Articles (2020)

Lightweight Education

The summer of 2008 got Backpacking Light’s Wilderness Trekking School off to a great start. We ran three trips in three wildly different locations: Northern Rockies, Pacific Northwest, and Desert Southwest. Each allowed for a unique experience and permitted us to focus on the core curriculum of the Wilderness Trekking format.

All three of our courses began with a full day in a classroom as a foundation for the backcountry time. This was an opportunity for in-depth presentations and group discussions, as well as hands-on time with the gear, all building to the moment we left the indoor classroom for the outdoor one.

The Gear and How to Choose It

There is no denying that a major component of lightweight camping is an emphasis on gear and its weight. One of the amazing benefits that Backpacking Light can offer is an arsenal of extremely specialized equipment. There was an excellent assortment of cutting-edge stoves, shelters, bear bag hanging tools, bivy sacks, tent stakes, water treatments, and backpacks. Getting to handle and use these items was a high point for most of the students – they were like kids in a candy store, with a comfy pack instead of a sugar coma as the consequence of indulging in the array.

The team was encouraged to use (well, play with, actually) a wide variety of gear. Folks cooked their meals on a rotation of stove systems, and each night we slept under different tarps. The result was some real-deal insight into what worked best for each person and their individual needs. Student feedback indicated that experience actually using the gear was invaluable in shaping their decisions for their own gear closets.

The instructors formalized the process of how students chose gear, factoring in multi-use items, durability, potential weather, our route and our goals for the trip. If a piece of gear was superfluous, we made a mindful decision about not taking it, creating a lot of discussion around the perception of “need.” The phrase “But I always take this,” should set alarm bells ringing; you need to consciously ask yourself “Why do I always take this?” If you can’t answer that, the item doesn’t go in the pack.

Weighing Every Little Thing – No Sneaking!

The preparations for a lightweight backpacking trip require definitive data, and the only way you can get the relevant info is to put each individual item on a scale and write down its weight on a data sheet. This exercise is an essential part of the experience. The process goes pretty quickly as we minimize the actual number of potential items by separating our wants from our needs, all before the scales even come out. We have a data sheet for each team member, pencils, calculators, and bunch of digital scales (digital is more precise, and we’re all about precision). The students immediately jump into the process, and the business of dramatic subtraction begins. 

We urged folks to be bold and to use their course to really try something new. Students discovered that it’s a liberating experience to leave things behind. We encouraged a lot of sharing, so while we had up to ten students on some trips, we never had ten tubes of toothpaste. Something as simple as sharing little things also added to the community experience of our little team.

The moment of truth: one at a time, we put the packs on the scale. There was a heightened sense of camaraderie as each teammate announced their total pack weight, and that total was written on a large display data sheet. What surprised and fascinated everyone, including the instructors, were how low the initial numbers were. It was impressive, and it consistently lead to a last minute flurry of even more subtraction, with a friendly competition to get those numbers just a little bit lower.

We were meticulous about the weight of all the gear, including the weight of the food, which was a real eye-opener for some of the students. Like we had every other item, we made decisions based on efficiency, experience, and safety. Some folks were a little worried that we might not be taking enough and that they would end up being hungry. We reassured them, then trimmed their food weight anyway. At the end of the trip, we verified our food calculations and their accuracy. After a six-day, five-night trek, we weighed the leftovers that we walked out with, and they came in at well under one pound. Many students had never considered food weight, simply considering quantity for each meal. Reducing excess food weight was one more area of knowledge and resulting freedom when backpacking – and the good news is that no one felt as though they had been deprived during the trip. Everyone ate their fill.

We also weighed the stove fuel going in and at the end of the trek so that we could get a true number about the quantity we used. Our trash was an issue too, and before going in, we were thorough about minimizing any excessive packaging. As a final measure, we weighed all the trash when we came out. These numbers were impressively low without us taking any extraordinary measures beyond simply being mindful of what we were carrying in.

A New Way of Thinking

During our time in the backcountry, we collectively settled into a pleasant day-to-day rhythm. Some classes were in a big formal circle, but most were done on the trail as brief info-bursts, which makes sense. There aren’t many grand concepts involved with lightweight backpacking and camping, but there are a million little tricks. As an example, I was with a small crew on a steep set of switchbacks, and I demonstrated to the students how to take off and pack their windshirt while continuing walking… never stopping. We had some fun with this simple trick, racing each other as we pulled off layers and crammed them into the pack and put ’em back on – all while hiking.

We also focused on hydration methods and carrying. The traditional backpacker loads up their pack with lots of water, which is a very conservative approach (hiking with the belief that no water will be available to you on the trail), and it adds a lot of weight to their packs, backs, and hips. We carefully reviewed the maps for water sources along our route, and combined the maps with the instructors’ knowledge about the area of travel. The Gallatin Ridge in Montana in late summer is intimidating and dry, yet we managed to fill our bottles from some tiny springs along the way. Instructor Ryan Connelly would pow-wow with a group of students and point at zone over a mile away, off on the horizon. A little stripe of bright green grass among the yellowed foliage of late summer was a dead giveaway for a water source.

“See that green? That means there we should find some water there.” He then led by example, drinking his water bottle dry and hiking with an empty vessel. There was no need to encourage anyone to do the same; it was understood. A half-hour later, when we arrived at the lush pocket of green grass, we found the little trickle seeping out over the rocks and filled up.

