We can now distinguish parts of a fire, know some basics of wildfire behavior, and are familiar with the fundamental suppression method. We come to the crux question: how do you get away?
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As light hikers, we cover large distances and travel more deeply into remote areas than many other wilderness users. As a result, we’re more likely than most wilderness users to encounter uncontrolled and unreported fires. How do you assess the fire and anticipate its movement? What do you do?
Walking on Fire: Part 1
You’re six days through a week-long thru-hike, making good time. It’s a brilliant, bluebird day. You’ve gone light on food, but it feels so good to be out in the mountains that you hardly notice. Your spouse is meeting you at the trailhead, only ten miles ahead. You crest the final pass and gaze downvalley.
Your chest tightens. The forest canopy is awash in pale gray smoke, rising upslope towards the ridgeline. Although no flame is visible from here, it’s clearly a big fire, at least a quarter-mile across. Vertically, it stretches from just above valley-bottom to timberline – and the trail goes right through the heart of it. As if on cue, an usually large puff of smoke and dust emerges from the near edge. A moment later, a muffled, clattering crash echoes through the valley: the sound of a big tree falling. Your heart rate jumps. You’ve got 2,100 calories of food left and no communications equipment. You’re in trail shoes. Your ride is on the other side of the burn.
You stop, breath deeply, and wash the jolt of adrenaline form your system. First, you realize, you need to assess the fire and terrain. Only then can you form a plan.
As light hikers, we cover large distances and travel more deeply into remote areas than many other wilderness users. As a result, we’re more likely than most wilderness users to encounter uncontrolled and unreported fires. Fortunately, the same factors which increase this likelihood – light loads, mobility, speed, and comfort in the backcountry – also make the light hiker unusually well-suited to respond to such a situation.
How do you assess the fire and anticipate its movement? What do you do?
The Fire Triangle: Venerable icon of fire science, the fire triangle depicts the three critical components of fire.
To understand wildfire behavior, we need to start with the fundamental nature of fire. Let’s examine a familiar tool: the liquid-fuel stove. In a stove, we combine an ignition source (heat) with oxygen and fuel. This starts a self-sustaining, exothermic (literally “heat out”) chain reaction called combustion. In a liquid stove, fuel flow-rate is usually used to control combustion intensity, but oxygen is used as the control mechanism for the physical location of the fire. The metal fuel-supply tube contains moving fuel and becomes very hot, but with the tube wall separating fuel from oxygen, no combustion occurs inside it. Combustion occurs only at the fuel aperture, where the fuel “daylights” and circulates with oxygen-rich air. A byproduct of this reaction, at the atomic level, is the release of photons, which we observe as flame.
A 100,000-acre forest fire burns under the same constraints as a stove. In fact, we can push the metaphor a lot further. Within the metal fuel tube, a process known as preheating occurs, in which the fuel is warmed. Since combustion only occurs above a certain temperature (which varies for different fuels), this heating prepares the fuel for combustion. At a certain point in the fuel tube, the liquid becomes a gas. It is these vapors – not liquid fuel- which actually combust with the oxidizer (oxygen).
A critical point: it is the vapor which combusts, not solid or liquid material. The carbohydrate and hydrocarbon fires we naturally encounter, from burning trees to burning cars, are flammable vapors combusting with atmospheric oxygen. Fuel is heated until it releases flammable vapors, the vapors mix with air, and the mixture combusts. Fire as we’re generally familiar with it is a reaction occurring in hot gases, and it behaves as such.
When you wrap an aluminum heat-shield around your stove, you create the “oven effect” of a heat shield, reflecting and/or capturing and re-radiating infrared heat. A pile of logs does the same thing – as does steep canyon walls. Dumping a cook pot of cold water on the stove absorbs the combustion heat, robbing the chain reaction of its “heat engine” and thereby extinguishing it, and may also momentarily occlude the oxygen supply.
When you blow out your stove – or a candle – you’re literally pushing the “cell” of hot gas away from the fuel source. The cell burns out or dissipates. You’ve literally blown the heat “off” the stove. If that object is hot enough (i.e., the metal on the stove), it will re-supply the heat-of-combustion, and the chain reaction will begin again. For this reason, it’s easy to blow out a candle or burning pine needle (except in very dry conditions), but a superheated log may endure even momentary immersion in a helicopter bucket drop: its mass forms a huge “heat battery.”
South Libby Fire, 2001
Our Hotshot crew marched through an ashy moonscape, skirting a burned and very unhappy little rattlesnake. Near midnight, we set to work cutting line up Libby Peak, following the fire edge and a flagline left by our scouts. Without solar heating and daytime winds, the fire had “laid down,” but was still burning actively in places. In fire lexicon, “humidity recovery was poor,” meaning the temperature stayed high and the humidity low all night. Tearing a swathe of cleared brush and barren soil up the mountain, we snaked along the very edge of the fire. The contingency plan was simple: if the fire started heating up ahead of us or spots fires started below our position, we’d step across the low-intensity edge behind us, and walk into the wilderness of ash behind it. There was nothing left to burn out there.
After sunrise, Tony, our superintendent, pulled us back into “the black” to await recon. We hiked up to a ridgeline and saw, for the first time, what he’d had us cutting around: an entire drainage running up the mountain, incinerated. The entire bowl, perhaps a half-mile or more long, had been sterilized. Black skeletons of trees and white ash were all that remained.
We sat down in the ash and held position as the fire wakened to a new day. A helicopter landed on the ridge and took Tony up on recon. Smoke activity increased, sending iron-gray plumes up from the mountain’s timbered flanks. Trees torched intermittently on a distant ridge, shooting banners of orange flame into the sky.
Miles to the north, a white cumulous cloud rose from an unseen valley, a series of wispy, lens-shaped cirrus clouds on its crown. Silent and alabaster, it bespoke – to the cognizant eye – violent and infernal events below.
It turned out this was the “column” from the Thirtymile fire. As we watched, it was burning four firefighters to death.
Technical Points of South Libby: South Libby demonstrates some basic and very practical fire science. In the following analysis, we’ll look at
Parts of a Fire: The three basic parts of a fire exist simultaneously across scales and can be identified on most flames.
Any given patch of fire has three basic parts – head, flanks, and heel or back – and five common ways of spreading – head fire, flanking fire, backing fire, spotting, and roll-out. In the graphic, we see the three spread types associated with the parts of a fire: head, flanking, and backing fire. These fire “types” occur on any given patch of fire, from a candle flame to the 175,000-acre Tripod fire.
At South Libby, we “anchored” at the vertical bottom of the fire, on the low-intensity heel. From there, we dug all night upslope on flanking and backing portions, where it was – in fire parlance – a “surface burn.” The head fire, on the other hand, had been so hot earlier in the evening that it had sterilized an entire drainage.
When interacting with any flame, practice differentiating the three basic parts of a fire. As you learn to differentiate them at a glance, you’ll be able to identify the hotter, faster-spreading parts of a fire almost instantly. The fatal Thirtymile Fire – which we watched “blow-up” – arguably resulted in four deaths because the trapped crew thought they were at the heel of the fire – the backing portion – when they were in fact near the head.
Light Hiker Tactic: Aside from actual flame angle measurements, nothing indicates head, flank, and backing fire as well as smoke. Activity may vary due to varying fuel types, but smoke almost always goes into the black at backing fire, along the fire front at flanking fire, and away from the fire and into unburned areas at head fire.
Basic Topographic Effects.
An idealized fire, on a continuous fuel bed, on a flat horizontal surface, and in the absence of wind, will spread in a more-or-less perfect circle. Very few of us, however, hike in an idealized windless version of Iowa. Usually, we’re in wind and rolling or mountain topography, which changes everything.
Wind, by displacing the hot gases via air movement and the radiant heat flux via flame-angle, will progressively attenuate the perfect circle of a flatland fire into an oval that gets progressively longer and thinner, as wind speed increases.
As terrain gets steeper and more complicated, terrain rapidly becomes a major influencer on the fire, eventually dominating it. This is partly through terrain’s place at the top of the food chain: mountain topography shapes local winds and controls water flow, creating the microclimates and vegetation patterns that further influence fire. Fortunately, fire interacts with topography in a reliable set of ways.
Basic Wildfire Topographic Effects:
Spread Rates in Different Fuel Types: Three fires in otherwise similar conditions, at the same time, “t“, after ignition. All have spread from origins at roughly the same points (the white circles at middle and right, the small patch of black at left), with different spread rates (how fast they spread) and residence times (how long they burn on a patch of given ground). Residence time (coupled with intensity) affects the final temperature of the “black,” and hence the amount of time until it is inhabitable.
The nuances of fuel type are as varied as the biome itself and are further affected by humidity and arrangement. However, for a quick and intuitive ability to interpret fuel types, we can split them into three loose categories: Fine, Light, and Heavy. The cheat sheet on them:
Fine Fuels: Flashy Fast-Movers. Fine fuels are grass, pine needles, twigs, chaparral brush, and any other fuels that burn with a tinder-like intensity and speed.
Light Fuels: Sticks and Kindling. Light fuels, for this discussion, include kindling-weight twigs and a variety of sticks. Fine fuels will often readily ignite light fuels, and light fuels assist in igniting heavier fuels. Light fuels will usually equalize with ambient humidity over a period from thirty minutes to several hours.
Heavy Fuels: Environmental Equalizers. Heavy fuels include large branches, downed logs, and standing snags.
Light Hiker Tactic: Fuel Type Assessment on the Landscape. The categories of Fine, Light, and Heavy are metaphorical. In reality, fuels exist on spectrums of surface area, humidity capacity, thermal mass, and energy content, but these categories are useful tools.
Standing in any given place on the environment, break down every readily burnable thing you see into Fine, Light, and Heavy Fuels. Knowing how each burns (fines are flashy, heavies burn long and hot, and lights are in-between), what scene of fire intensity and duration does this create for you?
Basic Suppression Sequence: Head fire is most difficult to contain. In this case, line is dug at “stand-off range.” Holding it may be difficult.
The basic wildfire containment technique is to isolate the fire by separating the burning fuel from unburned fuel. This done by creating a firebreak, a space which the fire won’t burn across. Isolation via firebreak is the primary tactic used on most remote fires in the western U.S. High-pressure water pumps, foam, helicopter water-drop, and other technical innovations are only accessories to the basic act of isolation.
Once the fire is contained, the primary extinguishing method is “dry mopping,” or churning any hot fuel in with damp soil. This isolates burning material at a fine scale (by putting soil between pieces of burning fuel) and uses the water in the soil to extinguish the fire.
As a salty old foreman of mine once said: “Separate the green stuff from the black stuff, put the brown stuff on the orange stuff, and stay out of the gray stuff. It’s not that complicated.”
Light Hiker Tactic: Quickie Fire-Isolation. With a very small fire, simply scrape the area around it down to mineral soil. In most cases, this will stop all spread. In more forgiving conditions, just sweeping back the most readily available fuel (pine needles atop a damp organic soil) is enough. Pouring or splashing water around the edge may also work, at least temporarily.
Light Hiker Tactic: Dry Mop-Up. Whether containing a small fire or putting out your own campfire, some simple and reliable dry-mop techniques are:
“Potato-patching” is a common hallmark of smokejumper tactics. You may have encountered aging areas of heavily worked ground, mixed with old burnt wood, in remote wilderness areas. Now you know: these are probably old smokejumper fires.
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| Vertical vs. Horizontal Fuel Arrangement: At left, a “tipi” fire uses vertical fuel arrangement and inward angled fuels (which help channel air), creating an oven effect. A powerful central heat column drives efficient ventilation via a single large convection cell, and preheats the higher-placed fuels. At right, fuels are spread horizontally. Ventilation is broken up into micro-cells. Heat escapes upward, failing to preheat other fuels, weakening the heat engine. |
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Fire spreads vertically as well as horizontally, and vertical spread – where fuel arrangement allows it – is more spectacular as a result of gas dynamics. From our perspective, the most important behavior is torching, the process by which fire climbs up and ignites the canopies of trees. Key points of torching:
Fire is influenced by moisture, wind, latent temperature, and solar heating. Nighttime hours create a familiar drop in temperature, but also a rise in relative humidity (hence nocturnal dew), and frequently a lessening of solar-driven winds. In most situations, the fire will “lie down” (decrease in activity) overnight. Weather conditions and solar exposure being equal, wildfires burn hottest in mid-late afternoon (4:00 p.m. is a good landmark for the peak activity) and may continue to “roll” well into the darkness hours, easily to 8:00 or 9:00 p.m. in the right conditions. Fires are usually most quiescent during the hours before dawn (around 4:00 a.m.). This corresponds to the hottest and coolest portions of the day, which tend to rotate around the planet with a significant lag behind solar noon and midnight. This will be modified by changing weather (a cloud layer rolling in) or solar exposure (the fire might be on a very steep east aspect and lose its solar heating shortly after noon).
Light Hiker Tactic: Night Crossing. If you need to transect an area with an actively burning fire, wait until weather conditions and time-of-day cause the fire to “lie down.” Knowing that fire activity tends to lag behind solar time allows you to avoid the otherwise-easy mistake of attempting to transect a fire just as it enters its most intense burning period.
Light Hiker’s Tool: Basic Fire Behavior Screamsheet. My own experience in fire consists of three years Hotshotting and three years smokejumping – a very modest career, in light of all there is to know about fire. It’s therefore with real hesitancy that I list what I consider the most useful principles. That said, the key wildfire survival and avoidance principles, as I would summarize them, are:
Air flow, topography, weather, fuel type, and fuel arrangement are basic parts of fire behavior, but they don’t necessarily help us make more than cursory sense of what a given fire is doing. With these tools alone it’s very difficult to gauge what a fire will do. Anticipating fire requires an appreciation of its fundamental counterpart: water.
Chena Hot Springs, near Fairbanks, Alaska
Chena Hot Springs was a wet, cold, uncomfortable fire. The “grunge” was going around camp, which was itself a series of mud parking lots. In the zeal to create neat, disciplined rows of tents, my tent had been pitched atop a bush. Periodically, it rained. For the better part of a week, my leather boots and a conservative inventory of socks were somewhere between uncomfortably damp and sodden. We cold-trailed through the tundra along a complex, multi-fingered fire edge, ploughing through black spruce. Resinous spruce needles poured down our collars as we dug our bare hands through the damp moss and ash, feeling for hot embers.
Cold trailing in the tundra was interminable. Varying fuel moistures and burning intensities in the deep, vegetative layer had created a multi-level burn, hence multiple edges. The surface burn crept through lichen, cranberry, moose poop, and other material at the very top of the tundra. Incidentally, I have never seen much fire performance out of burning ungulate droppings. Their fuel arrangement is too compact, and they retain internal moisture too well. Usually, they are heat sinks. They are no substitute for cow pies or yak dung.
Below the surface was a rich, mossy mat, which the fire ate through more slowly, lagging behind the surface burn. Below that was deeper, moister organic material, through which the fire only burned in highly favorable conditions, but was triggered by a big heat source, like a log. The result was multiple fire tiers at ground level, each with a different edge, sometimes separated by tens or hundreds of feet, which combined with horizontal moisture variations from small-scale terrain and vegetation changes. The resulting fire edge was a maddening, three-dimensional mosaic of heat, ash, and unburned material. Under the right conditions, an ember almost anyplace in the entire Rubik’s Cube had the potential to creep beyond the furthest edge, and ignite a new flame front.
Below all this, sometimes less than twelve inches down, was permafrost. Mopping out smokes, we’d chop into the dirty ice, excavating chips of it to mix with the smoldering moss. As we worked atop one of the world’s largest continuous masses of ground ice, running from the Canadian Atlantic to the Bering Sea, almost none of it was available to influence the fire.
A thunderstorm rolled through. We spread out off the ridges and sheltered under space blankets as the light rain fell. Gusty winds raked their chill fingers through the boreal forest. The cell passed, then the sun broke through and heated the upper surface of the tundra. The fuels began to dry out again. Hidden heat re-emerged from sheltered nooks in the mossy edge, and the fire resumed its advance.
