulation if worn under our rain jackets. Finally, the packraft would provide ground protection and padding, since we weren’t bringing sleeping pads or ground cloths.

Shelter and Sleeping

We wanted a shelter that provided full-perimeter protection with the ability to create a sealed floor with our remaining gear. Ron Bell makes a silnylon pyramid shelter that may be my favorite river shelter. It can accommodate two packrafters sleeping on their boats with plenty of room for additional gear; it has a low peak for good wind-shedding ability, a noseeum mesh bug skirt, and reinforcements at the peak for using a packraft paddle (stub or blade) in the apex. The result is a roomy shelter with zippered entry for only 22 ounces (see Gear List).

We’d use the packraft, our two dry bags (50L and 65L), our rain jackets and pants, and two pack liners to completely seal the floor of the shelter. This proved an important strategy, since mosquitoes were settled into the grass when we pitched our camp, only to come alive as the sun went down.

Two in One Boat: Sharing a Packraft on a River Trip (Gear List) - 3
We packed our gear in three dry bags – a 65L bag lashed to the bow and a 50L bag that Chase used for a seat. The little dry bag is for our lunch and cameras, and we kept water bottles in the floor of the boat.

We each used hoodless sleeping bags made of down – a Feathered Friends Vireo (17 oz) for me and a Western Mountaineering Tamarack (19 oz) for Chase. The bags provided plenty of warmth for the 40-something-degree nights, and we relied on the full perimeter shelter to keep the wind at bay. Headnets took care of renegade mosquitoes that somehow managed to penetrate our other defenses.

We didn’t bring sleeping pads. I’d love to tell you that we created comfortable and warm beds from forest duff, a skill borne of years of practice and experience, but a Scout is Trustworthy as they say, and we must confess to committing a cardinal sin of lightweight backpacking: we brought camp chairs that unfolded into beds. In our defense, they were light! While the Crazy Creek HexaLite chairs (high back for me, standard model for Chase) were not as comfortable as an inflatable pad, they were comfortable enough, especially when combined with the natural sponge bed of grassy… ahem… swamp we stumbled upon inside our shelter after we had pitched it. The chairs served multiple uses, of course – they weren’t just a sleeping pad. They were cooking seats, talking seats, writing seats, and sittin’ seats, both inside and outside the shelter.

Cooking

Limited volume and the desire to minimize weight were not considered when we were dreaming about relaxing in a camp chair, but somehow, these concepts were at the forefront of our decision to select a cooking kit. We opted to leave stove and fuel at home, though we didn’t want to build fires on the grassy island, and we most certainly wanted hot food and, more importantly, hot coffee (as much a benefit to Chase as to me). After deliberating a number of options, we settled on a BushBuddy Ultra cook kit that included an 1100-ml titanium pot (my eating bowl), a 550-ml titanium mug (Chase’s eating bowl), two folding titanium spoons, and two 400-ml titanium mugs (for Chase’s cocoa and Ryan’s coffee).

Our meals were simple, one-pot style and included both hot and cold cereals, potatoes, noodles, and lots of easy snacks. Remember, we brought camp chairs, so we wanted to spend our time relaxing in them instead of cooking, eating, and fussing with recipes. Plus, our previous experience has found that the most dismal campsites (this one certainly qualified, being a swamped island inhabited by blood-sucking monsters – ticks, mosquitoes, and leeches) can be cheered up with a crackling BushBuddy keeping warm brews going.

Two in One Boat: Sharing a Packraft on a River Trip (Gear List) - 4
With time and care, a floorless shelter can be made bug-proof even in the worst mosquito conditions. This one has a noseeum mesh perimeter and we used extra gear as a “floor.”

Water

The Jefferson has one of the highest silt loads of any river in Montana during snowmelt. The silt load was so high on our trip that we could hear the silt particles colliding with the side of the packraft – a sound imperceptible when only one or a hundred particles smacks the boat – a hair-bristling hiss when the particle collisions run into the millions at any instant of time. The result is that preparing treatable water from the Jefferson this time of year is a chore. Normal water filters clog instantly, and the silt load is not only unpalatable, it reduces the efficacy of most chemical methods.