Tarp camping was a newfound joy for a lot of the students, who were accustomed to the perceived security of their tents. Sleeping with a sewn-in floor and sidewalls seems impermeable to bugs, and students were surprised at how comfortable and non-chewed up they stayed with a simple ground cloth and tarp. Now, I’ve got a lot of experience setting up a tidy tarp, but watching Andrew Skurka teach tarp-craft was genuinely impressive. I was in the presence of true mastery: taut pitches, secure guylines, and stable poles attested to his skill.

While critics of lightweight backpacking focus on what they believe is being neglected or left behind, those who want to pursue it as a means of getting to the wilderness more often and more comfortably must first look headlong at their packing choices. Learning some lightweight tricks is key, but learning how to pack light and still lack for nothing takes time and a dedication to trial and error. Those who enroll in courses like this are motivated and bold, taking more vigorous steps to reducing packweight and seeing what else opens up as a result. It was a delight to spend time on the trail in conversation, since no one was too winded to chat, and the fact that the packs were light and the shoes were comfortable made trail-time even more pleasant.

Teaching on the Fly

The class was good for the instructors, too. When we turned a corner in the high country and got a big expansive view of our route from the previous day, it was easy to do an impromptu map class. We could match big features on the map to visual points off in the distance, features we had climbed over yesterday. We got a fix on our position on the map and could extrapolate what to expect for the rest of the day. With traditional backpacks, we would have needed to take ‘em off in order to focus and relax into the lesson. Not so with our team: we did all our map work and navigation with the lightweight packs on, without any burden. This simple exercise (not shedding one’s pack at each and every opportunity) was a highlight of the trip for some of the students. The lightweight pack heightens your ability to look around and make decisions with a new-found efficiency, and leaving heavy items behind translates to more, not less, freedom on the trail.

In 2008, our WT1 course format was very different than it is in 2009. In 2008, students were treated to a two-day intensive classroom training session. They then embarked on an optional community trek to test their new skills together. The students chose treks that were in the range of four to five days, just enough time to become immersed in an authentic lightweight backcountry experience. At the end, they were getting into the rhythm of a well oiled machine, but all the students collectively recommended that we make the WT1 field component of the course mandatory, and just a little bit longer. They felt like the last day came too soon, that they were all finally achieving a heightened level of efficiency, and they wanted to USE those newfound skills a bit longer. In response and recognition of this desire to use new skills for as long as possible, we’ve extended our WT1 courses in 2009 to a full seven days, with six days and five nights in the field.

In 2008, we had multiple locations throughout the west for the WT1 courses, and while this gave us diversity of field of study, we’ve decided to keep future courses in our own backyard of the greater Yellowstone ecosystem. The wilderness areas around Bozeman are just TOO perfect! Plus, it’s our own playgound, so we have more to offer as far as natural history lessons and our own intimate knowledge of the terrain.

Traveling Off the Trail

There is something liberating about hiking on a path in the mountains, but there is a heightened feeling of freedom when you leave that path. We made an effort to do some ambitious off-trail hiking on all of the courses, modeling efficiency in path finding and route selection. Our reward was to move through some astoundingly pristine places. There is an emotional fulfillment in being in the wilderness, and feeling competent in your route finding away from the trail heightens that feeling. Trails are all very well and good, but they simply move you from point A to point B. Choosing your own way, one not traveled by most others in a place, is satisfying in all the deep and meaningful ways that make us feel empowered and independent.

Once we mastered cooking on the trail and water source location, we were liberated from the traditional campsite location requirement of a stream or river or creek nearby. And when we realized that we could walk away from the trail, we were capable of making low impact stealth camps with small overall footprints. As the team began to master these basic lightweight skills, it was as though we were watching little puzzle pieces snap into place in the students’ minds, making them capable of doing something truly new and revolutionary in their outdoor pursuits.

We were camping in a new way, and the rewards were enormous.

Want More?

To further explore what the BPL Wilderness Trekking School has to offer, click on the SCHOOL link. We wanna help lighten your load! If you have any questions email us.

Further Reading:

Bill Stadwiser’s Not a Day on Any Calendar
Don Wilson’s Desert Southwest Trip Report

Click a thumbnail to view the image gallery.

Just an eight-hour bus ride from Lima, the Cordillera Blanca is among the most accessible high mountain ranges in the world. Not only is transportation to and from the range straightforward and convenient, but bureaucratic procedures are almost nonexistent. Independent travelers from just about any country can fly into Lima’s busy international airport and be in the mountains preparing for their multi-day hiking trip the following day with relatively little pre-trip planning. A month-long sojourn in the mountains can cost as little as $1000 USD, including airfare from the United States.

Flying There

If bought in advance with some flexibility of dates, plane tickets to Lima from U.S. airports can be relatively inexpensive. For instance, I was able to buy round-trip tickets from Detroit to Lima for December 2008 for $650 through travelocity.com.

At their airport of departure, backpackers will need to check baggage containing trekking poles, gas stoves, knives, and other potentially hazardous items. I personally transport my trekking poles in a telescoping plastic poster tube, which has enough space in it for an assortment of other small items as well. If you spend a night before and after your trek in a backpacker-friendly hostel or hotel next to the Cordillera Blanca, you can usually arrange to store your protective container there for the duration of your hike.

Visas are not required to enter Peru for tourist trips of up to ninety days. Upon leaving the country, however, you will pay a $30 departure tax directly at your airline’s check-in desk (in dollars or Nuevo Sol). Aside from a simple immigration form, no paperwork is required for entry or exit.