On hot portions of the fire, the black spruce were generating crown runs. Green and verdant, looking only a step removed from a temperate rainforest, they burned intensely in atmospheric humidities that would have laid down a fire in most Rocky Mountain biomes. Why? Hydro-botany, to coin a term. To survive the bitter interior winters, black spruce “drop” most of their water content. Although still green and wet-looking, come spring they are dry “resin bombs”: live masses of cellulose and resin, ready to burn hot.
The Chena Hot Springs fire was a tour of water in the environment and how it influences flame. It’s no coincidence that humans across cultures place fire and water at opposite ends of the elemental spectrum, and they’re often associated with opposite-but-associated polarities: Yin and Yang, Sun and Moon, Male and Female, Chocolate and Peanut Butter.
Water is not combustible, in any state. Water has tremendous heat capacity – perhaps 200 times that of air – and the evaporation of water consumes even larger amounts of heat energy. For combustion to occur in typical forest fuels, the fuel must be heated sufficiently to vaporize the fuel’s water content, driving it out as steam. Only then, once at least the surface layer of the fuel is dry, will the fuel become available for burning. This is the basic way water inhibits burning.
To understand the movement of fire in the environment, look to water. Everything in our environment exists in a constant equilibrium with atmospheric humidity. If the air is more humid than the fuel, water transfers into the fuel. If the air is drier, water liberates from the fuel into the air. This process occurs rapidly for fine or light fuels with their high surface-area-to-volume ratio, which go from soaking wet to tinder-dry in less than half an hour, but slowly in heavy logs, which carry moisture loads in their heartwood from one year to the next. Incidentally, this also explains why in a hot summer in a climate with a decent annual moisture average, often only the outer inch or less of a log will burn: as the fire burns inwards, it encounters a trend of moisture increasing towards the annual average. Eventually, it sputters out.
On a large scale, the different water content of our environment is easily observable as changes in vegetation. On a smaller scale, microclimates have a major affect on fire behavior. Moisture tends to collect preferentially in draws and bottoms, where to some extent it may counteract the chimney effect of these areas. Shade elevates relative humidity. Proximity to water sources (the proverbial riverine habitat) increases the amount of water available for evaporation.
Vegetation itself creates microclimates, since living plants are – in effect – biological water pumps. Large masses of living vegetation, like a timber stand, will increase humidity of the area, through a combination of shading, cellular respiration, and the their own standing water mass. Concentrations of dead and downed trees in timber stand make more dry fuel available, and may also make the whole area drier by action as massive moisture-sinks.
Subtly, humidity even varies with distance from the ground. Dry tinder held near damp ground dampens more quickly than it does at eye-level. Fire, in turn, will change its behavior through these microclimates.
At the risk of sound romantic, fire and water dance with one another. It’s a bit like the tango: intricate and flashy, but based on a clear underlying relationship and rules. Water leads, less obtrusive but very communicative, in a dark suit. Fire follows, athletic and spectacular, a red satin dress.
Light Hiker Tactic: Quickie Microclimate Assessment. Humidity is a quick indicator for how intensely the fire is likely to behave in any particular area. If you come upon an uncontrolled wildfire, you want to be able to calibrate specifically how fuels in the local area are burning. Look to see if there are areas where fire isn’t spreading or burning well. This will help you calibrate your sense of local conditions.
To find areas that won’t burn, seek green grass, water-loving plants, and stands of living trees like willows and cottonwoods. Dead and downed wood that is heavy in your hands has higher water content, and therefore will ‘burn cool’ or even act as heat-sink, impeding the fire.
As a general principle, these types of terrain or microclimates have a certain humidity character:
At less than four ounces and roomy enough for a weekend of SUL gear (30L), the ZPacks Blast 18 certainly qualifies as “SUL” by the standard set several years ago by the Gossamer Gear G6, but is far more durable (yet has a similar weight as the first G6).
There are two problems with the SuperUltraLight ethic.
The first is that it motivates SUL aficionados to develop throwaway gear that may last a season, if you’re lucky. I once used a tarp made of an extremely light Cubic Tech fabric (CT0.3.K08, at 11.4 gsm) that blew up in one unfortunate midsummer wind gust in the shadows of the Tetons, while camping at the uppermost campsite near the treeline in the North Fork of Cascade Canyon. And my every attempt to manufacture, take care of, and otherwise use so-called “SUL” packs (including spinnaker versions of the Mountain Laurel Designs Prophet and Gossamer Gear Uberlite G6) made with lightweight spinnaker nylons, polyesters, and Cuben Fibers, has resulted in failure of the fabrics at the seams caused by repetitive stress.
I think SUL gear such as this can serve specialized purposes for the casual hiker, for the hiker who might not care about disposing (and replacing) gear on a regular basis, or for the hiker interested in saving every gram of weight possible for a single expedition (e.g., Andrew Skurka used an ultralight Cubic Tech tarp on his Great Western Loop trek, and I used a Cuben Tech pyramid shelter for the Arctic 1000).
The second problem with the SUL ethic is that it motivates people to apparent insanity, by which every possible bit of function and durability is sacrified for the sake of meeting a weight spec. I’m speaking a bit tongue in cheek about this insanity of course, since I seem to be a regular participant and proponent of it, but I do increasingly value that elusive and ill-defined metric we call the “performance-to-weight ratio”.
That’s why I was pretty excited when I took my new ZPacks Blast 18 backpack – a heavy duty Cubic Tech weekend pack that weighs a scant 3.3 oz – out of its mailing envelope…
The ZPacks Blast 18 is made from a stronger, heavier Cubic Tech fabric (CT5K.18), bringing abrasion resistance and strength to SUL packs without adding much weight. The base model as configured here weighs only 3.3 oz.
Joe Valesko, the designer of the Blast series and the owner of ZPacks, made a prototype out of the same fabric (CTK5.18). He put it to good use, completing the 2,600-mile Pacific Crest Trail with it in 2007.
At less than four ounces and roomy enough for a weekend of SUL gear (30L), the ZPacks Blast 18 certainly qualifies as “SUL” by the standard set several years ago by the Gossamer Gear G6, but is far more durable (yet has a similar weight as the first G6).
So, what might differentiate the Blast 18 from other SUL packs is its durability. Instead of the sub-30 gsm Cubic Tech variants found among manufacturers promoting SUL tarps, stuff sacks, and other gear, the Blast 18 uses Cuben Fiber 5K.18, a 48.4 gsm fabric with a stiff hand that gives the pack robust shape, waterproofness, and outstanding durability in both seam strength and abrasion resistance.
The primary problem with the use of Cuben Fiber in outdoor gear is its seam strength. The fabric is better characterized as a plastic film reinforced by a low-density fiber matrix than conventional woven outdoor gear fabrics, which are typically high density wovens reinforced by waterproof coatings and/or calendaring.
Cubic Tech CT5K.18 is far more durable than its ultralight cousins (e.g., the model CT2K variants) primarily because of its weight, film thickness, and higher fiber density than CT2K.08.
The bottom line is that CT5K.18 has good tear strength (190 lb/in, vs. 105 lb/in for CT2K.08). And, while I don’t have data for seam strength or abrasion resistance, my field testing and inspection of seams under load indicates that CT5K.18 may actually be suitable for long term use and thru-hiking. Don’t expect a miracle, however: this fabric is still considered ultralight and won’t perform to the strength standards of most heavier woven fabrics. Seams will fail over time if you consistently pack heavy loads in a pack like this (I found seams starting to separate in response to the all-day stress of hiking with 35-lb loads), and the fabric is more subject to punctures from sharp things (e.g., thorns and deadfall), more so than woven nylons such as the 210 Dyneema grid ripstops that have been popular in packs by ULA and others.
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Volume: |
1800 cu. in. |
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Weight: |
3.3 oz (Base Model) |
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Price: |
$105 (Base Model) |
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Fabric: |
Cubic Tech CT5K.18 |
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Shoulder Strap Padding: |
1/4” Closed Cell Foam |
My favorite “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that” feature of the Blast 18 is the circumferential compression cord that serves three functions: a strap for securing tall gear extending from the pockets (such as trekking poles), load compression for the upper part of the pack, and the elastic closure for the top of the back pocket.
The base model of the Blast 18 does not include a hip belt, has a narrow profile, and rides high on your back (the nature of most small packs). This creates a bit of bob and wobble, but padded shoulder straps, the narrow design, and high center of gravity makes “heavier” loads (less than 15 lbs) more comfortable than belt-less packs that are fat and short, and ride low.
Assessing the load carrying capacity of a frameless pack, especially one without a waist belt, is sort of a silly exercise. Your ability to carry a load will depend primarily on the strength and conditioning of your trapezius and deltoid muscles. Most casual hikers have not conditioned these muscle groups in a way that is optimized for carrying a heavy load in a frameless pack. In other words, you condition the muscles by carrying the load. My experience tells me that most folks will find 15 pounds acceptable for long distances (e.g., more than six hours of hiking per day), and 20 pounds acceptable for short distances (a few hours of hiking per day). Those with well-conditioned shoulder muscles can usually accomodate 25 to 30 pounds for short distances and 20 to 25 pounds for long distances. Thru-hikers who have been on the trail for several weeks with a frameless pack may find 35 pounds, or more, acceptable at both short and long distances.
Short shoulder straps on a small pack means that it rides high on your back, which I prefer for small volume packs that do not have a hip belt. It keeps the center of gravity high, which relieves back strain, but demands more from your trapezius and deltoid (shoulder) muscle groups.
I could never recommend a previous SUL pack such as the Gossamer Gear Uberlite (G6) or the Mountain Laurel Designs Prophet 40 (Spinnaker Version) with weights greater than 25 pounds over long distances and durations. However, I think the Zpacks Blast 18 (even at a similar weight as the other two) would be up to the task, and I’d have no hesitation recommending it for the thru-hiker interested in tackling a Triple Crown Trail, assuming they were intentionally careful with their gear.
Eighteen hundred cubic inches is not a lot of capacity.
It’s generally accepted by our community that it’s just enough for a day or two of food and a simple, ultralight kit of summer gear. My summer ultralight kit easily fits into the Blast 18 without overcompressing insulating gear, and in addition to three days of food, includes a 30-degree synthetic quilt, a torso-sized inflatable sleeping pad, a breathable bivy sack, synthetic insulated jacket, rain jacket, rain pants, a two-person tarp, solo cook kit, and other basic essentials. I keep a windshirt in the back pocket, a water bottle in a side pocket, and lunch in the other side pocket.
In the photos for this article, the Blast 18 is packed with a spring kit for snow cave camping, and includes a 20-degree down sleeping quilt, synthetic insulated jacket and pants, an eVENT bivy sack, a TorsoLite pad, a 3/4-length 5mm foam pad (folded and placed against the back panel), a liquid fuel stove and 1.3L pot, and 1.5 days of food, in addition to basic essentials. My snow shovel and wind jacket (which I’m wearing) go in the back pocket, while food, fuel bottle, and a water bottle get stashed in the sides. The insulation of my sleeping bag, jacket, and puffy pants gets a little more compressed with my spring snow kit, but not enough that I have concern about damaging the insulation.
The outside pockets of the Blast are generously gusseted, so they expand sufficiently for the stowage and retrieval of gear without feeling like you are stuffing your hand into a jar of pudding to find something. The back pocket was plenty big enough to stuff the body of a solo single wall TarpTent into, and the side pockets expanded to easily accomodate a full two-liter Platypus bottle.
Gusseted pockets provide plenty of width for the stowage of bulky gear, but not much height. I was not comfortable putting in a tall, 2-liter Platypus bottle in the pocket, and it ended up coming out of the pocket while bushwhacking. I didn’t really see this as a disadvantage of the pack, so I simply changed my style accordingly and switched to a shorter water bottle. On this trip, I used one packet to pack my lunch and fuel canister (a large Powermax canister), and the other pocket for my water bottle (a 600ml Evernew bottle).
While marketing on the ZPacks website suggests otherwise, items are easier to retrieve out of the side pockets while on the trail than to put back, because of the elastic pocket closures. However, this is no fault of ZPacks in my opinion, but a flawed expectation of the user. With a pack like this, swinging the pack off your back (even while walking, if you have to) and grabbing something out of the side pocket is such a trivial exercise that to belabor the need to access side pocket gear while on the go seems to reflect fundamental incompatibilities with the ultralight ethic. This isn’t adventure racing, this isn’t an adventure racing pack, and it’s not going to be loaded with enough gear that stopping for a moment to remove the pack shouldn’t provide great amounts of disruption to your wilderness experience. If it does, then there may be other problems that have nothing to do with the pack!
When hiking with a pack that weighs only 10 or 12 pounds, swinging the pack off and grabbing the water bottle out of it, rather than inventing new yoga positions to retrieve the bottle from a side pocket, is a preferable modus operandi for me. There is something aesthetically satisfying about tossing a pack on and off your shoulder when everyone else is struggling to load their behemoths to their body.
The Blast 18 will provide enough capacity for overnights and weekend trips for the hiker willing to keep their kit simple and compact, but some discipline will be required in the selection of bulky gear, because volume is limited.
A Note About Packbag Shape and Dimensions
The Blast 18 is symmetrical and uniform, making it an ideal pack for rolling a sleeping pad inside for virtual frame structure. My preference is to fold the pad and wear it against the back panel for padding and to provide some shape that gives the pack more contact surface area with your back, which feels better for carrying heavier loads.
The Blast 18 is a nearly perfect cylinder, which makes it an ideal pack for those that like to pack a foam sleeping pad as a cylinder inside the pack, then stash gear into the middle of the cylinder. I’m personally not a fan of this configuration, but have to admit that unlike most other “shaped packbag” packs that are not cylindrically symmetrical, this configuration works well with the Blast 18. As noted below, depending on perspective, you might find this packbag shape appealing or a liability.
In addition, the Blast 18 carries both small and overstuffed loads well (i.e., a load where the top collar is fully extended, as in the photos), because it maintains a thin, tall shape that does not ride low on the back (an important characteristic of a pack without a waist belt).
It doesn’t get any simpler than this: a drawcord closure provides the best utilization of packbag volume for the weight, allows for fast and easy access to the packbag, and requires little trim and hardware. Unlike a rolltop closure, however, the drawcord style suffers from lesser protection from precipitation, something that could easily be alleviated if the pack had an option to add a sewn-in top flap or pocket. I dealt with the limitation simply by stowing my gear (as you probably will anyways, regardless of closure type) in waterproof bags. Even in heavy precipitation (rain and wet snow), I never really missed having the roll-top, which surprised me.
I think it’s important to consider the ZPacks Blast 18 in context with its primary competitor, the Gossamer Gear Murmur (Mountain Laurel Designs was not manufacturing a sub-30L SUL pack at the time of this writing, but they were offering a more richly-featured pack also made with Cubic Tech CTK5.18, the 2009 Revelation, which is heavier and more durable than the previous 2006 model that we previously reviewed).
| Manufacturer/Model | Packbag Volume | Weight | Relative Durability | Suspension | Other Features | Price |
| ZPacks Blast 18 | 1800 cu. in. | 3.3 oz | Excellent (1.5 osy Cubic Fiber CT5K.18) | padded shoulder straps | two side pockets, one back pocket, drawcord closure | $105 |
| Gossamer Gear Murmur | 1700 cu. in. | 7.5 oz | Fair (1.1 osy nylon spinnaker) | padded shoulder straps, webbing waist belt | two side pockets, one back pocket, rolltop closure, pad sleeve, | $80 |
| Mountain Laurel Designs 2009 Revelation | 2000 cu. in. | 6.2 oz | Excellent (1.5 osy Cubic Fiber CT5K.18) | padded shoulder straps, winged hip belt, sternum strap | two side pockets, one back mesh pocket, rolltop closure, cord compression | $170 |
The relative strengths of the Blast 18 are its weight and durability, while the Murmur offers more features at a lower cost. The Revelation offers greater capacity, more refined styling, and when compared to the scenario of adding options to the Blast 18 that match the features of the Revelation, the Revelation comes in slightly less expensive.