To combat this scenario, we used a combination of carrying enough fresh water to guarantee that we wouldn’t die of dehydration before the end of the trip (about 8 liters between the two of us), and sort of an experimental system that I wasn’t sure would work: a little baggie of water dope (I used my own personal mixture of iron salts as a coagulant and calcium hypochlorite for a little first stage sterilization, but a similar process can be accomplished with Reliance Pur packets).

After adding the water dope and mixing rapidly to induce coagulation (I did this in a 15L dry bag), I slowly stirred the soup with a big stick for a few minutes to induce flocculation. Then, I let the bag sit for ten minutes (by hanging in a tree) to settle the floc. Finally, I decanted the clarified water from the top of the bag into water bottles through several layers of cotton bandana, and polished the whole bit off by treating with chlorine dioxide tablets. The end result was water that looked and tasted nothing like its parent sludge direct from the Jefferson (full disclosure: I did not actually sample the parent sludge before making this comparison).

For a long trip with big groups, this type of water treatment is ideal, but I found the process laborious for two people on a short journey. I also found a little trickle of a side channel that flowed through the swamp, exiting a bit tea-colored, but clear of sediments. I filtered this through the bandana to remove the rough organics, treated with chlorine dioxide, and was happy with the results.

Conclusion

This trip effectively served as sort of a shakedown for us. We were only paddling thirty miles of the Jefferson River, and it was to be our first prep trip for a much grander adventure that we’re planning in 2010 – completion of the 149-mile Upper Missouri National Wild and Scenic River. With this gear list, we felt well-prepared, and in spite of high water, hordes of bloodthirsty companions, and the short preparation time that comes from being hyper-involved in multiple activities at once (running a business, Scouting, Little League, and the demands of spring yardwork), we enjoyed a rather posh level of comfort.

The Gear List

PERSONAL GEAR        
FUNCTION MODEL (RYAN) WEIGHT (RYAN) MODEL (CHASE) WEIGHT (CHASE)
Dry Bag Pacific Outdoor Equipment Pneumo LT 65L 10.0 Pacific Outdoor Equipment Pneumo LT 50L 8.0
Pack Liner BPL XXL Pack Liner 2.7 BPL XL Pack Liner 2.1
Sleeping Bag Feathered Friends Vireo 17.0 Western Mountaineering Tamarack 19.0
Camp Chair Crazy Creek HexaLite Chair (Long Back) 18.5 Crazy Creek HexaLite Chair 14.8
Ground Cloth none none
Sleeping Pad none none
Paddle Sawyer Packraft Paddle 28.0 Alpacka Ultralight Paddle 23.0
PFD NRS Clearwater Mesh 34.0 Cabela’s Type III Ski Vest (Generic) 11.0
Mug Evernew 400 Mug 1.2 Evernew 400 Mug 1.2
Spoon FireLite SUL Folding Ti Spoon 0.4 FireLite SUL Folding Ti Spoon 0.4
Water Bottle 1L Platypus 1.2 Evernew 600 Bottle 0.8
Underwear Beartooth Merino Short 3.5 Spandex Short 2.1
Shirt Thorofare Shirt 3.7 Lightweight Polyester L/S Shirt 3.2
Pants Thorofare Pants 3.8 Supplex Convertible Pants 5.8
Wet Socks Smartwool Liner Socks 1.6 Smartwool Trekking Socks 2.1
Paddling Hat Bandana 1.0 Supplex Hat with Wide Brim 2.8
Sunglasses ZRE Racing Shields 0.7 Prescription Transition Glasses 1.2
Rain Jacket NRS Endurance Splash Top 12.0 Red Ledge Jacket 6.1
Rain Pants NRS Endurance Splash Pants 13.0 Red Ledge Pants 4.2
Warm Shirt Beartooth Merino Hoody 8.6 Midweight Capilene L/S Crew 5.4
Warm Pant Beartooth Merino UL Long John Pant 3.9 Midweight Capilene Pant 4.9
Insulating Top BPL Cocoon SUL Hoody (PL1) 7.1 Polartec 150 Pullover 7.5
Shoes Salomon Tech Amphibs 22.5 Adidas Mesh Something or Others 13.2
Dry Socks Smartwool Expedition Socks 4.5 Smartwool Trekking Socks 2.1
Warm Hat none Polartec 150 Balaclava 1.9
Gloves none none
Headnet BPL Mosquito Headnet 0.3 BPL Noseeum Headnet 0.7
Toiletries Toothbrush, Meds 1.0 Toothbrush, Meds 0.4
Knife NRS River Knife 4.0 Buck Whittling Knife 0.9
Whistle ACR Whistle (attached to PFD) 0.7 ACR Whistle (worn around lanyard on neck) 0.7
Light Fenix L0D 0.8 Petzl e-Lite 0.9
Camera Ricoh GRD 5.0 Pentax Optio WP 5.5
Journal Mini Moleskine + Pen 0.9 Small Spiral Notebook + Pen 0.8
Total Personal Gear    211.6 oz
(13.2 lbs)
  152.7 oz
(9.5 lbs)