Lima

At the Lima airport, foreign currency can be exchanged for Peru’s Nuevo Sol at zero commission. Commission is charged when exchanging money back into dollars, Euros, and other currency.

Taxis can be obtained on the spot at the airport, typically for the equivalent of $10-20 for a ride into Lima, which is a sprawling city with many neighborhoods. It is safest, however, to arrange a ride in advance through a reputable taxi service. No public transportation exists to carry travelers from the airport to Lima.

Lima has plenty of inexpensive hostels, as well as the usual selection of high-end hotels. Depending on when your flight comes in, you may want to spend the night in Lima, or you could depart immediately for the mountains. Lima has some sights, but is not a prime tourist destination in and of itself.

Getting to the Cordillera Blanca

The easiest way to reach the Cordillera Blanca from Lima is to ride there with any number of bus companies. The transportation and tourist hub of the range is the town of Huaraz, a seven- to ten-hour ride from Lima, depending on the time of day and the number and duration of stops. A few of the bus companies offering service to Huaraz are Movil Tours, Cruz del Sur, and Expreso Ancash. Buses are large, modern touring buses with comfortable reclining seats. Tickets range in price from roughly $10 to $50 one way, depending on the departure time and type of seat (e.g. partially or fully reclining, or bed).

I tried to reserve bus tickets over the phone, but was told this was impossible. So we showed up at the company’s bus terminal the next morning an hour before departure and bought tickets on the spot. We were told that seats typically fill up half an hour or so before departure. A wise move would be to have the addresses of several bus companies on you and travel from terminal to terminal around downtown Lima if tickets are unavailable. Taxis around Lima cost just a few dollars, even including the somewhat higher prices that foreigners are typically charged. You will need to settle on a price beforehand, since there are no meters.

Huaraz

Almost every visitor to the Cordillera Blanca passes through Huaraz, the largest town in the region with approximately 100,000 residents. Here you will have the greatest assortment of food products to choose from, as well as fuel, maps, and plenty of backpackers from around the world. Although smaller towns in the area may be closer to your chosen trailhead, Huaraz has much more information and infrastructure and is at a better altitude for acclimatizing (3,000 meters, or 10,000 feet). There are a wide variety of accommodations available, but trekkers will generally find it more useful to stay at a backpacker-oriented hostel, which offer beds as cheap as $4 a night. At the hostel we stayed at – Jo’s Place, highly recommended – we were able to find an old backpacker’s guidebook, a detailed topographic map of the mountains hanging on the wall, and partially used gas canisters left by other backpackers. Furthermore, even though it was the middle of the low season, we met several other foreigners who were setting off on backpacking trips like us. There is an abundance of mountain guides in Huaraz, but experienced and travel-savvy backpackers should have little problem organizing and carrying out their trips on their own.

When to Go

Guidebooks and tourism-oriented websites basically assume that backpackers will hike in the Cordillera Blanca and nearby Cordillera Huayhuash during the dry season – May to October, which corresponds to winter in the southern hemisphere. Information about hiking during the rest of the year is difficult to find. We arrived just before the New Year, which corresponds to the beginning of the rainiest period, which peaks in February. Initially apprehensive about weather conditions in this high and distant land, we found the weather to be easily manageable with wise gear choices. During the dry season, one will find far more hikers on trails, which are basically deserted during the rest of the year. Essentially, one can hike in the Cordillera Blanca at any time of year with relatively minor gear adjustments. There is no such thing as a traditional “winter” where the snowline drops dramatically and the higher areas become impassable.

Weather Considerations

Being so close to the equator, seasonal temperature fluctuations in the Cordillera Blanca are relatively minor. As a result, there appear to be no deciduous plants, and the transition from frost-free zone to permanent snow and ice occurs within a span of just 2,000 vertical meters. During the dry season, backpackers typically wake up to below freezing temperatures (-5 to -10 C is common) above 3,500 meters, but the unobstructed sun quickly warms the air, and one can often hike in shorts. During the wet season, nighttime temperatures are warmer (generally 4 to 8 C in the 3,500-4,500 meter range), rain is frequent but not nonstop, and skies are often overcast, obscuring the dramatic mountain views. Rain, snow, hail, and lightning are possible any time of year, especially around the high passes. Once, we had to descend from a 4,830 meter pass through a thin layer of wet snow. We did not feel that special equipment would be necessary for hiking any of the trails.

During the wet season, one may expect at least several hours of rain nearly every day, as well as wet trails. The rocky ground and minimal vegetation generate quite little mud. Total annual precipitation in most of the Central Andes is fairly low, and the rain we encountered was rarely heavy. We usually had several hours without rain in the morning and at least a couple of rainless hours later in the day. We feel our choice of raingear was ideal: GoLite Chrome Dome umbrellas and homemade silnylon rain skirts. This combination allowed us to hike in the rain with no loss of comfort, though getting our trail runners to dry out was occasionally a challenge. Even on the rainiest of days, however, we would still have at least a couple of hours of almost-sunshine where we could hang our socks on our packs to dry.

The sun is a force to be reckoned with. A half hour of exposure at 4,000 meters or higher can leave a fair-skinned person roasted. We honestly don’t know how we would have gotten by without our reflective GoLite umbrellas, even with just a few hours of sunshine a day.