Unfortunately, I find it hard to justify spending more than $100 on such a small pack that requires little in the way of sophistication to effectively carry light loads, but in the absence of other options, my personal choices do lean towards the more durable packs, because I’m more confident of their longevity, an important consideration for me as I continue to pursue a lighter and simpler lifestyle.
The very simple construction techniques of the Blast 18 are both functional and effective, but lack the refined styling and aesthetic of more evolved packs that use more sophisticated manufacturing techniques.
I found myself not wanting much after using this pack. I did replace the drawcord closure with a thicker string because I have found very thin strings abrade and cut through Cubic Tech fabrics over time. The weight penalty for replacing the string was negligible.
The ultra-thin drawcord that ships with the pack feels like a cutting wire. I ended up replacing it with a thicker (2mm) cord, which not only alleviated my fears about the cord cutting into the Cubic Tech fabric, but it made it easier to use while wearing gloves or mittens.
My only complaint with the pack is in its packbag shape. While the sausage design (symmetrical cylinder) works well for enclosing a rolled-perimeter sleeping mat (into the center of which gear is stowed for stability), it’s not particularly stylish and doesn’t rest against your back when fully loaded as well as it could. Carrying the Blast 18 stuffed to its gills feels a bit like hauling a log on your bag (albeit a soft, light one), because it does sort of roll and bobble here and there. I was able to mitigate this effect somewhat by folding my foam pad into thirds and using it as a virtual frame against the back of the pack, but for this to work most effectively, I would have prefered a slightly wider packbag. In addition, I’m a fan of packbags that taper from a smaller cross section near the bottom to a larger cross section near the top, because they accomodate widely varying load capacities a little better (although, this is less of an issue with such a small volume weekend pack like the Blast 18).
Photos: Ryan and Stephanie Jordan; Olympus E-510 Leica Summilux 25mm/f1.4.
The MSR Hyperflow was previously reviewed in 2008, and was found to be light and convenient for crystal clear water, but it died very quickly in any other water. MSR acknowledged this problem and modified the cartridge to handle poorer water quality. The modified cartridge is tested here to see if there is an improvement.
Hyperflow kit, courtesy MSR.
The technical details of this filter were fully covered in the first version of this Review. Basically, the cartridge filter has a whole mass of fine ‘micro-porous’ tubes all bundled together. The tubes have tiny 0.2 micron holes in the walls for the water to flow through: holes are small enough to block the bugs. Water is pumped from the outside of the tubes into them, to emerge at the open end. MSR call this a ‘Hollow Fiber Membrane’.
The problem with the first version, was that the walls of the tubes have a very limited area, and the fine holes were quickly blocked by the suspended matter found in any water which was not crystal clear. MSR eventually acknowledged this problem (after our first Review) and issued a statement which was added to our original review:
“We have identified a flow performance issue with some of the hollow fiber filter cartridges contained in MSR HyperFlow microfilters. The performance issue DOES NOT affect the product’s ability to filter safe drinking water, but can be frustrating, as the flow rate of the filter may not perform to product specifications. The issue has been rectified, and all filter cartridges currently in production for the MSR HyperFlow microfilter perform to flow specifications. We have worked with our retailers to replace units they have in stock that may have this issue. Any consumer that is experiencing less-than-expected flow rates on this product right out of the box or after back flushing is urged to call us at 1.800.531.9531, and we will send a valid replacement filter cartridge at no charge if the original was manufactured prior to November 11, 2008. (Please have the filter element handy, as we will ask for the serial number for our records and manufacture date verification.)”
As the cartridge tested was dated well before November 11, we requested a replacement one. A few weeks later, a complete replacement filter kit was received. The contents were identical to the first kit received, except for the date code on the cartridge inside the pump. We do not know whether all requests will be dealt with like this.
This review is concerned with testing the new cartridge in a similar manner as before.
MSR claimed with the first kit that the outlet would fit into ‘most water bottles’. This was tested with a 1.25 liter PET fizzy drink bottle (my standard free water bottle), and I could not get the outlet to fit. The instructions with the new kit made the same claim, so another attempt was made. This time, with a bit of ‘persuasion’, the outlet was fitted into the inside of the neck of the PET bottle.
The Hyperflow fitted into the neck of a 1.25 liter PET bottle.
However, for reasons which will become apparent shortly, most of the testing was done with a silicone extension hose on the outlet, as shown here. This arrangement was also used in the first Review.
The Hyperflow with an extension hose on the outlet.
In the first Review, the author used water from the dam on his farm. This is a large dam and does have some ducks living on it. The water is not sparkling crystal clear mountain water, but it is not that bad. Until the author and his family (wife and two small children) got their house and a rainwater tank built on the farm, this was their drinking water.
The water being filtered, before and after.
Here we have the dam water in a flat orange 20 liter basin. You can see a few little bits of ‘stuff’ at the bottom of the basin: this stuff is so large that the Hyperflow prefilter blocks it easily. Also shown to the right are two PET bottles of the water: one from the basin and one filtered. I would defy you to pick which is which. (The right hand one is from the filter.)
The water in the basin was allowed to settle before filtering started. Then, 8 liter of water was filtered with the MSR Hyperflow from the basin into water bottles of known volume. MSR recommends doing a backflush after 8 L, so this was then done. The MSR recommendation, which was followed, is for 10 strokes of backflushing using clean filtered water: about 0.5 L.
The first few liters of water were pumped with the filter between the author’s hands, and the water did flow very quickly at the start. But after that, things deteriorated. The stages of testing are documented below with comments. Each filtering stage represents filling one 1.25 liter PET bottle with filtered water, except for the final (6th) stage which represents a bit over one PET bottle, to make up the full 8 liters. Each backflushing stage is one stroke (of the recommended 10 strokes).
While reading the results below, it may be worth noting that the packaging for the filter still claims that the filter will handle ‘more than 3 liters per minute’. You may judge.
1. Easy pumping between hands – 1.5 seconds per full stroke, about 30 seconds/liter
2. Fairly easy pumping, as above
3. Getting a little harder
4. Getting a little harder
5. Switched to pumping vertically with one end on the ground, to get more force
6. Taking 3+ seconds for the downward stroke
1. It took ~30 seconds for the pump chamber to half-fill with water.
2. It still took ~30 seconds for the pump chamber to half-fill with water.
3. The ease of filling the pump chamber started to improve.
4. The ease of filling the pump chamber started to improve.
5. The ease of filling the pump chamber started to improve.
6. The ease of filling improved to the point where the chamber would fill to 9/10 full.
7. The ease of filling improved to the point where the chamber would fill to 9/10 full.
8. The ease of filling improved to the point where the chamber would fill to 9/10 full.
9. The ease of filling improved to the point where the chamber would fill to 9/10 full.
10. The ease of filling improved to the point where the chamber would fill to 9/10 full.
11. It took 10 seconds to 3/4 fill, and 15 seconds to fill to 9/10.
My wife trying out the filter.
1. Despite the backflushing, the pumping was still hard: 2.5 – 3 seconds per downward stroke.
2. As above, after a brief attempt to pump ‘between hands’.
3. Getting a little harder.
4. Gave my wife a go: she said the force was OK if she took 8 – 10 seconds per downwards stroke.
5. Tolerable downwards force needed at 6 – 7 seconds per stroke.
6. Tolerable downwards force needed at 6 – 7 seconds per stroke.
1. It took only 4 seconds for the pump chamber to 3/4 fill with water.
2. As above.
3. As above.
4. As above.
5. As above.
6. As above.
7. As above.
8. Possibly even slightly easier still, but not by much.
9. Possibly even slightly easier still, but not by much.
1. At the start, a 4 second stroke was managed, but this had become 6 seconds by the end.
2. As above.
Pushing on (or downwards) with the testing.
You may notice in the photo here that I have taken off my thongs. That is because I was using one of them between the pump base and the ground. Without that buffering layer of foam, the bottom of the pump was steadily drilling into the soil. A lot of shoulder weight was being used to get the water through the filter. Anyhow, at this point my wife declared it was coffee time. I was getting a bit tired around the shoulders, so I willingly gave up. I could not see any point in continuing the testing: there would be no sudden miraculous improvement.
The inside of the filter cartridge was carefully inspected before and after each backflushing stage. Because I knew what to look for, I was able to see a very faint green/brown tinge on the surface of the filter tubes, but it was so faint that a casual user might not see it. It did seem that the same tinge was there before and after the backflushing cycles, meaning that the backflushing process was not able to remove it. This by itself calls into question the effectiveness of the backflushing process for handling typical organic ‘stuff’ in a water supply. That the backflushing process did not seem to have much effect on the pumping force anyhow, supports that doubt.
The first one or two bottle-fulls were pumped very easily. In fact, the first half of the first bottle was pumped so easily I did briefly wonder whether there was a filter cartridge there at all. The same ease of filtering has been reported with crystal clear mountain water by some users. It seems highly likely that if all the water supply contains is pure water and various bacteria and protozoa, then the filter would provide excellent service. It would be a fool who expected to encounter nothing but such perfectly clear water.
The first backflush cycle was, to my surprise, extremely difficult to get going, right from the very start. Yes, it was being done with filtered water. I do not believe that anything could have got into cartridge via the clean water to block up the inside of the micro-porous tubes. More startling was the discovery that the second backflush cycle was much easier to do. I have no explanation for this at all. However, as may be seen from the results above, backflushing did not seem to clear much of the muck (whatever it was) off the inlet face of the filter, despite my best efforts.
It could be argued that filtering 20 liter of water is hardly a good test of the filter. This would be true if the filter had worked well. But since the filter died almost at once – after the first couple of liters, I do not think further pumping would have proven anything I had not already discovered.
I mentioned in the first Review that I had also tried pumping this dam water through a Katadyn Hiker filter with no problems. I wrote there that the Hiker is widely regarded as the benchmark filter against which other filters are often compared. It uses a large pleated filter with a very long life, even on this sort of water. (That was tested.) It is my considered opinion that despite all the technological marvels embodied in the micro-porous tubing in the MSR Hyperflow, nothing substitutes for a multi-layer filter with a *big* surface area. The surface area on the MSR Hyperflow is just not big enough, and there is only one filter layer: the finest.
In the first Review, I wrote that the design of the MSR Hyperflow is nice; the filter is light, and that it works well with crystal clear water. All that is true, but many water supplies are not crystal clear, and the revised MSR Hyperflow cartridge still fails with less than perfect water, despite the changes.
The packaging still claims a flow rate of ‘more than 3 liters per minute’ I was struggling to get a flow rate of one tenth of this after filtering a few days worth of water. This claim is not credible.
We know that MSR is aware of this problem, is concerned about it, and has attempted to address it. The new cartridge is better than the old one, but it is still quite useless for any walker who has to deal with unknown and variable water supplies.
|
Manufacturer: |
MSR |
|
Year/Model: |
2008 |
|
Manufacture: |
various plastics and polymers |
|
Materials: |
various plastics and polymers |
|
Filter specification: |
0.2 micron. Claimed to remove bacteria and protozoa to a degree which meets EPA requirements for water purification. This does not include viruses. |
|
Claimed filtering rate: |
‘more than 3 liters per minute’ |
|
Measured filtering rate: |
down to about 1 liter in 2 minutes, despite backflushing and force |
|
Filter life: |
can be down to 20 L if water not crystal clear |
|
Weight: |
~220 g (7.8 oz) for minimal kit of pump, full-length hose and inlet filter |
|
MSRP: |
Filter Kit: US$99.95 Replacement cartridge kit: US$39.95 Replacement prefilter: US$14.95 Maintenance kit: US$19.95 |
The performance of a particular alcohol stove fuel is generally related to the amount of heating energy in that fuel, which changes when you blend water into different alcohols. But how does it change, and which blend should you use?
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Packrafts open up the lunatic fringe of National Parks. We hiked into the Aniakchak Caldera and Surprise Lake to packraft down the Aniakchak to the Pacific Ocean.
There are many reasons that bring folks to those places deemed ‘the end of the world.’ We had come to run a river. The Aniakchak River offers the unique setting of paddling a river from its headwaters in the heart of a volcano, through a 2,000-feet deep gorge in the crater rim and down miles of splashy whitewater as steep as a stairwell. The Aniakchak is one of twenty-five flows in Alaska protected as Wild and Scenic, but it’s in a class of its own when it comes to river adventures. This stunning clear-water meanders thirty-five miles across the vast wilderness of the Aleutian Mountains to its terminus in a Pacific Ocean lagoon.
Relief map of the Aniakchak Caldera and River, with out starting point marked by the red laser. Due to its remote location and notoriously bad weather, Aniakchak is one of the least visited units of the National Park System. The star attractions of the monument are the impressive six-mile wide, 2,500-feet deep caldera formed during a massive eruption 3,500 years ago, and the wild river that flows from it.
Agnes Stowe hikes across the flat tundra plain on the western edge of Aniakchak National Monument and Preserve (ANMP) in southwest Alaska.
Seth Holden spends a night in a cabin on the way up the Aniakchak Caldera. Known to locals as the Caribou Cabin, the run-down shack sits atop a knoll six miles out of Port Heiden in ANMP.
Seth Holden and Agnes Stowe take a snack break with a cloud of mosquitoes. You’ve got to love spring in the Aleutian Range!
Agnes Stowe and Seth Holden find shelter from the wind above the caldera at Birthday Pass.
Agnes Stowe and Seth Holden at camp near Surprise Lake.
Surprise Lake and hot springs – some parts of the lake are clearly hotter than others.
The beauty and barren landscape of an active volcano never fails to keep you humble and awe-struck.
Seth Holden ready to packraft down the Aniakchak River, displaying the easy beauty of a packraft: its portability.
Agnes Stowe and Seth Holden getting ready to go on the Aniakchak. The designated wild river flows thirty miles from Surprise Lake in the Aniakchak Caldera to the Pacific Ocean.
The thirty-mile Aniakchak is rated whitewater IV and is part of the national wild and scenic river system. Several stretches of Class III and IV whitewater are found in the first fifteen miles.
Seth Holden gets a face shot.
Agnes Stowe paddles it in.
Restored cannery cabin at the mouth of the Aniakchak River.
At journey’s end – the lower half of the river meanders to a lagoon on the coast. It’s a peaceful way to end such a dramatic river run.
Our trio was enjoying the whitewater rodeo of the river’s upper half, where the average gradient sits at a very steep seventy-five feet per mile. My partners were two other Alaska adventure junkies from Anchorage: Agnes Stowe and Seth Holden. The last time we were together was a year ago on the gigantic alpine wall of the Mooses Tooth, getting pummeled by freezing spindrift. Here on the river, the weather was perfect for hypothermia; a steady drizzle hung in the air while the afternoon temperature soared into the low… forties. We were on the lookout for the second crux rapids where the Aniakchak drops eighty-three feet in one boulder-strewn mile. Our plan was to scout this section to gauge the danger to life and limb. We would play the conservative card; any injury out here would be a serious situation. Besides, in this weather, just going for a swim would be life threatening. You gotta love early July in the Aleutian Range.
Over the last five years, the Aniakchak River has become an Alaska packrafting classic. The typically week-long adventure is equal parts trekking and paddling. Using the tough little ‘Tingey Dinghy’ to run the river addresses two major hang-ups of the Aniakchak for traditional rafters.
First, it’s much easier to get there (by walking). A party can wait a long time for the weather to cooperate for a float plane dropoff at Surprise Lake. Michael Funke of Anchorage-based Alyeska Mountain and River Guides knows this all too well. Funke, who has guided rafting trips down the Aniachak River, said, “You have to be pretty sure that the weather is going to hold before you try to fly in from King Salmon, or else you end up paying for a lot of flights back and forth. [A guide] can easily end up losing money on a trip.” Without any monitoring devices in Aniakchak National Monument, gauging what the weather is doing at Surprise Lake is a difficult guess, to say the least.