 

SHARED GEAR    
FUNCTION MODEL WEIGHT
Toiletries Toothpaste, Purell, Sunscreen, DEET 2.5
Shelter Mountain Laurel Designs Packrastafaramid 22.1
Stakes BPL Hi-Vis Lazr Ti Skewer x 8 2.1
Packraft Alpacka Double Duck (weight includes bow line) 93.1
Lashing 5mm Cord, 18" Shockle, 2 S-Biners 5.8
Throw Bag NRS Pro Compact 9.3
Inflation Bag Alpacka, Large Volume 2.9
Small Dry Bag Pacific Outdoor Equipment Pneumo LT 5L 3.1
Stove Bushbuddy Ultra 5.0
Cookpot FireLite SUL 1100 3.0
Firestarting Kit Sparkie, Wetfire, Esbit Tablets, Tinder-Quik, in 5×4 Aloksak 1.1
Water Bags MSR DromLite, 6L + Pacific Outdoor Equipment Pneumo LT 15L 8.9
Water Treatment ClO2 Tablets, Ryan’s Homebrew Water Dope 3.5
First Aid Bandaids, Butterflies, Krazy Glue, Leukotape, Pills 1.2
Repair Tyvek Tape, Aquaseal, Heavy Sewing Kit 1.4
Food Storage BPL UrsaLite Bear Bag Hanging Kit 2.1
Total Shared Gear   167.1 oz
(10.4 lbs)

Total Gear, From Skin Out: 33.1 lbs (average 16.6 lbs/person)

Lightweight Pertex Shield Rainwear Hitting the Market (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009)

Pertex Shield rainwear is more breathable than polyurethane laminates and similar in weight and price.

Editor’s Note: This article was opened to the public on July 22, 2010. To subscribe and see Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2010 articles as they are published, click here.

Pertex Shield is a new family of durable waterproof-breathable fabrics from Mitsui (who purchased the Pertex technology from Perseverance Mills in 2006). It is based on a polyurethane membrane technology from Mitsui laminated to Pertex face fabrics. The constructions are Shield 02 (2-layer), Shield DS (2.5-layer), and Shield 03 (3-layer), all waterproof-breathable fabrics with very good breathability that cost less than either eVENT or Gore-Tex Pro Shell. The two- and three-layer fabrics will provide about 20,000 g/m2/day breathability levels (according to the JIS 1099 B1 standard). That’s pretty respectable compared to eVENT (~27,000 g/m2/day), Gore-Tex XCR (~21,000 g/m2/day), Entrant (about 21,000 g/m2/day), and most polyurethane coatings (5,000 to 15,000 g/m2/day). The lightest versions of Shield weigh about 2.0 oz/yd2 (2-layer) and 3.0 oz/yd2 (3-layer). Pertex Shield is not the lightest, most breathable, or cheapest of the waterproof breathable fabrics, but it is the right balance of breathability, light weight, and price to win a solid position in the market.

We found several lightweight rain jackets and pants made of Pertex Shield that will hit the market in spring 2010, from different manufacturers.

Lightweight Pertex Shield Rainwear Hitting the Market (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 1
The Outdoor Research Helium Jacket (6.8 oz, $140) is made of 2.5-layer 20 denier Pertex Shield DS ripstop fabric. It has a single pull hood adjustment, water-resistant full front zipper, one zippered Napoleon pocket, elastic cuffs, and single drawcord hem adjustment. The women’s version weighs 6.1 ounces.