One may encounter biting flies in the mountain valleys, but these were not a major nuisance, even during the rainy season. We had a net tent to go under our tarp, but found the bugs went away at night anyway and eventually stopped using it.

Acclimatization

Any multi-day hike in the Cordillera Blanca will take you to well over 4,000 meters (roughly 13,000 feet) within a day or two of starting. Most backpackers choose to acclimatize in Huaraz, at 3,000 meters above sea level. From Huaraz, one can take a number of one-day excursions around the area to aid in acclimatization. A short walk around the center of Huaraz will quickly familiarize one with the available tour options, which cost around $10.

Food

Huaraz has a large selection of groceries that can be used for backpacking. Smaller towns and villages in the region have a much smaller assortment. Huaraz has at least one smallish supermarket and a large market. We were able to find things like a Ramen noodle equivalent, packaged cheese, peanut butter, Oreos, banana chips, powdered milk, cream of wheat, granola, a small selection of chocolate (Peruvians don’t have the same sweet tooth Americans do), and resealable bags. Huaraz is well-stocked for backpackers.

Groceries may be nonexistent in mountain villages, so don’t count on being able to restock. There was just one very small store in Pishgopampa, halfway into our route, where we were able to get things like apples, cookies, matches, and toilet paper. We would have been fine without this resupply, but decided to buy a few things just in case.

Fuel

Gas canisters with 230 and 500 grams of gas are available around Huaraz in many travel agencies and mini gear shops, which are concentrated in the central part of town. We saw two different mixtures of propane and butane, one of which is preferable for very cold temperatures. In addition, backpacker-oriented hostels may have stores of partially used canisters left by past hikers and climbers. We picked up a couple of these for free and returned them – somewhat more used – ten days later. Pure alcohol is readily available in pharmacies, and other sources say that blue-colored alcohol de quemar can also be found. The mountains have little wood, and campfires are prohibited, so a BushBuddy is out of the question.

Regulations

Most of the Cordillera Blanca is located within the Huascarán National Park. A one-day pass costs under $2 per person (payable in Peruvian currency), and a one-month pass (required for any overnight stays) costs $20 per person. The fee is payable upon entering the park, but sometimes there is no one to collect it in the off-season. Camping is allowed anywhere, and human waste does not have to be packed out of the park. However, no fires are allowed. No additional permits are required to hike or climb any of the peaks – even Peru’s highest, Huascarán (6,768 meters, or over 22,000 feet).

Crime

While some other mountain areas of Peru, such as the nearby Cordillera Huayhuash, were the site of robberies and even murder during the years of The Shining Path, the Cordillera Blanca have never had such problems. In recent years, all mountain areas in the region are considered safe, but guidebooks still recommend hiring a guide for hiking in the Huayhuash, and local “guards” will ask for money to watch over your camps at night. In the Cordillera Blanca, none of this is necessary, but still take care to avoid attracting undue attention in inhabited areas.

Maps and Information

For 20 Soles ($6.50), a very basic, non-topographic map of the Cordillera Blanca can be obtained at some travel agencies in Huaraz. Unless you are walking along the most popular and well-marked path, the Santa Cruz trek, this map will probably not be sufficient for orienteering. However, the other map for sale – a detailed topographic map of the Cordillera Blanca and nearby Cordillera Huayhuash – costs 80 Soles ($25 USD). Finding this a high price to pay for our slim budget, we opted to take a photo of the map on the wall of our hostel, and this, along with the basic tourist map and practical orienteering skills, kept us on the trail we needed to go. In ambiguous spots, a careful comparison of the tourist map and the topographic map photo was enough to send us up the right valley or mountainside.

Also very useful is a free “Map Guide” for Huaraz that has most of the information that a traveler would need – what to do in and around Huaraz and the surrounding mountains, how to get around, etc.

Trails, Terrain, and Orienteering

The Cordillera Blanca are high, glaciated mountains, with deep valleys that take on a pronounced U-shaped starting at approximately 3,700 meters. Few, if any, trails in the Cordillera Blanca are dedicated hiking trails. Mostly, they are used by locals – some for hundreds of years. Trails link settlements and lead to important grazing areas. Hence, they either follow valley bottoms or lead up over passes into the next deep valley. Sometimes trails cross streams, which usually have primitive bridges over them. Trails are well-worn and generally easy to follow. The less popular the route, however, the fewer signs there are, and the easier it is to lose the trail, which may at times be hard to distinguish from livestock paths.

Luckily, the dramatic topography makes map reading a cinch, and the largely unobstructed landscape allows for easy cross-country travel should you stray off the trail. If you are still unsure of the route, locals will know which path to take, if any happen to be around. Even though not everyone in the mountains speaks Spanish (Quechua is the default language), saying a name place with a questioning intonation and pointing will probably be enough to make yourself understood and get an answer.

Selecting a Route

The most popular and well-marked trekking route is the Santa Cruz Trek (50 km), followed by the Alpamayo Trek (90 km) and a number of other less known circuits. The readily available free tourist guidebook in Huaraz has a simple map with all the trails on it, and these trails can be stitched together to make a route of anywhere from 30 to 200 or more kilometers. Based on our time schedule (ten days), we created a loop combining most of the Santa Cruz Trek and the Alpamayo Trek. We settled on this route the day before we began our hike. We chose to go in a counter-clockwise direction in order to begin with a gradual elevation rise and finish with a long descent. This helped with acclimatization, but we still experienced some headaches the first couple days.