Second, once on the Aniakchak, the oarsman will have his hands full to keep a fourteen-foot raft off the numerous rock gardens and shallows along the upper river. We were thankful to have the nimble little boats to make quick maneuvers between the volcanic boulders. It was also a plus to be able to cruise through the occasional stretch of six-inch water without having to drag.
We had marked a waypoint for the rapids, and Agnes called out when she read a tenth of a mile from the creek on her wrist-mounted GPS. Downriver, I could see the current cut a sharp right before crashing through several large boulders. We had reached the rapids of Hidden Creek, and they were coming up mighty quickly. The river was too hemmed in and swift for a quick pulloff. I frantically searched for an eddy of any kind to stop our descent.
“Rapids! Rapids! Rapids! ” I yelled back over my shoulder and quickly skidded into a last chance eddy right on the drop’s edge. The roar of the rapids was beyond deafening; you felt it more than heard it. Just a few feet from our swirling eddy, the Aniakchak launched into a train of six-foot waves packed tightly between a few wicked drops. Agnes and Seth joined me in the crowded eddy, sliding in bumper-boat style.
“Holy *&$%! Bear! Bear! Bear!” I yelled in alarm. Right behind us, two very healthy brown bears were taking in the show less than twenty feet up river. They were right on the water’s edge, eyes wide and equally brown, wondering what to make of us in our little rafts.
“Who do I spray: myself, you guys, or the bears?” joked Seth as we all prudently unpinned cans of pepper spray.
“Do these things still fire if they’ve been under water all day?” asked Agnes. The uncomfortable face-off ended once the bruins picked up our chatter. Two thousand-pound bear butts ran off into the endless sea of alders. It’s amazing how quickly a critter the size of a minivan can disappear in this country.
Because it was a safe encounter (most of them are), we got to savor it for a while. The national monument is their home, after all, and the river one of their busiest thoroughfares. Coastal brown bears migrate down from winter dens to start feeding on grasses along the coastline. Later in the summer, bears feed on runs of Pacific salmon: Chinook, sockeye, pink. The sockeye run all the way to spawning grounds at Surprise Lake in the Aniakchak Caldera, and the bears follow. None of our trio was bear-phobic and we all had a deep understanding of how to best conduct yourself in grizzly country. Yet for some reason, bashing through the alders to scout the upcoming rapids was no longer very appealing. After a quick “wadda ya think?”, we voted to just run blindly into the maelstrom around the corner. How rough could it get anyway?
Our run of the river was the culmination of a week exploring the Aniakchak National Monument in the lower portion of the Alaska Peninsula. Aniakchak holds the title for the most remote and least visited unit of our country’s National Park system. Official numbers show a measly twenty-six recreational visits last year. That was down over fifty percent from the 2006 season, which saw sixty.
“Prior recent years have been in the 150-300 range,” reported John Quinley, Assistant Regional Director of Communications for Alaska National Parks. There are three years on the National Park Service fact sheet that list zero recreational visits for Aniakchak: 1995, 1996, and 1997. Maybe that’s a fluke. A survey of park use for someplace like Aniakchak is not an exact science. Even though I registered a trip plan with the park office in King Salmon, the National Park Service does not require any paperwork from those headed into the monument. Quinley agreed that without a paper trail, it would be hard to get exact numbers.
“I think for big, remote parks like this the numbers should be viewed as sort of order of magnitude. Which, in the case of Aniakchak, is still very little public use compared to other parks in Alaska,” he said. By comparison, Bering Land Bridge National Preserve outside of Nome counted just shy of 800 recreational visits last year, putting it in a distant second place for most unloved park. Denali saw that many in 1928 and now regularly sees half a million annual visitors.
Perched on the edge of the Hidden Creek rapids, I pushed out, and the current took me like a freight train. A couple very quick paddle strokes got me lined up for the first drop. I tried to boof (launch off the ledge, clearing the keeper hole underneath), but the 25-pound pack strapped to the front made it next to impossible. My little Alpacka crashed into the first of many six-foot waves at the bottom of the drop. A wall of icy water engulfed me, and I could feel hydraulics of the keeper hole pulling down on the raft’s stern. Flipping over backwards is a common way to go swimming in a packraft. I leaned forward as far as I could and turned on the paddle.
Safely out of the keeper hole, the waves kept coming bigger, faster, stronger. The wave trains were too close together to get in sync with. At the second drop, my boat was launched skyward; the bow pointed straight up, my view filled with the steel grey sky. Again, I pushed hard toward the bow. Behind me, I could hear the hoots and calls of my companions as they enjoyed a similar ride. A small eddy presented itself, and I pulled over just in time to watch Agnes get crushed under a wave. She pulled it off in good style, resurfacing from the froth with a huge grin on her river-soaked face. The rapids slowly died down after an hour of paddling. A wide flood plain opened up in front of us; the river meandering in long corners out to the coast.
Our trio emerged from the rugged mountains wide-eyed, hearts racing, and more than a little damp. About an hour after the severe drops of the Hidden Creek rapids, the Aniakchak mellowed into a broad river valley. A suitable gravel bar was found for camp at the confluence with Albert Johnson Creek. With the amount of bear traffic along this corridor, we chose a site where we could see for miles in every direction. Or more importantly, where our yellow tents could be easily spotted (and hopefully avoided) by passing bruins. A light breeze dried our paddle outfits and kept the mosquitoes to a minimum.
In the evening silence, we could hear char slurping in side eddies across from our little island. Protective tubes emerged from our tiny rafts, and we got busy stringing up our fly rods. Mosquito patterns surprised two wily char right off. More followed as we continued our barrage of the far cut banks. Not one fish presented any great size, most were in the 12- to 20-inch range, but all came to hand with the same shocked look of surprise. After about an hour assault, the battle of wits came to an end with not another strike top water. A few deep drifts with a wooly worm brought a few last fish before the plunging temps chased us into the tent.
We couldn’t have asked for a better final day on the Aniakchak. Even though the sun never really came out, several breaks in the thick cloud cover opened up our horizons to views of the Aleutian Mountains. The light breeze continued to keep the bugs down as we packed our rafts for a day of casting our way to the coast. From our camp it was twenty miles of meandering river, full of classic bends, cut banks, confluences and riffles full of char and possibly trout. Seth stuck to dries while I tied on a hefty egg-sucking leech with the thought of drawing out the more skeptical fish. Agnes switched up as the water changed from shallow flats to deep channel. The three of us coasted lazily down the current in our Alpackas, casting to fishy looking water while rubbernecking the weathered mountains that hemmed us in. Dredging deep with the leech pattern brought up some nice char in the 20-inch range, and pretty much every pattern appealed to the iron-gray fish.
Just as we were settling into an easygoing rhythm of catching fish and exploring gravel bars, Seth had to up the ante. We knew that sockeye salmon would be moving up the lower Aniakchak by this time (early July) and began to float over their schools a couple of hours below camp. While stopping for a leg stretcher, several revved up sockeye splashed in an eddy mid-current. Agnes and I watched as Seth paddled out to investigate. Within minutes he had a hooked up on a sockeye that took off like a rocket. A five-pound raft does not offer much of a fighting platform for such a hot fish, and Seth was getting pulled around in the sluggish current. From shore, we tried to coach him to terra firma as he tried to paddle and play a salmon on his six-weight rod. Tight turns threatened to upend his packraft as the sockeye tried to shake the hook. The battle grew obviously futile, and our entertainment came to an end with the snap of a blood knot.
Our heckling and laughter echoed down river as we paddled to make some miles. The shadows of sockeye darted underneath our rafts as we passed by. We stopped to fish a couple shallows as we neared the lagoon terminus of the Aniakchak. Coastal brown bears began to appear around every bend. We watched them scramble through thick willows high above the river to avoid getting too close to us. I spun my boat around just in time to catch a large brown ford the river minutes behind us. The more bears we spotted, the less we stopped. Besides, it was getting late, and a historic cannery turned public use cabin awaited us on the coast.
Our wild and crazy river that had emerged from the heart of an Aleutian volcano was quickly becoming part of the Pacific. Paddling into the stillwater of the lagoon, we began to pick up a gentle swell. Waves crashed on the beaches, and gulls fought over dead sockeye that had been brought to shore. The seals were also following the salmon and trailing us in curiosity. The Pacific bobbed in a gentle swell, and we paddled out around a rocky point to a cabin overlooking Aniakchak Bay. Our journey back would begin with a Cessna pickup on the beach and end late at night after flying on three different sized aircraft. Back at home in Anchorage, all the following week, I would look long in disbelief at the small river that flows out of a volcano in the lower left-hand corner of our wall-sized Alaska map.
| CATEGORY | FUNCTION | “AG’S ITEM” | WORN (OZ) | PACK (OZ) | |
| TREKKING CLOTHES | |||||
| BOTTOM LAYER | TNF Trekking Pants | 7.6 | |||
| BOTTOM LAYER | Patagonia Lightweight Capilene Bottoms | 6.0 | |||
| TOP LAYER | Patagonia Long Sleeve Capilene 3 | 5.8 | |||
| TOP LAYER | Patagonia Capilene Tee | 3.6 | |||
| BASE TOP | Moving Comfort Sport Bra | 3.0 | |||
| BASE BOTTOM | Patagonia Hipsters | 0.8 | |||
| SHELL | MH Soft Shell | 14.8 | |||
| EXTRA CLOTHES | NEOPRENE GLOVE | Hydroskin Titanium (M) | 3.0 | ||
| INSULATION HAT | Smartwool Hat | 2.0 | |||
| TOP LAYER | MH Buttery Hoody | 10.4 | |||
| RAIN PROTECTION TOP | Patagonia Grade VI Jacket (S) | 10.0 | |||
| RAIN PROTECTION PANTS | Sheri Tingey Paddle Pants (M) | 14.6 | |||
| BOTTOM LAYER | Lufus Tights | 5.8 | |||
| EXTRA BOTTOM LAYER | Patagonia R4 Tights | 7.0 | |||
| LINER SOCK | Hot Chili Liner Sock | 2.0 | |||
| SOCKS FOR BED | Smartwool Hiking Socks | 4.2 | |||
| BASE TOP | Moving Comfort Sport Bra | 3.0 | |||
| BASE BOTTOM | Patagonia Hipster (x2) | 1.6 | |||
| INSULATION TOP | Patagonia Micro Puff Pullover | 11.2 | |||
| INSULATION BOTTOM | Montbell Down Pants | 6.0 | |||
| FOOTWEAR | NEOPRENE SOCKS | Sealskin (M) | 4.4 | ||
| SOCKS | Smartwool Lightweight Ski Socks | 2.8 | |||
| SHOES | Teva Rodecker Water Shoes (W9.0) | 22.2 | |||
| SHOE GAITERS | OR Running Gaiters | 3.0 | |||
| SLEEPING SYSTEM | SLEEPING PAD | Insul Mat | 14.0 | ||
| SLEEPING BAG | MH Phantom 32 Sleeping Bag | 23.6 | |||
| PILLOW | BPL Inflatable Pillow | 1.2 | |||
| COOKING SYSTEM | COOKING POT | Evernew Titanium Pot w/ Sack (1.3L) | 5.2 | ||
| STOVE | Mini Bull Design Atomic Stove | 1.6 | |||
| FIRE STARTER | Lighter | 0.6 | |||
| CLEANING KIT | Sponge and Soap | 1.0 | |||
| WINDSCREEN | Homemade Aluminum Windscreen | 0.8 | |||
| UTENSILS | Light My Fire Spork | 0.4 | |||
| DISHWARE | 2 Cup Ziplock Container w/ Lid | 1.4 | |||
| WATER BOTTLE | 2L Platypus | 1.2 | |||
| PACKING SYSTEM | PACK | Golite Gust w/ straps (S) | 20.0 | ||
| DAY BAG | Wxtex 15L | 6.2 | |||
| ODERPROOF BAGS | OPSAK (x3) | 3.8 | |||
| PACK LINER | Sea to Summit 35L | 2.2 | |||
| RAIN COVER | Sea to Summit Rain Cover (XS) | 2.2 | |||
| PACKRAFTING | PACKRAFT | Alpacka Yak w/ Spray Deck | 78.0 | ||
| INFLATION BAG | Alpacka Inflation Bag | 3.4 | |||
| PADDLES | Aqua-Bound Manta Ray | 36.0 | |||
| THROW BAGS | Homemade 50′ Dyneema Rope | 10.8 | |||
| PFD | Extrasport Rescue PFD w/ Knife | 38.2 | |||
| HELMET | Black Diamond Half Dome | 13.0 | |||
| TIE-DOWNS | “3/4“” x 60″” (x2)” | 1.6 | |||
| PADDLE LEASH | Scotty Paddle Leash | 1.8 | |||
| FISHING GEAR | FLY ROD | TFO 9ft 4wt 4pc (x2) w/ Ultralight Case | 12.6 | ||
| FLY REEL | TFO MKI Floating Line | 6.6 | |||
| FLY BOX | Morell Fly box w/ Assorted Wet Flies | 0.8 | |||
| FLY BOX | Plastic Container with Dry Flies | 0.2 | |||
| ACCESSORIES | “Gink, Forceps, Extra Leader, License” | 2.0 | |||
| MISC. GEAR | SUNGLASSES | Native Dash Sunglasses | 0.6 | ||
| POLES | REI Peak UL Carbon Trekking | 12.5 | |||
| TOWEL | MSR Pack Towel Personal | 3.0 | |||
| TOILETRIES | “Tooth Brush, Tooth Paste, Personal Medication, Lip Balm, Mesh Bag” | 2.2 | |||
| EMERGENCY KIT | Fire Starter and Signal Mirror | 2.8 | |||
| NAVIGATION | Map and GPS | 3.4 | |||
| BEAR PROTECTION | Counter Assault Bear Deterrent | 11.4 | |||
| BUG PROTECTION | Headnet | ||||
| SUN PROTECTION | Patagonia Airius Cap | 1.0 | |||
| CONSUMABLES | WATER TREATMENT | Aqua Mira | 3.0 | ||
| FUEL BOTTLE | 8oz Fuel Bottle w/ alcohol | 0.4 | |||
| FUEL | alcohol (24 oz) | 23.2 | |||
| FOOD | 1.2 lbs/day x 10 days | 12.0 | |||
| Total Weight Breakdown | oz | lbs | |||
| Total Weight (Worn/Carried) | 88.1 | 5.5 | |||
| Total Base Pack Weight | 394.0 | 24.6 | |||
| Consumables Weight | 38.6 | 2.4 | |||
| Total Pack Weight | 432.6 | 27.0 | |||
| Total Skin Out Weight | 520.7 | 32.5 | |||
| CATEGORY | FUNCTION | “MATT’S ITEM” | WORN (OZ) | PACK (OZ) | |
| TREKKING CLOTHES | BOTTOM LAYER | MH Lightweight Trekking Pants | 12.0 | ||
| BASE LAYER | Patagonia Briefs | 3.4 | |||
| TOP LAYER | DuoFold Tee | 4.6 | |||
| SHELL | MH Soft Shell | 18.2 | |||
| EXTRA CLOTHES | TOP LAYER | Patagonia Capilene Long Sleeve | 7.6 | ||
| TOP LAYER | DuoFold Long Sleeve Tee | 10.8 | |||
| BOTTOM LAYER | Smartwool Lightweight Bottoms | 7.6 | |||
| BOTTOM LAYER | Patagonia Tights | 8.6 | |||
| BASE LAYER | Patagonia Briefs | 3.4 | |||
| SOCKS | Smartwool Socks | 1.0 | |||
| SOCKS FOR BED | Thick Smartwool Hiking Socks | 2.4 | |||
| RAIN PROTECTION TOP | Patagonia Spector Pullover | 6.8 | |||
| RAIN PROTECTION PANTS | Sheri Tingey Paddle Pants (L) | 15.2 | |||
| INSULATION TOP | Patagonia Micro Puff Pullover | 12.0 | |||
| INSULATION BOTTOM | Montbell Down Pants | 7.2 | |||
| NEOPRENE GLOVE | Hydroskin Titanium (M) | 3.0 | |||
| INSULATION HAT | Wigwam Stocking Hat | 2.0 | |||
| FOOTWEAR | SOCKS | Smartwool Hiking Socks | 2.4 | ||
| NEOPRENE SOCKS | Sealskin (M) | 4.6 | |||
| SHOES | Salomon Amphibian Water Shoes (M8.5) | 23.4 | |||
| SHOE GAITERS | REI Running Gaiters | 3.8 | |||
| SLEEPING SYSTEM | SLEEPING PAD | Insul Mat | 14.0 | ||
| SLEEPING BAG | MH Phantom 32 Sleeping Bag | 22.4 | |||
| PILLOW | BPL Inflatable Pillow | 1.2 | |||
| SHELTER | TARP | Integral Design SilTarp 2 | 14.6 | ||
| TENT | Stephenson Warmlite 2R | 44.2 | |||
| STAKES | Aluminium Tent Stakes (11) | 11.0 | |||
| COOKING SYSTEM | UTENSILS | Light My Fire Spork | 0.4 | ||
| DISHWARE | 2 Cup Ziplock Container w/ Lid | 1.4 | |||
| WATER BOTTLE | 2L Platypus | 1.2 | |||
| PACKING SYSTEM | PACK | Golite Gust Pack (M) | 20.0 | ||
| PACK LINER | Sea to Summit 35L | 2.2 | |||
| RAIN COVER | Sea to Summit Rain Cover (XS) | 2.2 | |||
| PACKRAFTING | PACKRAFT | Alpacka Yak w/ Spray Deck | 78.0 | ||
| PADDLES | Aqua-Bound Manta Ray | 36.0 | |||
| THROW BAGS | Homemade 50′ Dyneema Rope | 10.8 | |||
| PFD | Lotus Design Whitewater PFD | 32.2 | |||
| HELMET | Black Diamond Half Dome | 13.0 | |||
| TIE-DOWNS | “3/4“” x 60″” (x2)” | 1.6 | |||
| PADDLE LEASH | Scotty Paddle Leash | 1.8 | |||
| FISHING GEAR | FLY REEL | TFO MKI Floating Line | 6.6 | ||
| FLY BOX | Morell Fly box w/ Assorted Wet Flies | 0.8 | |||
| FLY BOX | Plastic Container with Dry Flies | 0.2 | |||
| ACCESSORIES | “Gink, Forceps, Extra Leader, License” | 2.0 | |||
| MISC. GEAR | SUNGLASSES | Smith Empire Sunglasses | 0.6 | ||
| POLES | REI Peak UL Carbon Trekking | 12.5 | |||
| SUN PROTECTION | Patagonia UL Cap | 1.2 | |||
| BUG PROTECTION | “Sportsmen Max Repellant, Headnet, Bandana” | 3.8 | |||
| FIRST AID KIT | “Band-Aids, Floss, Hydropel, Tincture of Benzoin, Ibuprofen” | 5.6 | |||
| REPAIR KIT | “Duct Tape, Leatherman Micra Tool, Lighter, Patch Kit, Lighters, Compass, Safety Pins, 1/2“” Clamp, Ditty Sack” | 10.0 | |||
| TOILETRIES | “TP, Lighter, Wet Wipes” | 4.8 | |||
| EMERGENCY KIT | Fire Starter and Signal Mirror | 2.8 | |||
| NOTEBOOK | “””Rite in the Rain”” All-Weather Journal & Nalgene Marker Pen” | 1.0 | |||
| BEAR PROTECTION | Counter Assault Bear Deterrent w/ case | 12.4 | |||
| CONSUMABLES | FOOD | 1.2 lbs/day x 10 days | 12.0 | ||
| FUEL | alcohol (12 oz) | 11.6 | |||
| SPIRITS | Flask of Pendelton Whiskey (8 oz) | 11.2 | |||
| Total Weight Breakdown | oz | lbs | |||
| Total Weight (Worn/Carried) | 86.7 | 5.4 | |||
| Total Base Pack Weight | 433.4 | 27.1 | |||
| Consumables Weight | 47.2 | 3.0 | |||
| Total Pack Weight | 480.6 | 30.0 | |||
| Total Skin Out Weight | 567.3 | 35.5 |
A durable camera case made from cheap and free materials.