Lightweight Pertex Shield Rainwear Hitting the Market (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 2
The Rab Positron Pullover (left, 7 oz, $130) is made of 2.5-layer Pertex Shield DS. It has a water-resistant half-height front zipper, fixed hood with external drawcord adjustor, one internal mesh pocket, and elastic cuffs The Kinetic Jacket (9 oz, $140) has a full-front water-resistant zipper, helmet compatible hood with wire brim and external drawcord adjustor, two side pockets, Velcro cuff tabs, and hem drawcord.

Lightweight Pertex Shield Rainwear Hitting the Market (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 3
Rab also has a very light Pertex Shield DS 2.5L rain pant called the Off Limits Pant (7 oz, $100). They have an elastic waistcord, calf-high leg zips, and stretch fabric on seat and knees.

Lightweight Pertex Shield Rainwear Hitting the Market (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 4
GoLite representative Ashley Devery models the new GoLite Tumalo jacket (8.6 oz, $150) made of 100 g/m2 Pertex Shield 2.5 DS. It has an attached hood with cordlock adjustors, water-resistant two-way front zipper with storm flap, two side pockets with water-resistant zippers, pit zips, drawcord hem, and elastic cuffs. The Tumalo Pant (not shown, 6.7 oz, $100) has an elastic waistcord, rear cargo pocket, calf-high zips, and Velcro cuff tabs. The combination gives a rainwear set that weighs less than one pound.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009)

After five glorious days of all the sweet new stuff retailers can offer, we’re home and recovering from the high. Our last blog blizzard of some standouts.

Editor’s Note: This article was opened to the public on July 22, 2010. To subscribe and see Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2010 articles as they are published, click here.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 1
Tired of zip baggies that quickly wear out (failed zips, punctured plastic and blown seams), only to be thrown into the trash? Pacific Outdoor Equipment introduces Pneumo ZIP bags. These reusable bags are far more durable, lightening the load on the environment, depending on how many baggies you go through. They are also more reliable at keeping your gear safe and dry. Pneumo ZIP bags are constructed of light waterproof fabric with a strong zip seal. A clear TPU fabric window allows you to see contents while keeping weight down. They come in four sizes and four colors (orange, green, blue and red). POE also makes a Map Case using the same construction, but with the front TPU window the entire size of the bag, 35.5 x 40.6 cm, 74 g (2.6 oz).

Pneumo ZIP Specifications
Volume Size (cm) Weight
0.5 L 20 x 16.5 14 g (0.5 oz)
1.0 L 20 x 24 26 g (0.9 oz)
3.75 L 28 x 30.5 43 g (1.5 oz)
7.5 L 35.5 x 40.6 51 g (1.8 oz)

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 2
ZipVac has a line of reusable, self-vacuum-pack bags. The bags are a very light triple-layer material with an industrial double-zip and a vacuum valve. They are microwaveable, dishwasher safe, and should stand up to many uses. A kit comes with an assortment of bag sizes and a small pump (at 1.4 oz, it is light enough to carry into the field to re-vacuum-pack the bags after use). Oxygen impermeable, ZipVac bags keep food fresher and transmit no odor (a help to keep from attracting rodents, birds, and bears to your food). We tested this with a smelly curry backpacking dinner and didn’t notice any odor-transfer to our other meals (or our pack). We see value in the vacuum bags for keeping food much fresher in the backcountry, especially for cured meats, cheeses, and breads (they have a dedicated bread/fillet bag). We usually take a full loaf of bread backpacking and are excited to see how much longer it will keep moist and fresh.

ZipVac Specifications
Volume Size (in) Weight (oz)
Quart 7 x 7.5 0.3
Gallon 10.5 x 11 0.6
Fillet 9 x 18.5 0.7
Jumbo 13.5 x 13.5 0.9
Vacuum Pump   1.4

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 3
Finally, an easy way to keep those fuel canisters out of landfills and hazardous waste centers! JetBoil displayed a small stainless tool that looked a lot like a modified can opener of old. The tool threads onto the valve of a fuel canister and releases the unused propane/butane. Press down on the tool, and it punctures the canister just like a can opener. The canister is now safe and ready to be recycled.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 4
JetBoil introduced a slight re-design of their Personal Cooking System (PCS); it has a new burner, a temperature indicator gel on the pot sleeve (the curved strips to the right of “JETBOIL,” a stabilizer stand (orange), and comes in a lot of cool colors.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 5