As you can see from the elevation profile below – which shows only the high and low points – our route took us over eight passes in nine days. Walking up and down steep passes over 4,500 meters proved to strenuous, but overall our pace and schedule were quite unhurried.

Getting To and From the Trailhead

Getting to your trailhead from Huaraz could prove challenging without some knowledge of Spanish. This is one more reason to choose a backpacker-oriented hostel for your first couple nights in Huaraz, because you’ll be able to meet other backpackers and share important information. In our case, we took a local minibus to the town of Caraz, where we were immediately approached by a mototaxi driver who had guessed our itinerary and took us to the location in town where cars filled up to take people up the mountain to Cashapampa, where our trailhead was. On the way back, we were approached by a taxi driver in Hualcallan and taken to Caraz, where we took the same kind of minivan bus back to Huaraz. As a general rule, one can figure out transportation on the go and count on the locals having long ago figured out where backpackers need to go and how to take them there.

Water

Water is always nearby in the mountains even in the dry season, since trails generally follow deep gullies with glacier-fed streams. However, much of the mountains are grazed by cattle, sheep, horses, donkeys, and pigs as high as 4,500 meters or more. Nearly ubiquitous cow patties led us to treat 100% of our water with AquaMira. Even where there seemed to be no cattle, donkeys on the trail would leave patties of their own, and we were never completely sure that the water we were getting was untainted. We did not notice any filters for sale in Huaraz, but it is highly likely that iodine drops could be obtained in mini gear shops or pharmacies.

Locals

In general, Andean mountain dwellers appear cheerful and friendly towards strangers. If you speak Spanish (or better, Quechua), it will be easy to talk to people and find about their life. Their Spanish is often easier to understand than that of Peruvians who grew up speaking it at home and have a much larger vocabulary.

However, you will probably encounter people – especially children – who ask you for candy or other things. We actually had a grown man run a quarter mile down a slope just to tell us, “Dame un caramelo” (give me a piece of candy). To be honest, we felt put off by people who would bluntly ask us for candy without having even talked to us. Once, we were feeling ungenerous and refused some children candy, and they only left us alone after we had turned them down multiple times for chocolate and money as well. Generally, it is wise to carry along a bag of lemon candy or similar treats to give to locals whom you feel inclined to treat. Unfortunately, most of them will just toss the plastic wrappers on the ground, since they’re apparently not yet aware of the difference between biodegradable and non-biodegradable trash. In fact, we are sure that most of the trash left on trails is from local residents and guides, not foreign backpackers.

Livestock

The only negative aspect of our backpacking trip was encounters with cows, who at times viewed us as intruders. On some steep slopes cows may be reluctant to get off the trail, forcing you to somehow go around them or scare them off. One must be attentive to the cows’ mood and movements to judge whether they are indifferent, on guard, or aggressive. An indifferent cow looks at you curiously and continues to chew its cud. A cow on guard stares at you and stops chewing its cud. An aggressive cow moves towards you while staring at you without chewing. Aggressive behavior is usually the result of having calves around. The smaller the calf, the more protective the cows will be.

Cows with calves are best avoided at a safe distance of a hundred yards or more. If you notice they have started to advance towards you, calmly walk away from them and pick up a few rocks, just in case. Once, a group of cows came running down a hill and moved towards our campsite, which was at the bottom of a large meadow in the valley. We tried to hastily break camp, but the cows got to us before we had finished. They seemed curious about us and wanted to check out our campsite, but we knew that if we abandoned our things, they would trample everything and slobber all over our food. Once the cows were about thirty meters away, I began blowing my emergency whistle as we continued to pack up. The cows didn’t know what it meant and continued moving towards us, albeit more slowly and unsurely. Finally we had moved everything to the nearby collapsing stone outhouse, and from there began tossing pebbles at them. Meanwhile, some other hikers had responded to our whistle and stood a kilometer away on a ridge to see what was up. After five minutes or so of pebble throwing, we were able to get the herd to stop trying to move closer to us, and by advancing towards them, we finally got them to start moving away from us in another direction. Cow herds are very inert indeed.

Do not underestimate cows. Even though guidebooks and websites on the Cordillera Blanca make virtually no mention of them, we told locals about our scary encounter with the cows, and they cautioned us to be careful and told us about a herder who had been gored by a bull. Presumably, cattle are less of an issue during the dry season, when there are far more hikers on the trail, the cows may move elsewhere to graze, or the calves may have grown up.

Shelter Choice and Site Selection

We chose to use a generous 10 x 10 foot silnylon tarp to provide more coverage during the Andean rainy season and believe this was a good choice. We were not at all cramped and could comfortably cook under the tarp during the rain. Surprisingly, we encountered almost no nighttime wind. Site selection is limited due to the dramatic topography and tufty Andean grass, and almost all our campsites ended up being in pastures at the bottom of deep valleys. After our encounter with cows, we searched for spots out of sight of any grazing cattle. Finding a dung-free patch was sometimes a challenge.

Conclusion

Our hiking adventure in the Cordillera Blanca allowed us to see and experience magnificent mountains larger than anything we had ever seen before. We faced consistently wetter conditions than we had hiked in before, and were pleased to find that our rain gear, quick drying clothes, and generous tarp allowed us to avoid any discomfort or loss of hiking time due to rain. Finally, through our many conversations with local mountain dwellers, we came away with an awareness of how people live in the Andes – how they have changed the mountains, how the mountains have shaped their civilization, and how their lifestyle is changing in the modern era.