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Gather your materials.
Mark the bubble wrap.
Cut the bubble wrap to size.
Make cuts to form bottom flaps.
Fold over bottom flaps.
Cut off extra material from bottom flap.
Cover the case in packing tape.
Cover all or part of the case in duct tape.
Cut and fold the duct tape to form it around the corners of the case.
The final product Bubble Wrap and Duct Tape samh case.
Before I set off on a thru-hike of the Pacific Northwest Trail in 2007, I partook in a drastic re-thinking of every piece of gear in my backpacking kit. I sewed a spinnaker tarp, some silnylon and Tyvek stuff sacks, modified my ULA Conduit pack, and weighed everything countless times. One might say I cut the handle off the proverbial toothbrush that has become the metaphor for ultralight backpacking to the masses. I copied ideas from Backpacking Light articles and forum members and scoured the Internet and my peers for suggestions and techniques, until I’d created a gear list that I believed would serve me well for two straight months of twenty-mile days. There was one item that continued to mystify me, as I could not find a commercial product or homemade solution that was just what I wanted – a case to hold my point-and-shoot camera.
Sometime during the winter of 2006, I grabbed a piece of bubble wrap and some duct tape and threw together a crude sleeve to hold my Canon Powershot SD400, then started carrying it around with me in the left-hand pocket of my pants… all the time. What I thought was a throw-away project, manufactured from scraps of garbage and a few lengths of tape, not only worked wonderfully, but was so durable and easy to use that I ended up carrying it with me for the entire 1200 miles of the PNT the following summer.
The author on his 2007 Pacific Northwest Trail Thru-Hike.
My coworkers during 2006 and 2007 nicknamed my creation the samh case, and a couple of them even created their own for their cameras. Although I didn’t expect Version One to last very long, I managed to carry it in either my pocket or the hipbelt of my backpack every single day for nearly three years.
Recently, Version One of the samh case was finally put to rest, as it had become quite tattered, and a few holes had appeared. Having been so pleased with the product I had literally thrown together in a few minutes, I decided to create Version Two using a similar design, but with the addition of a few steps and a bit more precision.
The original samh case after nearly three years of continuous use.
Below and along the right side of this page, you will find photos and instructions to create your own lightweight and durable camera case. I mention that it’s lightweight and durable, but with use of the proper reused materials you could even jump on the current “go green” bandwagon and score some points with treehuggers by carrying a recycled product. And yes, I can get away with calling people “treehuggers” because I am one too!
Time Required:
Materials:
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While GPS units are getting bigger and heavier, at least they are also becoming more functional. The Garmin Oregon 550t integrates 100k topo maps, a hi-res display, and a 3.2MP digital camera.
You may want to read the press release below, then scroll back up here for the commentary.
I’ve all but given up hope for a GPS that provided the minimal weight, battery life, tiny form factor, and basic functionality of the Geko 301.
So while I was intrigued by the Garmin Colorado 400t Review we published last year, I couldn’t get terribly excited. Poor battery life, a less-than-bright-enough screen, lack of pre-loaded topo maps, and yet another change in user interface (the addition of a rocker wheel and button) couldn’t capture my attention enough to upgrade from my smallish lightweight HCx, or, of course, my favorite and the one I use the most, my Geko 301.
The Garmin Oregon 550t may change that, but I’ll reserve judgment until we get our hands on them.
I do like the prospect of longer battery life, a slight reduction in weight from the Colorado 400t, preloaded 100k topo maps for the entire U.S., and the additional of a digital camera.
Now, being sort of a camera snob, I don’t have high hopes for the quality of the digital camera included with the Oregon 550t. However, the fact that it is integrated is pretty appealing to me, since I do a lot of day tripping via foot and packraft, especially to new and unknown areas. The idea of being able to grab a GPS like this, a jacket, and some food, without fear of not having a map or camera with me for documentation of the trip, is a seductive one.
For backcountry use, however, it gets sketchier. I’m not at the point where I can justify a 6.8 oz weight penalty in order to simplify navigation.
However, for complex navigation, where I may be spending inordinate amounts of time pinpointing particular spots, the Garmin Oregon 500t offers an attractive solution for me. I can envision using it to pinpoint a packrafting take-out on a nondescript river, when I’m trying to bushwhack as little as possible to a nearby trail. Or, when I’m trying to reach the entrance to a slot canyon from a high mesa. Or, when I’m trying to get over and the right pass or notch when on a winter traverse.
So, once I filter my GPS needs and wants through my own personal lens, what screams out to me about the Oregon 550t is not only its camera as a utility tool for journaling and documenting a trip, I’m eager to enjoy its usability, and specifically, its touchscreen. I can’t imagine an application that is more suitable for touchscreen use than a GPS. Since the iPod Touch was introduced, I think a lot of folks have been patiently waiting for a true touchscreen GPS. I can only hope Garmin delivers and capitalizes on touchscreen usability, so we’re not fiddling around learning the touchscreen at the expense of simply releasing trendy technology.
However, Garmin has a track record for well-researched, thoughtful, and usable products… so I am cautiously optimistic.
Picture perfect: Garmin® Oregon® 550 with built-in camera offers touchscreen GPS for all seasons, all reasons.
OLATHE, Kan./May 7, 2009/Business Wire — Garmin International Inc., a unit of Garmin Ltd. (NASDAQ: GRMN), the global leader in satellite navigation, today announced the Oregon 550 and Oregon 550t touchscreen handheld GPS devices, integrating a 3.2 megapixel digital camera, which creates geotagged images, and a 3-axis compass into the popular series of intuitive touchscreen handhelds. The waterproof Oregon 550’s easy-to-use interface and versatile features make it the ideal solution for customers looking for a multipurpose GPS device.
“As everyone looks for ways to do more with less, Oregon 550 and Oregon 550t can be the one GPS device you turn to for all of your activities, in any climate, on any terrain, at any time of year,” said Dan Bartel, Garmin’s vice president of worldwide sales. “Easy enough for beginners to master, Oregon will guide you in your adventures, capture the highlights and bring them back home.”
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 automatically geotags each photo with the location of where it was taken, allowing you to mark, remember and navigate back to that exact spot in the future. With this waterproof digital camera, you can take and view pictures in landscape or portrait orientation, and 850 MB of internal memory offers ample storage. These pictures can then be printed or stored and shared online, making every trip even more memorable. Once your Oregon 550 is connected via USB, you can use my.Garmin.com to detect Oregon’s photos, simplify the selection and uploading processes and then store those photos on Picasa, a popular online photo sharing community for friends and families around the world.
The built-in 3-axis compass and enhanced sunlight-readable touchscreen are two other key additions to the Oregon 550 and Oregon 550t (which features preloaded 100K topo maps for the entire U.S. in state-of-the-art 3D elevation perspective). The 3-axis tilt-compensated electronic compass shows your heading even when you’re standing still, without holding it level. And Oregon’s glove-friendly, color 3-inch touchscreen display is brighter and easier than ever to read and use in all conditions, responsive to the touch of your finger, yet resistant to the forces of nature. Weighing only 6.8 ounces, the Oregon 550 and Oregon 550t come with two precharged AA NiMH batteries. These batteries provide up to 16 hours of life on a single charge and don’t lose energy when not in use. The included battery charger saves you money and reduces waste as batteries get recharged and reused. Also in the box is a carabiner clip and USB cable for high-speed USB connections. A microSD card slot provides even more storage for photos, mapping and memory and allows you to view pictures from other devices with Oregon’s picture viewer.
Highlighting its versatility, Oregon lets you customize five profiles — automotive, marine, recreation, fitness or geocaching — making the most useful features the easiest to access through shortcuts.
On the trail: With its high-sensitivity, WAAS-enabled GPS receiver and HotFix™ satellite prediction, Oregon 550 locates your position quickly and precisely and maintains its GPS location even in heavy cover and deep canyons. And you can store up to 2,000 waypoints, 200 routes, 5,000 geocaches and a tracklog of up to 10,000 points and 200 saved tracks. On the mountain: The built-in barometric altimeter tracks changes in pressure to pinpoint your precise altitude, and you can keep an eye on changing weather conditions by plotting pressure over time. On vacation: Explore with confidence, thanks to the detailed U.S. topographic maps preloaded in the 550t or the worldwide shaded relief basemap in the 550. On a mission: The simple-to-use touchscreen interface makes it easy to navigate efficiently and tackle your task quickly. In a group: With Oregon 550, you can share your waypoints, tracks, routes and geocaches wirelessly other Oregon and Colorado users. Out geocaching: Go paperless with Oregon, which can store up to 5,000 caches, by quickly downloading cache information from Geocaching.com. Oregon stores and displays key information such as location, terrain, difficulty, hints and description, so that you don’t have to tote printouts with you. (And lucky geocachers may even stumble upon a limited-edition Oregon geocoin.)
And Oregon does the work of several devices, just by adding various accessories to suit your activity or optional MapSource® microSD cards preloaded with detailed maps.
On the road: Optional City Navigator mapping provides detailed street maps, millions of preloaded points of interest and onscreen turn-by-turn directions to your destination, and an optional Auto Nav kit adds a suction mount and car charger. On a hunt or on a hike: Using a separate TOPO U.S. 24K DVD or microSD card brings you the highest level of topographic detail available, with maps comparable to 1:24,000 scale USGS maps, featuring terrain contours, topo elevations, summits, routable roads and trails, parks, coastlines, rivers, lakes and geographical points. On the water: Add BlueChart® g2 maps, which provide everything you need for a great day on the water, including depth contours, navaids and harbors. On the run or on a bike: Ideal for a trail workout, the lightweight Oregon is compatible with Garmin’s heart-rate monitors and speed/cadence sensors, and an optional handlebar mount makes it easy to track your speed, distance, elevation and location.
And wherever you are, whatever you’re doing and whomever you’re with, you’ll always have Oregon 550’s built-in camera to capture the moment, record the location and share the memories.
Oregon 550 and Oregon 550t are the latest breakthroughs from Garmin, which has spent 20 years using technology and innovation to enhance users’ lives, making Garmin a household name in the automotive, aviation, marine, wireless, outdoor and fitness industries. For more about features, pricing and availability, as well as information about Garmin’s other products and services, go to www.garmin.com, www.garmin.blogs.com and http://twitter.com/jakesjournal.
Backpacking Light has been able to spend time with a pre-production Therm-a-Rest NeoAir Pad in the laboratory, in our living rooms, and in the field. Does the product deliver?
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Light alcohol stoves are very popular, but there is a lot of confusion over what sort of alcohol should be used and whether blending different alcohols together has any effect. In this, Part One, we comprehensively examine the performance and safety of three common alcohol fuels and of a range of blends.
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It would be so nice to have a light pulk strapped onto my pack so that I more or less would be able instantly to switch back and forth between pack and pulk. Witness the creation of the Incredible Rulk!
Editor’s Note: Read more about Jörgen Johansson on the BPL Wiki.
In my mind, a disproportionate number of my army days were spent dragging a pulk through heavy snow. On different sorts of missions that our instructors dreamed up “behind enemy lines,” we waded through deep snow on skis, hauling pulks laden with grenade launchers, machine guns, explosives, and ammo… not to mention the twelve-man tents swollen with snow and ice. Then there were the stove and stovepipes that irregularly blessed us on cold nights under the aurora borealis of northern Sweden. After a couple of days and nights, even the packed tents were so choked with ice that they made the pulks nearly the size of minivans. All this was pulled by two men with huge packs and machine guns dangling on their chests, dressed in camouflage that had once been white, back when we had first started from the regiment.