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 6

Pacific Outdoor Equipment introduced an insulated, three-season, lightweight air mattress/pad, the Ether Elite 6. This appears to be a competing technology to the Cascade Designs Neo-Air pads. On paper, the Ether Elite 6 and Neo-Air have similar thickness, weights, and insulating values. Their technologies to achieve a high R Value for an air mattress differ significantly. It will be hard to compare them directly until both are available side-by-side for lab controlled R Value testing. The Ether Elite is 2.5 inches thick, comes in two sizes (20 x 48 inches at 10.75 ounces or 20 x 72 inches at 14.0 ounces), with an estimated R value range from 2.0 to 4.0. It’s made of 33 denier fabric on the top and bottom and has a light layer of thermal insulation, “Zonal Air Loft Thermo insulation,” strategically located in the torso area just under the surface of the top fabric layer of the pad (right photo).
 

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 7

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 8

The new Western Mountaineering Flash Pants (left) weigh approximately 6 ounces and have no side zips. Based on comments received at the show, WM will probably put a reinforced material on the seat rather than on the knees (as is pictured) but the weight will remain the same, and MSRP is $140.00. The Flight Pants (right) weigh approximately 11 ounces and have full side zips with Gore Windstopper in the seat and forward legs from the knee down. They have an adjustable hook and loop closure at the bottom, and MSRP is $175.00. Both pants are scheduled to be available in October 2009.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 9

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 10

The standard Western Mountaineering Down Booties (left) weigh about 6 ounces per pair and offer more warmth to weight compared to many other down booties the market. A 30 denier nylon shell fabric is treated with a DWR finish. The bottom is a Tough-Tex material outer sole with a good insulation layer in the sole for years of use without compression damage. MSRP is $65.00. The Expedition Booties (right) weigh about 7.25 ounces per pair and have a Gore Windstopper shell material that extends above the insulated bootie to just below the knee. The insulation stops at the same place on the leg as the standard bootie, and the heel has an extended cup of the sole insulation material. Tough-Tex is on the sole of this bootie as well, and they will be available in red and black. MSRP is $90.00. Both booties are scheduled to be available in October 2009.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 11

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 12

I have jammed and broken just about every make and design of trekking pole locks. I’ve come to expect poles to misbehave in the field. One of the most frustrating things is that the lock is inside the pole. If it jams, you cannot easily (if ever) open the pole to access the locking mechanism. This makes them extremely difficult, if not impossible, to repair in the field. Leki introduces their new Speedlock external lever locking system, which they claim is “the most powerful external [locking] system in the world.” What I like most is that all parts of the mechanism are externally accessible and adjustable. The system is simple in design and easily understood. Even if the locking system jams or gets out of adjustment, it should be fairly simple to repair or adjust in the field. The Speedlock system adds about 1.8 oz over Leki’s internal pole locks, increasing the standard Carbonlite AERGON poles from 12.8 oz/pair to 14.6 oz/pair once equipped. There is no increase in price, so MSRP for the poles with external lock remains $180.

Sugar Coma: Days 4 & 5 (Outdoor Retailer Summer Market 2009) - 13
At the Open Air Demo, we saw a New Balance (NB) employee wearing a pair of bright orange trail running shoes that looked very light. They turned out to be prototypes of a new super light, unconstructed trail shoe, the NB 100. NB is developing the shoe in conjunction with a couple of ultra runners. The shoe design is not final, but the NB employee said to expect a shoe weight between 8.0 to 9.5 ounces per shoe. If so, they would compete with Inov-8 and END in extremely light trail footwear. Expected availability: late 2009.

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Natural High has new packets of organic, freeze dried fruit snacks. There are five fruits: Apple, Blueberry, Banana, Strawberry, and Mango. We hope this will create some competition with JustTomatoes.com in freeze dried fruits. The price for this stuff has always seemed incredibly high, although 1 oz of freeze dried blueberries is made from over 6 ounces of fresh blueberries. MSRP: $4.50 per 1.0 oz packet.