As we read about other mountainous regions of the Central Andes, it appears that the logistics are much the same everywhere. Inexpensive local buses and taxis take backpackers to all the popular hiking destinations, and services have cropped up to provide them with the supplies they need. Based on our experience in the Cordillera Blanca, we would feel confident making visits to mountain ranges in southern Peru, Bolivia, and much of Chile and Argentina with very little advance planning except for gathering some phone numbers and addresses of bus companies or hostels in important locations. These mountains are magnificent, accessible, enjoy fair weather, and are perfectly suited for lightweight backpacking.

Introduction

Finding pals who both own a packraft and know how to packraft is not easy business. Finding instructors who know how to teach packrafting to others is even harder. When I received RSVPs from seven outdoor educators (including a handful of accomplished packrafters) to join me on a packrafting trip down the Madison River so we could all learn to packraft from each other, I knew I was onto something pretty special. The deal was simple: there were no costs, no fees, and no pay; we’d teach each other, we’d probably swim, and we’d have a heckuva good time.

So when we all convened at Ennis Lake on the morning of May 28, the least I could do was make everyone pancakes and bacon on a decidedly heavy Camp Chef. Our goal was simple: paddle our way to Three Forks, Montana, forty-five miles downriver. We’d start with a few hours of practice at Ennis Lake, then some river skills practice in the whitewater below Ennis Dam, and finally, a run down the Madison River starting with some of the most hallowed wilderness whitewater in the state of Montana: Bear Trap Canyon. We figured perhaps we’d end at the famous location along the trail of Lewis and Clark: the headwaters of the Missouri River.

4,000 cfs Baby!

The Madison River was running full tilt in response to a heavy snowpack and warm temperatures: nearly 4,000 cfs (base flows average 1,200 cfs). These are flows that elevate the normally Class III canyon into a Class IV-V froth of deadly rapids: Whitehorse, the Kitchen Sink, and the Green Wave, while turning normally tame Class IIs into solid IIIs. We knew we wouldn’t be able to float the big rapids, but we were surprised at the difficulty involved in negotiating the rest of the upper canyon. Fast, technical whitewater with serious consequences: big holes, unending hydraulics, and lots, and lots, and lots of massive rocks. So, we spent most of the evening on the first day negotiating Class II-III whitewater in the upper canyon cautiously and carefully. Three of us took swims in strong eddy lines and rock holes, getting ‘bandersnatched’ (sucked backwards) into the hydraulics. As the light faded and reading the complex current became more difficult, we called it an evening, bushwhacked up the canyon wall to a trail, and found a four-star campsite on a grassy beach. We went to bed tired, but rewarded.

Not Stupid OR Suicidal

The next day, we walked three and a half miles of trail to bypass massive rapids, including a twelve-foot reverse curling roller at Whitehorse, the bus-sized recirculating hole of the Kitchen Sink, and massive complexity at the Green Wave. There had been no registered attempts, commercial, or private, to float the river since May 12, when the river started to rise. We later learned from hardcore kayakers that running the Bear Trap this time of year should be considered something between stupid and suicidal.

So, at 11:00 a.m. on May 29, we finally dropped in at Bear Trap Creek for a continuous run to Three Forks. We’d float a mile of technical Class II that allowed us to practice our pirouettes and snicker-snacks through a series of rock gardens, followed by miles and miles of more tame Class I-II water that included strong eddies and big wave trains to provide plenty of interesting boating. By the end of the day, we had covered thirty miles, finding a remote island camp after exploring a side channel barely wider than our little boats. As our campfire faded into the darkness of the evening, those of us remaining awake witnessed a treasured and rare event: Montana fireflies. We spotted four of them, blinking intermittently across the stream, twenty feet from our fire. The Montana firefly is an elusive and extraordinarily rare creature, having only been witnessed by select few.

Nothing Like Having Your Blood Drawn

The warm feeling of sharing our camp with fireflies faded soon as we went to bed and removed several less elusive creatures (ticks) from our clothing and skin, along with anything resembling a tick with paranoiac fury – burrs, pine needles, extra clumps of hair, moles, etc.

On May 30, we continued our voyage to Three Forks, exploring tiny, meandering side channels probably unknown to other boaters, napping lazily when the river flow slowed to a crawl, and sharing a tin of smoked oysters towards the end of the trip. Upon our arrival at the confluence of the Jefferson, Madison, and Gallatin Rivers, shortly after we entered the headwaters of the mighty Missouri, a Gallatin County Search and Rescue boat captain (on a training exercise) shouted enthusiastically, “Look at those! Alpackas! They only weigh four pounds and can run whitewater!”

What It’s All About

We beached our boats with renewed confidence, discussed the design and execution of Backpacking Light’s new Introduction to Packrafting course and a newfound enthusiasm to teach others about safely planning and executing their own packrafting expeditions.

That evening, surrounding a table at Bozeman’s MacKenzie River Pizza Company, we talked about our varying states of job security, homelessness, investments, parenting, marriage, and religion. It was clear that our eclectic little group was about as diverse as a Brooklyn Book Club, but our common thread was strong, and we cemented our commitments to each other through an ultralight ethic, a big and wondrous river, and a new mode of travel that left us feeling more than just a little bit giddy.

Participants: Darin Banner, Scott Christy, Carol Crooker, Brett French, Sam Haraldson, Ryan Jordan, Mike Martin, and Andrew Skurka.