In spite of these Freudian overtones (bigger is better!), there have been times since when some rational part of my brain has realized that there might be circumstances when it is in fact quite energy efficient to pull something behind you, rather than carrying it on your back. But so far, the only foray into pulks since those long past mid-winter nights has been pulling my kids when they were small, on shorter ski outings. Until this very winter that is, in the year of our Lord, 2009.
There has been an idea brewing in my mind for quite a few years that could be described: It would be so nice to have a light pulk strapped onto my pack so that I more or less would be able instantly to switch back and forth between pack and pulk.
This year, while preparing for a ski trip up north around the Arctic Circle, I finally went from mulling to doing. Using thin aluminum sheeting and surprisingly little effort, I actually fashioned something that could charitably be called a pulk. And since the main idea was strapping the whole thing to my pack, I christened it The Rulk, combining the words “rucksack” and “pulk.”
This is the story of how The Incredible Rulk was made and how it fared during a four-day winter trip.
The pulk part of the Rulk was fashioned out of 1 mm aluminum sheeting, bought locally for the equivalent of $6.00 US. If you want to get technical, the grade of aluminum is called EN 1050A-H14/24 over here, but it’s just plain aluminum sheeting with no special features. The sheeting was 1000 x 400 millimetres, which is some 40 x 16 inches. I came to these measurements after hastily stuffing my Golite Jam2 with an old synthetic sleeping bag (to make it really full), then measuring the length and width of this package.
To strap the Rulk tightly to my pack, I used four plastic clips, the kind you can buy in boating stores. In fact, my local boating store had recently moved and couldn’t find more than two, so I had to snoop around and finally found the rest in a store specializing in flags. The clips are normally used to attach the flags to lines and poles and are basically a sturdy, plastic carabiner. I wanted them sturdy so that hooking them through holes in the aluminum wouldn’t wear them out, and I wanted them plastic so that they would be quiet against the aluminum and also not wear it out.
To pull the Rulk, I used a few yards of 4 mm parachute-type cord that I happened to have laying around. Two ends were fastened (with two more of the clips described above) through holes drilled in the aluminum. I fashioned a belt made out of webbing and a buckle salvaged from an old pack, and I used some thin plastic hose to line and protect the cord where it passed through the aluminum.
The waistbelt was simple and worked well. The cord looped around to the other hip and was about 5 feet long. On it was a plastic clip that hooked on to a similar length of cord fastened to the Rulk.
Summing up the shopping list:
I have made my own camping gear before: packs, tents and clothing. But I’m really no great shakes at doing stuff with metal. However, after emigrating to Canada in my late teens, I worked at a ranch in Alberta where I saw that the most amazing things could be fashioned out of pieces of scrap metal. Also, I’m one of those guys who doesn’t care what it looks like as long as it works. As a result, I wasn’t afraid of giving the construction a try… so no one else should be either, even if you don’t have a misspent youth in Alberta to fall back upon. If I can make a Rulk, anyone can.
I simply grabbed the aluminum and a piece of plastic PVC pipe. The diameter of the pipe was approximately 6 inches, which seemed the right size. I was only after something that could be used as a mold to give the front end of the Rulk an upward curve for ease in pulling over the snow. Using this drain pipe and a piece of wood as a cudgel, I shaped what was to be the front end in a nice curve upwards, taking less than ten minutes, since the grade of aluminum was quite soft and malleable.
After this, I measured the Rulk against the pack and decided that it was a bit long for my Jam2. Lacking a pair of tin snips, I used a hacksaw to cut about 4 to 5 inches off the back end (I would later discover that this would turn out to be a bit too much). I used a file to smooth the hack-sawed portion, as well as to round the corners of the whole contraption to avoid accidentally slashing anything important to me somewhere far from the emergency ward.
Starting out. The pack extends some inches aft (on the left) of the Rulk, and the cellpad is cinched in place using sternum strap and hip belt.
This done, I measured about 4 inches in from each of the long sides and drew a line up to where the upward curve in the front began. I was a bit hesitant about how this would work and how the shapes would fit together, but it came out surprisingly well. I just bent the long sides along the lines, using the edge of a table and my knee to hold it in place while following the pen-marked lines. The metal was bent at approximately a 30-45 degree angle. Voila! I now had a sort of trough, curved at one end, with slanted sides, but completely open and un-troughlike at the other end.
Time to bring out the power drill and a half-inch bit. I drilled eight holes along the sides of the almost-trough. These holes came out with jagged edges in the thin sheeting and had to be filed to a semblance of roundness and smoothness. One pair of holes was at the corners of the curved front part of the pulk. However, I did not want to pull the Rulk by these holes, because it would undoubtedly straighten the curve and generally disfigure the whole artistic installation. So I added another couple of holes at the front end of the bent, long sides of the trough, which were where the line to my waist was actually fastened using one of the plastic carabiners. The line went from there, with an approximately 4-inch liner of plastic hose to protect it as it ran through the forward hole on top of the curve. The line then was looped back, using about five feet of cordage, through the opposite hole (which was lined with plastic hose), and attached with another clip to the Rulk. This left a loop of cord that would be attached to a similar length of loop from the waist belt, using another plastic clip.
It all sounds incredibly complicated described with words, so I am hoping that my picture is worth a thousand for illustrative purposes:
The cord pulling the Rulk is fastened by the plastic clip/carabiner to the aluminum. A 4-inch length of plastic hose ensures that the cord is protected from abrasion while running through the hole in the upward curving front end.
That leaves the remaining four holes in the Rulk unaccounted for. These were spaced, two on each of the long sides of the Rulk, in such a way that they would be lined up with the fasteners for the compression straps of the Jam2. I simply tied a plastic carabiner to the end of some cordage, hooked the clip to the hole in the Rulk and looped the cord through the webbing loop attaching the buckle of the compression strap to the pack fabric. The cord was then attached to itself using a friction/prusik knot which enabled me to hook on to the Rulk and cinch the whole thing really tight to the back of the pack, using the friction knots. This way, the Rulk can be cinched tight even if the pack varies in size and bulk.
Friction knots and plastic clips attach the Rulk firmly to the pack, which are easily adapted as the pack shrinks or grows.
I can honestly say that it took longer to purchase the material than to put it together. Doing what I’ve described will not take more than an hour, even if you’re an all thumbs person like yours truly.
The last thing I did before packing it all up and getting on the northbound train was to put the whole rigmarole on the scales: 885 grams or just short of 2 lbs. Not bad. The big question now was, like with wheels on a cart, would the Rulk make moving the load so much easier that it would be worth this extra weight?
Since the proof is in the pudding, I moved rapidly to the next phase in the development of the Incredible Rulk: the ski trip. Actually, this particular trip was something that had been in the back of my mind for a long time. Some thirty years ago, me and a pal went on a winter trip with ultra heavy loads in deep snow. After about half a day of this, we decided to take advantage of a nearby railway, known as the Inland Rail, to enable us to move in more comfort. Or to be exact, to enable us to move at all.
The Inland Railway is a narrow gauge railway worming its way along the wooded spine of Sweden for some 800 miles. In fact, it was once built as an alternate way of connecting the north of Sweden with the middle portion. The main railway connection between the more populous south and the northern woods and mountains is along the coast of the Baltic, while the Inland Rail has always been a struggling alternative, built about a hundred years ago for defense purposes, among other things. In the time of my initial experience, thirty years ago, there was a daily train in each direction, making it fairly easy for my buddy and I to use the excellent skiing between the rails, stepping to the side twice a day to wave at the littel diesel powered train chugging past.
Today the Inland Rail runs only in the summer, bringing tourists to areas far away from the throbbing city life. Quite a ride, and one that can be recommended. My own thirty-year-old idea of skiing the whole length had been whittled down by facts of life like work, family, and inclination, to the point where skiing between the two most northerly stations of Jokkmokk and Gällivare sounded ideal. In the end, I chose to start a bit outside Jokkmokk, because I wanted to be as far out in the Arctic taiga as possible.
I also found out that, in spite of the railway normally not being used in winter, it had in fact been plowed for a train running a month before my trip, in conjunction with the Jokkmokk winter market in late February.
Side Note: The Jokkmokk winter market has a history that runs back to the early 1600s, and you can still walk between different Sami tepees and buy furs and cured or uncured reindeer meat in many different recipes. However, some visitors to the market seem to prefer an entirely vegetarian diet consisting mainly of distilled beverages. Nothing much has changed for hundreds of years, except for the arrival of snowmobiles.
To sum up, all this indicated that skiing with a Rulk could probably be a very comfortable way of travelling the 70-mile stretch in the four days/three nights that I had planned.
All this boiled down to reality on March 18, 2009, when a taciturn taxi driver left me where the road crossed the railroad tracks about twenty minutes north of Jokkmokk. If my previous experiences with the collision of bright and shiny backpacking ideas with dull reality were any indication, the first ten minutes would probably tell me if the Rulk was feasible or a complete flop. One of my personal favorite flops along this line was when I tried to make skins for my skis out of an old cotton bedspread. It only took two minutes to prove that the bedspread stretched about 10%, then flopped uselessly on each side of the skis.
This, of course, would be quite different.
Well, at least hope springs eternal.
To start with, my filled-to-bursting GoLite Jam2 pack was a bit longer than the sleeping bag stuffed model from my garage endeavors. Three to four inches of pack were sticking out behind the aluminum Rulk. I hoped this would be all right. The pack curved away from the snow and would not really be dragging, and I imagined that in twenty-four hours, the food I would consume would have shortened the pack sufficiently for the fabric not to wear too badly.
Second, the heavy cell pad normally strapped to back of my pack had already diminished the perfection of design I had envisioned. The pad had to be strapped to the top/outside of the Rulk while I wearing it as a pack. This was easily fixed using the five-foot length of cord used to pull it while in Rulk mode. I just wrapped it around the pad and tied a simple knot. When switching to Rulk mode, I untied the cord and used the sternum strap and hip belt of the pack to attach the pad to the top of the load. Alas, this was a slight imperfection compared to being able to switch from pack to Rulk in seconds, but no big deal. Instead, it took about one minute to make the switch.
To shift to a carrying position, the cell pad would have to be moved to the upper back of the aluminum sheeting and fastened with the dangling cord.
Without going into details, I can say that the pack contained what I thought would bring me safely and comfortably through some seventy miles of forest just north of the Arctic Circle (which more or less passes through Jokkmokk, where I had picked up my taxi). This was also meant to be a test of mid-winter lightweight gear for arctic Scandinavia. Unfortunately, what could be termed mid-winter up here normally ends around March 1, so I was a couple of weeks late, due to my work situation. In March, the days grow longer, and the sun makes the days less frigid. However, the nights are often pretty cold, often dipping down to -20 to -30 C (0 to -20 F).
A cold night coming down on the Inland Rail.
The pack base weight was some 9.5 kg (21 lbs), with 3 kg (6.5 lbs) of food and fuel added. The clothing was sturdy: Paramo pants and anorak for deep winter, deep snow, and wood chopping for fires. For mountain trips without fires in non-mid-winter conditions, I’ve used thinner shell clothing with good results.
Did the Incredible Rulk Rise to the Occasion?
In brief, yes. It survived the initial ten-minute litmus test with flying colors. The sun was shining, and the temperature was just a couple of degrees below freezing, which, in combination with the hard surface between the rails, made for perfect skiing. In fact, it turned out to be so easy to pull the Rulk that I did not use it as a pack at all for the whole trip. So, if that was all it took, it could be called a rip-roaring success.
The Rulk on the trail among the scraggly spruce of the Swedish taiga.
But of course, this only meant that the basic idea was feasible, or at least better than the bedspread skins. Of course, attaining perfection on my first prototype isn’t realistic. The biggest overall problem, and something that needs to be addressed for the Rulk to be used outside of railways, is that it did not track well.
With the cord as the only attachment, there is no stability transferred from the person pulling to the Rulk itself. It kept sliding all over the place behind me, following gravity and the law of least resistance. This usually meant that it followed one of the two grooves right alongside the steel rails. These made for slightly higher friction than on pure snow, and therefore more work for me. It also turned out that, over time, the friction from this groove changed the original, up-curved front and sled-like shape into something more similar to a half pipe.
The Rulk became deformed, from sled to half pipe, running in the rut beside the steel rail. It scooped some snow, but the snow was dry and the original shape was easy to restore by bending the aluminum when necessary.
An effect of this deformation was that the Rulk scooped up a bit of snow in front, snow that then traveled along the pack and fell off the rear end. This wasn’t much of a problem for this particular trip, since the snow was dry and didn’t wet the pack. The half pipe also made for lower friction, simply because it was adapted to the groove. This adaption, much like my original bending, was made possible by the relative softness of this particular grade of aluminum.
The deformation was no big deal, since it was very easy to press the aluminum into other configurations when circumstances changed and a more sled-like front was preferred.
However, the poor tracking combined with a relatively high center of gravity also made the rig a bit unstable. It tipped over on its side quite a few times, like when I tried to change directions and pull it out of the rut. In fact, part of one day the wind was pretty strong and also running at right angles across the track. During this period, the Rulk actually blew over onto its side a couple of times when I passed some marshy areas where the trees were scarce and gave little lee. However, this was not a big problem, since the whole Rulk was so light that it was easy to put it on its right keel and continue the trek. However, in a hard wind on the tundra, it would have been a lot more troublesome… which is where the beauty of the Rulk comes into play. When it’s not working very well as a pulk, you just hoist it onto your back, and if you are a lightweight backpacker, this is no big deal.
The high center and instability were also a disadvantage in the deep snow beside the tracks, particularly on one night when I had to go a couple of hundred yards away from the railway to make camp. I sank to my knees, even with skis, and progress was not so speedy. The Rulk did not track well in my ski tracks, but instead tended to end up on its side, being a real pain. During these circumstances, the simple cords would probably best be replaced by the traditional poles used for pulks, which are bolted to the pulk and fastened at the hip belt.
Poles such as these might solve the whole stability and tracking problem, but would also off-set one of the major advantages of the Rulk, which is being able to switch almost immediately between back and snow transport. Poles to handle this would have to be light, stiff, and collapsible in order for the Rulk be what it was intended. I’ve been mulling over some ingenious way of utilizing the poles for my BD Firstlight tent here…
The Incredible Rulk turned out to work very well for the trip I undertook. I believe it is a piece of gear that most definitely could be developed further and might prove to be a valuable addition to the gear list for ski and snowshoe trips. It might even be worth its weight for thru-hikers on snowy passages, if dragging the pack would make post holing less exerting.
However, the basic idea is there and tested on one admittedly special occasion, and anyone who wants to improve on my Rulk is welcome to it. In fact, if it could turn out to be a collaboration project, an open source hardware version of Linux, no one would be more pleased than me.
Not to be forgotten: the Rulk is the perfect perch for the hourly intake of water (kept in pockets to keep from freezing) and snacks.
*** ALERT *** APPALACHIAN TRAIL HIKER FOUND!
Name: Ken Knight
Height: 5’4"
Weight: 180-200 lb
Point Last Seen: Punchbowl Mountain on the Appalachian Trail in VA
Time Last Seen: Sunday, April 26, 9:00 – 10:00 a.m.
Unique Characteristics: wearing a dry-bag style backpack with a bright orange packbag, hiker is vision-impaired.
If you have info, please contact us: publisher@backpackinglight.com.
Photo above taken Wednesday, April 22 on the Appalachian Trail.
MSR utilizes lightweight fabrics, carbon fiber poles, and elegant design to achieve a sub-three-pound double-wall tent for two.
The MSR Carbon Reflex 2 tent utilizes lightweight fabrics and carbon fiber poles to achieve its sub-three pound trail weight. The tent is elegantly designed to maximize interior volume and usable space.