Photos: Ryan Jordan, Olympus 790SW

More:

– Learn to Packraft with Backpacking Light’s Wilderness Trekking School

– Read about packrafting in the book Packrafting! by Roman Dial

– Watch a video about a packrafting trek through Beartrap Canyon by Ryan Jordan and Bill Stadwiser

– Read an article in the Bozeman Daily Chronicle, by Amanda Ricker

– Read an article in the Billings Gazette, by Brett French

– More articles about packrafting at Backpacking Light

Introduction

I am embarrassed to admit that, after several years of living in Utah, dozens of weeks spent in the western desert, and many nights dreaming away under a shelter slung between two juniper trees, I somehow managed to avoid reading Edward Abbey’s classic work, Desert Solitaire. That is, until a few weeks ago when, upon learning this fact, a friend demanded that I correct this travesty and made sure a copy found its way into my hands. As I lay in bed one February night in Montana, I began to read:

Off in the east an isolated storm is boiling over the desert, a mass of lavender clouds bombarding the earth with lightning and trailing curtains of rain. The distance is so great that I cannot hear the thunder. Between here and there and me and the mountains it’s the canyon wilderness, the hoodoo land of spire and pillar and pinnacle where no man lives, and where the river flows, unseen, through the blue-black trenches in the rock.

Reading our buddy Ed’s words stirred up thoughts of the desert that had been lying dormant ever since I left Utah four years ago. Like Goldie Wilson, the young busboy in Back to the Future who suddenly realizes that someday he is going to become mayor of Hill Valley, a smile came to my face as I said to myself, “River trip in a desert canyon. I like the sound of that.”

Raft-packing?

For years I’ve heard stories about the eighty-mile stretch of the Escalante River above Lake Powell. Friends of mine who have spent their entire lives in Utah have remarked that of all the spectacular backcountry Utah has to offer (and there is plenty) this length of the Escalante ranks among the most enticing.

Andy Heath, a close friend and packraft owner, agreed that Escalante was an alluring destination. We immediately began poring over maps at the library in Bozeman and formulating an itinerary. Andy and I could only find a brief window this spring when our schedules would coincide. Late March was it, and we were confident that we could cover the roughly forty river miles between Fence Canyon and Coyote Gulch in four days.

Despite our optimism, there was one glaring problem with our plan – low water. As a matter of fact, when preparing for the trip, many of the people with whom we spoke cautioned us that what were planning could not be done. For starters, spring runoff would not be for another couple of weeks, if at all due to the disappointing winter snow pack. We were warned that to run it in March would mean having to walk (aka ‘raft-pack’) much of the canyon. Also, those not familiar with the Alpacka’s tough-as-nails reputation were skeptical as to whether our inflatable boats could survive the maze of sharp stones and thorny Russian olive thickets that higher water levels would normally cover. Upon requesting permits, the rangers looked at us with a certain degree of paternal concern, then explained that the river was only running at 1.6 cfs (no, 1.6 is not a typo). To their knowledge, no one had successfully run the river at that level.

At this point, the only information we had that contradicted the negative feedback we were receiving was a forum posting written by Sheri Tingey, inventor of the Alpacka raft. She claimed that contrary to conventional wisdom, 2 cfs was not only enough water to packraft the Escalante, it was actually ideal. Putting our faith and trust in Sheri’s experience above all else and hoping for a bit of rain, Andy and I thanked the rangers for their advice and asked for permits anyway. After showing us our three bailout options above Coyote Gulch, a semi-sarcastic “Have a nice walk,” was the last thing we heard before heading out the door.

Philosophic Thoughts

I find desert travel particularly conducive to generate rolling, rambling, and what some might even call philosophic thoughts, amateur though they may be. Like a flux capacitor surging at 1.21 gigawatts, I noticed the desert transporting my brain to the place where time moves at geological pace, thus altering (and lessening) my brain’s insistence on its own significance and notions of permanence. Reading Desert Solitaire, it is obvious that our buddy Ed had similar thoughts,

Alone in the silence, I understand for a moment the dread which many feel in the presence of primeval desert, the unconscious fear which compels them to tame, alter, or destroy what they cannot understand, to reduce the wild and prehuman to human dimensions. Anything rather than confront directly the antehuman, that other world which frightens not through danger or hostility but in something far worse – its implacable indifference.

Upon entering the canyon and seeing the first series of bends unfold before me, the thought came to my mind that our contemporary attitude towards wilderness conservation and preservation are narrow at best when applied to a land that is so jagged and unfinished. Encountering a place such as the Escalante River – a landscape constantly creating, destroying and re-creating itself – I realized how futile efforts would be to preserve it as it is at this moment in time. Rather, what is worth preserving are the natural, unimpeded processes by which the earth shapes itself free of unnecessary human intervention. Or, to put it into terms Back to the Future aficionados will understand, it is not the Hill Valley clock tower that is worth saving, as the crazy lady would have us believe, but rather the chance for lightning to strike it.

As we made the transition from foot to packraft, the thoughts continued, although subtler and more serene as the energy of the river began to move our bodies and gear. Floating next to the towering walls and meandering twists, this canyon and my packraft collaborated to remind me that change is necessary, inevitable, and utterly fascinating when I sit back and watch it do its thing.

Desert Quicksand

Those who have explored this area before warned Andy and I to watch out for quicksand. Our buddy Ed is among those offering cautionary advice:

Ordinarily it is possible for a man to walk across quicksand, if he keeps moving. But if he stops, funny things begin to happen. The surface of the quicksand, which may look as firm as the wet sand on an ocean beach, begins to liquefy beneath his feet. He finds himself sinking slowly into a jelly-like substance, soft and quivering, which clasps itself around his ankles with the suction power of any viscous fluid. Pulling out one foot, the other foot necessarily goes down deeper, and if a man waits too long, or cannot reach something solid beyond the quicksand, he may soon find himself trapped.

Andy and I discovered within a few hours of putting in our boats that quicksand is indeed a sporadic reality in the canyon. Upon exiting the boats, our first steps on shore were often tentative ones, never fully sure if the ground would give way under our feet. On one occasion, Andy found his right leg buried up to his knee in goopy sand, with the left precariously balanced on his still-unanchored boat. Fortunately, an inflated packraft is excellent device to facilitate self rescue from quicksand (reason #19 why an Alpacka raft is way cooler than a Delorean), and we were soon laughing about the event.

Despite all the advanced warnings regarding getting stuck, the one warning we did not receive was to watch out for a different type of quicksand – the metaphorical kind that grabs your brain makes you not want to leave a place. During our float, Andy and I were so thoroughly captivated that we often talked about returning in a year or two to raft the entire eighty-mile stretch between the town of Escalante and Coyote Gulch. During that trip, we mused, we would take our time and explore as many side canyons and gulches along the way as we desired. Though exhilarating, the need to make good time in the shallow water prevented us from exploring beyond the main channel. As a result, the vast majority of the canyon’s secrets still remain a mystery to us, concealed behind the twisting labyrinth of walls, cracks, and bends… awaiting our inevitable return.

Hail to All Good Samaritans in Faded Silver Nissans

Its worth noting that there are definite advantages to reconfirming one’s shuttle plans when preparing for a rafting trip – especially in the desert. At the top of the list of advantages are avoiding the scenario whereupon one arrives at the end of the trail, out of food and short on water to find an empty parking lot. I can say for certain that there is a very distinct sinking feeling that takes place in the stomach upon arriving at said location and receiving a voicemail from your shuttler confirming your suspicions that he or she is indeed not coming to your rescue and that they are “sorry.” Denial, anger, bargaining, and acceptance follow thereafter in short order.

I easily could explore the ways in which our predicament was like Marty McFly finding himself unexpectedly stuck in 1955 (November 5, to be exact) without a fully-operational time machine, but I can recognize a dead horse when I see one, so we’ll just move on. What I will say is that Andy and I found ourselves in the midst of quite the dilemma: stay put for who knows how long and hope someone offers us a ride back to our car or begin the long walk along a seldom-used desert road with unknown/doubtful access to drinking water.

While weighing the pros and cons of each decision, we were delighted to see an old, faded, silver Nissan truck approaching on the sandy road to the west. Tempering our excitement, we gingerly walked up to the man who exited, said hello, and asked him the predictable series of questions people in our situation would ask. As it turned out, the man was a former park ranger and understood our situation all too well. Not only did he offer us a ride back to our car, he actually handed us his keys and told us to drop it off when we were done retrieving our vehicle. I don’t recall his name, and I doubt he remembers ours, but two things are utterly clear to me after the event. Wow, were we incredibly lucky, and man, do I love Utah.

Final Thoughts

While Andy and I are proud to say that we successfully floated the river at 1.6 cfs with relatively few portages (two or three per day on average, of which a grand total of three were mandatory/unavoidable), Andy and I definitely found ourselves wishing for more water on multiple occasions. I will suggest that 1.6 cfs is the absolute bare minimum needed to navigate this river by packraft. Both a light load and a well-tempered boat are also essential under these conditions to maximize buoyancy. Our biggest obstacles faced while rafting were the barely submerged boulders and gravel bars. Each proved hard to spot and could halt progress entirely when encountered unexpectedly. We found that constant attention to river features and the picking of proper water channels were imperative to maintaining steady progress. In short, 1.6 cfs was barely do-able, 2.0 would have been nice, and above 2.5 luxurious.

As far as weather is concerned, March is definitely a shoulder season in southern Utah. As such, we encountered everything from snow to blazing sun. For those wishing to do a similar trip, this obviously means taking the necessary precautions and planning accordingly when preparing a gear list. Fires are both forbidden in and ill-suited for the Escalante River canyon due to the fragile ecosystem, so it is wise to consider a little extra insulation for night, especially if you are a cold sleeper. Fortunately, many items in a typical packrafting kit have multiple uses and can help lighten the load and offset the additional weight of the packraft itself. Some typical examples are as follows: First, an upside-down packraft makes for a luxurious sleeping pad for those of us six feet and under. As a result, a sleeping pad is unnecessary for many packrafting trips. Similarly, raft paddles break down easily and provide solid support for a tarp shelter. Andy and I brought a two person mid and supported it in this way. Finally, a quality dry top (an essential piece of gear at this time of year) negates the need for additional rain gear, so long as you don’t mind your legs being wet during the day.

Finally, though we are all conscious of the amount of weight we pack on our trips, I would encourage folks to consider bringing along some excerpts from Desert Solitaire to most any float in southern Utah. A pared-down paperback copy weighs only a couple of ounces, and there is something wonderful to be gained from hearing Abbey’s words read aloud at night, echoing off the same stone that inspired him to write.