The new Carbon Reflex tents for spring 2009 are the lightest tents ever from MSR and set a new standard for a lightweight tent from a major manufacturer. The Carbon Reflex 2 reviewed here is based on the popular Hubba Hubba, but weighs about one and a half pounds less, arriving at a trail weight of slightly less than three pounds. The low weight is achieved by using lightweight fabrics and mesh, carbon fiber poles, and a unique one-plus pole design consisting of a single hoop plus a top strut. All of this weight reduction was accomplished without compromising the tent’s interior volume or floor space. How did the Carbon Reflex 2 fare in our field tests, and how does it compare with lightweight tents from Big Sky International and Terra Nova?
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Year/Manufacturer/Model |
2009 MSR Carbon Reflex 2 |
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Style |
Three-season, two-person, double-wall, non-freestanding tent with floor, 1.5 vestibules, and one side entry door |
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Included |
Tent body, fly, two carbon fiber poles, eight aluminum stakes, pole repair sleeve, two guylines, pole sack, stake sack, tent stuff sack |
|
Fabrics |
Body is 20d x 330T ripstop nylon 66 and 20d polyester mesh; floor is 40d x 238T ripstop nylon 6, 10,000 mm PU coated; fly is 20d x 330T ripstop nylon 66, 1000 mm PU and silicone coated |
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Poles and Stakes |
Two Easton FX carbon fiber poles, eight MSR Needle stakes (7000 series aluminum, anodized, 6 in/15 cm long) |
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Floor Dimensions* |
Manufacturer specifications: Length 84 in (213 cm), width 50 in (127 cm), height 40 in (102 cm). Note: the measured floor width at the center is actually 40 in (102 cm), see * below. |
|
Features |
Easton carbon fiber poles, “unbendable” aluminum alloy stakes, 1+ pole design (ridge pole plus top strut), unique geometry provides maximum interior space, front vestibule and zippered rear window access to rear vestibule, water-resistant zipper in fly with two sliders, large L-shaped mesh entry door with two sliders, four interior mesh pockets, multiple ceiling loops, StayDry entrance (fly overhangs entry door so rain does not hit the tent floor) |
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Packed Size |
20 x 7 in (51 x 18 cm) |
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Total Weight |
Measured weight: 3 lb 2.8 oz (1.44 kg) Manufacturer specification: 3 lb 4 oz (1.47 kg) |
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Trail Weight |
Measured weight: 2 lb 15.8 oz (1.36 kg) Manufacturer specification: 2 lb 13 oz (1.28 kg) (excludes stuff sacks and pole repair sleeve) |
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Protected Area* |
Manufacturer specifications: floor area 29 ft2 (2.7 m2); entry vestibule 9 ft2 (0.84 m2), rear vestibule 5 ft2 (0.46 m2), total vestibule area 14 ft2 (1.3 m2); total protected area 43 ft2 (4 m2). Note: the actual floor area is 23.3 ft2 (2.16 m2), see * below. |
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Protected Area/Trail Weight Ratio* |
14.4 ft2/lb (based on manufacturer area specifications) |
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MSRP |
US$499.95 |
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Options |
Footprint (6.3 oz/179 g/US$39.95) |
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* |
We normally use manufacturer floor and vestibule data in our specifications table and trust that it is accurate, but this time it is not. The width of the tent’s floor at the center is 40 inches, not 50 inches as specified or implied. Thus the floor area is actually 23.3 ft2, the total protected area is 37.3 ft2, and the protected area/trail weight ratio is 12.5 ft2/lb. |
The new Carbon Reflex 2 is basically a lighter version of the popular Hubba Hubba. Weight was trimmed by eliminating the hubs and wishbones at the ends of the tent, eliminating one door and shrinking the vestibule, and going to carbon fiber poles instead of aluminum. The total weight reduction (based on manufacturer total weights) is 1 pound 7 ounces. The extra cost for this weight savings is $200.
It’s important to note that the Carbon Reflex 2 has only one entry, while the Hubba Hubba has two. The rear vestibule has been retained, but it has been reduced to a storage area accessible only from the inside through a vertical zipper.
Views of the MSR Carbon Reflex 2. Entry is from the side (top left) via a vestibule-protected L-shaped mesh entry door. The end view (top right) shows the larger entry vestibule on the right and small storage vestibule on the left. The rear view (bottom left) shows that the rear vestibule does not have outside access. In the top view (bottom right), the entry is at the top of the photo.
Views of the tent body. MSR has simplified the pole structure (left) to a single ridge pole plus a top strut that maximizes interior headroom and extends the vestibules. The top view (right) shows that the tent’s floor is rectangular. The body is mesh except for a diamond-shaped nylon ceiling panel.
Although the tent floor is specified to be 50 inches wide, I measured it at 40 inches wide seam to seam in the center of the tent. I reported the discrepancy to Cascade Designs, and the response I received from their tent designer was: "We measure the floor width from the widest point inside the tent, which is near the stake loops". I measured the tent floor between the stake loops at the ends of the tent, and found the width to be 46.5 inches. The extra width at the ends of the tent has little practical use; the center of the tent is 40 inches wide, not 50 inches as implied in MSR’s specifications. The length is 84 inches as specified. This means the floor area is actually 23.3 square feet, rather than the specified 29 square feet. See my further comments on this issue in the Performance and Assessment sections of this review.
Inside features. Although the floor (top left) is specified to be 50 inches wide, I measured it at only 40 inches at the center, wide enough for two standard 20 inch wide inflatable sleeping pads. Each corner has a mesh storage pocket (bottom left), which is a nice feature. The rear vestibule (right) is actually a storage area accessible only from the inside through a vertical zipper, which limits the passage of larger items like a backpack.
The Carbon Reflex 2 comes with two Easton carbon fiber poles, a pole repair sleeve, and eight aluminum alloy stakes (left). The fly attaches to the ridgepole (right) with six clips, five Velcro loops, and two grommets at the ends of the top strut.
Setting up the Carbon Reflex 2 is a conventional process and is not fast as claimed:
As I said, setup is not fast and could be a bit stressful while in the rain or wind. However, once the process is learned, it is straightforward.
Once assembled, the Carbon Reflex 2 is a tight unit. The inner tent is very taut and maintains a 3-inch airspace between it and the fly, more at the top. The tautness also enables the zipper on the entry door to be operated with one hand. The 49 inch long top strut is a simple and clever design element; it maximizes interior headroom and usable space, and also extends the vestibules so rain does not fall directly into the tent.
The most noteworthy drawback of the Carbon Reflex 2 is its single entry door. This means that the sleeper in the back of the tent must climb over the front sleeper in order to enter and exit the tent. My wife and I found it quite livable, but it helps a lot for the rear sleeper to be smaller and more nimble
As mentioned in the previous section, the tent floor is 40 inches wide, not 50 inches as specified. As shown in one of the photos above, the tent is wide enough for two standard 20 inch wide sleeping pads and that’s all. That said, we did find the interior of the Carbon Reflex 2 to be adequately roomy. The roominess is enhanced by the tent’s top strut which maximizes interior headroom and usable space. We also liked the side entry into the tent’s four corner storage pockets, which is ergonomically more efficient than a top entry.
Although I was not able to test the tent in winds stronger than 20 miles per hour, I at least found that the Carbon Reflex 2 is stable in moderate winds. The tent is basically a dome shape which helps it shed wind.
The MSR Carbon Reflex will handle a coating of snow, but that’s not its forte’.
During our testing I was able to evaluate the tent’s storm worthiness and condensation resistance on several occasions. On two winter camping trips in southern Utah, nighttime temperatures dropped into the upper teens under clear calm conditions, and we saw no more than light condensation (frost) on the inside of the tent fly. On a 10-day trip in southeastern Arizona we experienced one all-night rain and several nights in the 30-34 F range. With the tent’s vestibule and mesh door closed every night, we had moderate condensation on the inside of the tent fly. On a March trip to New Mexico’s Chaco Canyon National Historical Park, we slept in the tent on a clear, calm night with a 40 F temperature drop, and had moderate condensation on the inside of the fly. The tent does not have a high vent, and we were frankly quite surprised and impressed with the tent’s storm and condensation resistance.
Although we were not able to test it, the Carbon Reflex 2 can also be set up in a fly & footprint mode as shown. The fly clips to the footprint at the corners. Trail weight in this setup is 2 pounds 2.1 ounces.
It would appear that MSR’s objective in designing the Carbon Reflex 2 was to get the trail weight below three pounds, which is remarkable since the tent is made of polyurethane coated fabrics rather than silnylon. Why not silnylon, which is the de-facto standard in the lightest double-wall and single-wall tents popular with backpackers? The answer is CPAI-84, which is a voluntary camping tent flammability standard developed in 1980 by the Industrial Fabrics Association International. The standard may be voluntary, but many states require tents to meet that standard, and there is always the liability concern of larger manufactures. Thus MSR and other larger manufacturers stick to polyurethane coated fabrics that contain a flame retardant and strive to make those fabrics lighter and better performing. MSR’s 20 denier ripstop nylon has the advantages of lightness, fire retardancy, a polyurethane coating on the inside that will accept seam tape, and a silicone coating on the outside to shed water. Small companies take their chances with silnylon under the "voluntary" nature of the standard and clearly warn buyers of the flammability of silnylon. Big Sky International even provides a swatch of silnylon for the buyer to burn and allows for the buyer to return the tent if he is not comfortable with its lack of fire retardancy.
A three-pound target weight is probably the reason that the Carbon Reflex 2 has only one entry door plus a rear storage area. Obviously two doors and two vestibules would be much better, but there are few opportunities to offset the weight, thus the compromise.
Overall I am very impressed with the design and functionality of the Carbon Reflex 2. It is elegantly designed and very taut. It resists wind, rain, and condensation well. Its drawbacks are its single entry door for two people and overstated floor width. Functionally, the floor area and vestibules are adequate for two people plus gear, but the tent is not as spacious as the specifications imply.
In spite of its light weight, the Carbon Reflex 2 is still a durable tent and will last many years with reasonable care. But how durable are the carbon fiber poles? Easton FX poles are supplied with the Carbon Reflex, which are stiffer and more durable than Fibraplex poles. The most common types of damage to carbon fiber poles is crushing them or breaking them at a connection. When assembling the poles, it’s very important to make sure that every connection is completely inserted. MSR’s lifetime pole guarantee states: "MSR offers a limited warranty, to the original owner, on all MSR tent framework. If your tent pole breaks, MSR will repair or replace it, free, for the lifetime of the tent, upon postage-paid delivery to the MSR Product Service Center."
The closest comparisons to the Carbon Reflex 2 are the Big Sky International Evolution 2P and the Terra Nova Laser. In a comparable configuration with carbon fiber poles, the Big Sky Evolution 2P has a trail weight of 2 pounds 13.5 ounces and cost of about US$481 (almost the same), but it has two doors and two vestibules, a true 29.75 square feet of floor space, two top vents, a window, and it’s freestanding. The Evolution 2P’s width is specified to be 56 inches at the head end and 46 inches at the foot end; I measured it and found it to be right on. The Terra Nova Laser has a trail weight of only 2 pounds 8 ounces, but its 22.3 square foot floor space (trapezoidal, 35.4 inches wide x 91 inches long) is very tight for two people, and it costs about US$463. Overall, the Carbon Reflex 2 compares somewhat favorably with the competition, but the final decision depends on the value placed on fire retardancy and two entry doors instead of one.
You have been invited on a summer backpacking trip that will cover 30 miles in one day, including 2,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, and your anticipated pack weight will be 15-20 pounds. You have 15 weeks to prepare. What is the best way to get your body and mind ready for such an outing?
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2008: A Year of Change. Follow Jim Bailey on his rabid quest to hike every possible weekend between March and November, despite living in New England with its record-breaking weather.
I like to hike and carry a light pack.
In 2008, I lived in the Northeastern U.S.
I wanted to get into good shape, inspired by my comrades from Backpacking Light’s Wilderness Trekking III course in October of 2007. Those guys were animals. I wanted to be an animal, too.
So, I set my sights on hiking every possible weekend in 2008 (trails permitting of course), focusing on my home area stomping grounds, the White Mountains, and beyond.
January through March hiking involves shorter days, warmer layers, traction devices, snowshoes, and, depending on the length of an outing, warmer sleeping gear, a more robust shelter, and generally just a lot more “stuff.” At best, you’ll cover about half the distance you normally would in summer months. Not one to be a total glutton for punishment, I waited for good weather and trail conditions so I could go ultralight. In the Whites, that sometimes never comes. Fortunately in 2008, it came in March.
What follows is a consolidated trail journal of my UL frenzy last year.
Weather is something that seasoned hikers pay close attention to during unpredictable winter months, and for good reason. In the beginning of 2008, a record snow year, New Hampshire had a record number of search and rescue hiker extractions, exceeding the amount the state had budgeted and causing outrage from the taxpayers reading disastrous headlines in the NH Union Leader. An annual $100 hiker license was even proposed to offset the cost of hiking-related rescues.
While visiting a friend working for the Appalachian Mountain Club (AMC), I witnessed the record snow levels at the Lonesome Lake hut. There were sixteen-foot snow drifts, with tunnels carefully carved through the centers leading to the outhouses. Off-trail travel wasn’t much of an option: at one point, we came across a post hole in the center of a trail that was close to six feet deep, and I can only imagine the energy it took to climb out of that one.
One of the up-shots of that winter’s hiking was the opportunity to hike with Brian Doble, whom I’d met during the Wilderness Trekking III course in 2007. We quickly became hiking buddies, sharing great trips together in some pretty challenging conditions. His camaraderie, our shared passion for hiking, plus the skills we had learned from BPL’s program made the fourth season downright enjoyable and educational for both of us. Brian and I also shared the same sick sense of humor, which lead to many hours in camp laughing hysterically over things that others would probably deem as just plain wrong. At the end of March, I received an email from Brian mentioning that he was heading for Springer Mountain, Georgia around mid-April to yo-yo hike the Appalachian Trail with a four-pound base weight. Unfortunately, I couldn’t play and would miss his camaraderie, but cheered him on: "Right on, Brian, go for it!"
Spring took a long time to get to the mountains of northern New England in 2008.
April is usually one of the worst months for hiking up this way. Massachusetts sees the first signs of spring appear with the landscape blossoming from subtle browns and greys into green with budding flowers. Elevated moods and people losing their pained "winter faces" (winter face: a New England expression that’s a combination of discontent, mild anger, and a sheer will to survive) are two more sure signs of warmer weather. While all of this is blooming in Massachusetts, New Hampshire is still a combination of low level mud and slush, with abundant collapsing deep snow slightly higher, and winter-like conditions lingering on summits. It tends to be frustrating knowing that backpacking trips probably won’t start until May, while ticking off how many weekends/multi-day trips can be crammed in between spring (aka "thaw/black fly season") and early winter.
By the first weekend in May, I had made the decision to spend every possible weekend until November hiking or backpacking. By the second weekend, some internal Start button had been pushed, and the race was on. Working in a cubical farm during the week gives me little opportunity for physical activity, so I began fast-paced walking during lunch hour, after work, and to run errands. The walking helped me get better into shape, though my hiking legs wouldn’t really be back until the sixth weekend out.
June and July had record-breaking rainfall, apparently since the same stalled storm fronts that caused so much snowfall were being repeated during the summer months, leading to washed out bridges and massive trail erosion. I was no longer carrying a traditional tent, just a tarp and bivy combination which kept things dry all season. I found that a larger 8 x 10-foot rectangular tarp rigged in various configurations worked flawlessly and gave me additional room for hanging out at night. This was also ideal space for providing "trail magic" for thru hikers and AMC staff that work up in the Whites. For those not familiar with trail magic, it’s the simple act of sharing food and drink with long-distance hikers and the fine community of people working in the Whites, and is just one hiker’s way of giving back to a really great group of folks.
Around the last weekend in June, I contacted fellow BPL reader Jonathan Ryan after his frustrated and downright funny response to a BPL forum troll attack, and we started going back and forth about trying a done-in-a-day (DIAD) 32-mile Pemi loop in New Hampshire. This is a really aggressive route, involving 18,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, and I thought it sounded tough but doable. Very quickly we were working out logistics and planning a date to pull this off, so I really started working on improving my mileage during weekends. We were both excited about the trip and ended up having a pretty good attempt, but not quite finishing the route. The best thing about this trip was being out with another like-minded hiker who later joined in on a couple of other great outings, and a friendship developed rapidly.
Alpine lake near the Lake of the Clouds Hut, just below the summit of Mount Washington.
As August approached, I figured that my sleep system would be changing up with the onset of cooler nights. I ordered a BPL PRO 90 Quilt that was on sale, and, when the package arrived, pulled it from the box thinking I’d misjudged – it might be good on a few warm weather nights in June. To my surprise, the Quilt, combined with a Cocoon Hoody and MLD Superlight Bivy, would comfortably get me though the entire summer season in the Whites. (Side note: I’m very impressed by this Quilt and anticipate even better things from the 2009 line.)
Attempting nonstop weekends, working a 9-to-5 without additional days off, and pushing mileage on foot going up hills of steep granite is just plain grueling; exhaustion was setting in. I was getting cranky, my man cave (where I live during the week) was looking pretty rough, my diet was out of control (consuming massive amounts of calories during the week and minimum on weekends), and I took my first weekend off after thirteen consecutive weekends out backpacking. The main thing accomplished was getting much needed sleep.
September is when summer ends in the mountains of New Hampshire, and you can pretty much count on this every year. The crowds thin out at backcountry campsites, AMC employees start to move on, and leaves change color rather spectacularly. Most of the backpackers I know here really don’t come out until fall, largely because of its cooler, more comfortable hiking temperatures. The 2008 season was different; high gas prices and fewer visitors due to constant rain affected the local economy. Business owners were closing shop and leaving the area. September was desolate in the north country, and with fewer people out in the wilderness, the natural beauty of the Whites seemed forever etched in its granite landscape.
October started out warm in the northeast, but weather this time of year is endlessly mercurial. Depending on the fronts, it can be sunny and in the 60s one day with snow the next at higher elevations. I monitored NOAA closely throughout the week to figure out what gear to carry and it was now a time of seasonal gear transition with my MLD Prophet swapped out to an original GoLite Jam for packing. I had an unusually active October, with other hikers and the few remaining friends that worked at AMC sites requesting visits one last time for 2008. As the month wound down, hiking was getting difficult, as Saturday mornings felt very much like I was going through the motions. It was the same drive through the same country; I had done all of my favorite trails multiple times; I was beginning to wonder if I had acquired some type of hiking/backpacking disorder that would keep me forever single, yet healthy due to exercise, leaving me to perish alone, very old, with huge hiker legs and massive hobbit feet.
After a long hike in on the Bondcliff Trail, Michelle (in the tank top) mentioned in sheer exhaustion, "I feel so much hate right now." Her outlook took a turn for the better when she saw the expansive alpine views with no signs of civilization overlooking the Pemi Wilderness area.
November was a month of drastic change. With the news of the world economy coming crashing down in October, hiking in the Whites was a glorious escape on weekends. No televisions, internet news, or radio broadcasting doom and gloom reports, just the simple act of walking aggressively up steep hills of granite and camping out. The temps were now steadily in the 20s at night and 40s during the day. Crowds were gone at backcountry campsites except for a few other hardy souls. Leaves were now brown and scattered over trails, requiring constant monitoring of my footing.
After the second weekend of backpacking in November, my quest was abruptly called off by my offsite supervisor. On my way into the office, he called and asked me to meet him at a nearby hotel. At this point, I was told my department was being closed, but I was offered a position in Georgia, which I eventually accepted. The hardest part of this difficult decision was breaking my southbound news to my hiking companions and friends that work for the AMC. (Don’t worry: if any of you happen to be reading this, I will be back next summer for a week’s trek.)
I finished up a final hike in New Hampshire for the 2008 season (this was Weekend #25, and pretty close to back-to-back) with fellow BPL hikers Brian Doble and Jonathan Ryan, plus Jonathan’s wife Rachel and their dog Aspen, on my favorite trail, the Liberty Springs Trail.
Temps were lingering in the teens to single digits during the day, and -10 at night, according to my pack thermometer. The group carried ultralight gear and wore trail runners in some pretty extreme conditions, but most importantly we all had a blast doing this together.
During the final drive back to Massachusetts, I started to wonder about what was next: rest briefly, then move all my worldly possessions into a small 6x7x8 foot relocation cube and finalize billing info and company transfer details. After my initial rest period and coming to terms with moving 1,100 miles south, I was starting to look forward to all the great terrain that part of the country has to offer. I was doubly fortunate to have Brian Doble along for the big road trip, pointing out great hiking spots along the AT. Finally, the warmer southern temperatures were a welcome end to a year of change.
While practice is the real key to improving the quality of your homemade gear, there are some tools and techniques that can help you along the way. Knowing which tools to have and how to best use them will maximize the quality of the gear you build.
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The Functional Design Sweetie Pie Bag Expander is a versatile, zip-in, sleeping bag expander that can be used singly for individuals that enjoy more space, or together with another expander as a sleeping bag doubler. Two expanders can also be zipped together to form a child-sized bag allowing for an adventurous toddler to have his own space.
The Sweetie Pie bag expanders allow plenty of space for two adults and a toddler to sleep comfortably.
For a family backpacking with a toddler, the options for sleeping bag setups are very limited. Most sleeping bags available for smaller children are more suited for slumber parties than real outdoor pursuits. Enter the Sweetie Pie Bag Expander by Functional Design.
Two Expanders zip together to form the equivalent of the Functional Designs Doubler.
The Expander zips into an existing sleeping bag. One Expander, by itself, widens the top of the bag by 28 inches, allowing for plenty of space for a parent and child to cuddle. By zipping two Expanders together, you get the equivalent of a Sweetie Pie Doubler, or almost 60 additional inches across the top of the sleeping bag. This allows enough room for two adults AND a toddler. The pair of Expanders can also be zipped together on both sides to make a toddler-sized sleeping bag.
One Expander allows plenty of room for Mama and a wiggly two-year-old. Two Expanders create a sleeping bag just the right size for a child up to four feet tall.
We used two Sweetie Pie Expanders together with one bag on several family backpacking trips. The bag has plenty of space for all three of us to sleep comfortably, with even a little extra to move around some. (Disclaimer: Our son, Porter, has slept on my arm, by my side, since the day he was born. Others not used to a “family bed” may experience different results.) The two layers of Polarguard 3D in the three-season Expanders were warm enough for three-season usage, but almost too warm with all the extra body heat during summer trips. Luckily, the zipper options on the Sweetie Pie allow for venting at either feet or shoulders.
In breezy conditions, the Expanders are not quite as comfortable. They do not have a mechanism such as drawstring, Velcro, tonsil, or a draft tube to close of the top edge of the sleeping bag. Any wind that enters the tent enters the bag. In a tent that could be sealed to the ground on both ends, this problem could be somewhat mitigated, but drafts are a serious consideration for tarp and tarp tent users. This gap also makes it difficult to hold in heat.
My other issue with the design of the Sweetie Pie is the choice of materials. I wish there were an option for a down-insulated version or lighter weight fabrics. The overall purpose of the Sweetie Pie system is to leave a sleeping bag (or with a child, two) at home. Two Expanders and even a Doubler by itself weigh the same or more as many three-season down bags, and only compress to the size of a large sleeping bag. The use of down or lighter synthetics as insulation would solve both problems. That said, these materials would surely add to the quite reasonable $59.00 price of the Expander.
Overall, the Sweetie Pie Sleeping Bag Expander system is a great choice for keeping a family together in wilderness. With some updated, lighter weight materials to go along with the inventive, versatile design, Functional Designs would have a definite winner.
Three-pound internal frame backpacks with great fit, features, versatility, and value.
Arriving at a mountain hut after a 7.5-mile ski trip carrying the REI Flash 65 backpack loaded with food and gear for a four-day stay. Awesome snow and skiing, great lodging, wonderful friends, and cool gear – it doesn’t get any better than this!
New for spring 2009, the REI Flash backpack series consists of four packs with volumes of 18, 30, 50, and 65 liters. This review focuses on the Flash 50 and Flash 65, two popular sizes for lightweight backpacking, sometimes referred to as “weekend” and “week-long” backpacks, respectively. Both packs are impressively light, versatile, and value-priced. However, they are not quite as light as the recently reviewed Osprey Exos 46 and Exos 58. How well do the new REI Flash backpacks pass our scrutiny, and how do they compare with the Osprey Exos backpacks? Read on to get the answers.
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Year/Model |
2009 REI Flash 50 and Flash 65 |
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Style |
Top loading internal frame backpack with removable frame and top pocket |
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Volume |
Flash 50 is 3051 cu in (50 L) Flash 65 is 3967 cu in (65 L) |
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Weight |
Size M Flash 50 and size L Flash 65 tested. Measured Weight, Flash 50: 2 lb, 9.2 oz (1.2 kg) Measured Weight, Flash 65: 3 lb, 1.2 oz (1.4 kg) Manufacturer Specification (size men’s Medium) Flash 50: 2 lb, 10 oz (1.2 kg) Manufacturer Specification (size men’s Medium) Flash 65: 3 lb, 2 oz (1.4 kg) |
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Sizes Available |
Men’s and women’s S, M, L |
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Torso Fit Range |
Men’s Small Fits: 16-18 in torso (41-46 cm), 28-34 in waist (71-86 cm) Men’s Medium Fits: 17-19 in torso (43-48 cm), 31-37 in waist (79-94 cm) Men’s Large Fits: 18-20 in torso (46-51 cm), 34-40 in waist (86-102 cm) Women’s Small Fits: 15-17 in torso (38-43 cm), 26-31 in waist (66-79cm) Women’s Medium Fits: 16-18 in torso (41-46 cm), 28-34 in waist (71-86 cm) Women’s Large Fits: 17-19 in torso (43-48 cm), 34-40 in waist (79-94 cm) |
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Fabrics |
140d rip-stop nylon |
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Frame Material |
Contoured perforated HDPE framesheet with two attached tubular aluminum stays |
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Features |
Floating top pocket with water-resistant zipper access and map pocket on the underside, side mesh pockets (four on the Flash 65, two on the Flash 50), large front kango pocket with integrated water-resistant zippered pocket, center-pull hipbelt tightening system, one mesh hipbelt pocket, hipbelt attachment points for accessory cases, two front tool loops, two side compression straps, two bottom compression straps/sleeping pad straps, one top compression strap with security pouch, multiple lash points on top pocket and front of pack, two ice axe loops, load lifters, hipbelt stabilizers, adjustable sternum strap with whistle, 3L internal hydration sleeve with three suspension clips and two hose ports |
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Volume To Weight Ratio |
74. ci/oz for the Flash 50 (based on 3051 cu in and measured weight of 41.2 oz) 75. 80.6 ci/oz for the Flash 65 (based on 3967 cu in and measured weight of 49.2 oz) |
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Maximum Comfortable Load Carrying Capacity |
Flash 50: 30-lb estimated comfortable load for an average person carrying the pack all day Flash 65: 35-lb estimated comfortable load for an average person carrying the pack all day |
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Carry Load to Pack Weight Ratio |
11.6 for the Flash 50 (based on 30 lb and measured weight of 2.58 lb) 11.4 for the Flash 65 (based on 35 lb and measured weight of 3.06 lb) |
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MSRP |
Flash 50 US$129 Flash 65 US$149 |
The new REI Flash 50 and 65 backpacks replace the Cruise UL 60 as REI’s lightest internal frame backpacks. There are some distinct similarities with the Cruise UL 60 (large front kango pocket), some distinct differences (completely new frame and suspension), and some abandoned features (the Cruise UL 60’s unique “Rip and Stick” torso length adjustment and internal compression system are gone).
REI Flash 65 (left) and Flash 50 (right). The two packs differ mainly in volume; the feature set is nearly identical.
The new Flash 50 and 65 are top-loading and have a removable framesheet and top pocket (to convert them to a frameless backpack), a large kango pocket on the front for stuffing things, and numerous pockets for organization.
Views of the Flash 50. The front of the pack (top left) has a distinctive kango pocket (with an integrated pocket in the flap) that wraps around the sides (top right) of the pack. Each side has one compression strap. The backpanel (bottom left) has firm perforated padding in the upper shoulder and lumbar regions. The top cap (bottom right) has a map pocket on the underside (with Velcro closure), and the top compression strap incorporates a security pouch with Velcro closure.
Notable features. The hipbelt has one zippered mesh pocket (upper left) on the right side which is big enough to hold a compact digital camera. The left side of the hipbelt (not shown) has webbing loops for attaching various accessory cases. The kango pocket on the front of the Flash packs (lower left) is basically a large flap on the front of the pack that creates a cradle to stuff gear into, like a jacket, shovel, or wet rainwear or tent. It is connected with one buckle and has a zippered pouch incorporated into it (right), hence the name “kango” pocket (short for kangaroo).
The only difference between the Flash 50 and 65 (other than volume) is in the number of mesh side pockets; the Flash 65 has two mesh pockets on each side (the mesh extension of the kango pocket plus a mesh pocket attached to it), while the Flash 50 only has one mesh pocket on each side (the mesh extension of the kango pocket).
It’s important to note that the Flash 50 and 65 packs have a fixed torso length, so it’s important to purchase the correct size (see specifications table). Both packs are available in men’s and women’s small, medium, and large sizes, and the women’s packs are anatomically contoured and fitted.
The frame in the Flash 65 and 50 consists of a contoured perforated HDPE plastic framesheet with two tubular aluminum stays attached. The framesheet is easy to insert and remove via a zippered pocket accessible from the main compartment.
Although the original contour of the framesheet seemed to be pretty close to the curvature of my back, I decided to dial it in for maximum comfort. It made quite a difference, making the pack feel almost like a part of me. To modify the curvature, it’s a simple process of removing the framesheet and having a friend bend the stays (while still attached to the framesheet) on the edge of a counter until they match the curvature of your back.
Contoured spacer mesh shoulder straps (left) are about 2.5 inches wide and well padded. The backpanel has sewn-on areas of perforated EVA foam padding in the upper shoulder and lumbar regions. The precurved hipbelt (right) is a similar stiff foam surfaced with spacer mesh.
I tested the Flash 50 and 65 backpacks on numerous winter camping trips, several single day backcountry skiing trips, multi-day ski hut trips, and spring backpacking trips carrying loads ranging from 15 to 35 pounds.
On a four-day igloo camping trip I carried the Flash 65 with 35 pounds of bulky gear inside and attached to the outside. I found adequate room and attachment points for all of it. Our igloo is in the background.
For day hikes like the Arizona Chiricahua Mounatins (left), I carried 12-15 pounds of gear in the Flash 50 in compressed mode to reduce its volume and move the center of gravity closer to my back. The top pocket and front pocket (with water-resistant zippers) provided lots of convenient dry storage. Spring backpacking with the Flash 50 (right), Dragoon Mountains in Southeastern Arizona.
I found the weight carrying capacity of the Flash packs to be in the moderate range; with a maximum of about 30 pounds for the Flash 50 and about 35 pounds for the Flash 65. When carrying the Flash 65 with 35 pounds of bulky gear, I found that I had to secure the hipbelt really tightly to prevent it from sliding down my hips. Bottom line, these packs are designed to comfortably carry moderate loads; 20-30 pounds for the Flash 50 and 25-35 pounds for the Flash 65.
The only issue I found while using the Flash 50 and 65 is the load lifters slip if the top pocket is tightened over them. The on-trail solution is to make sure the ladder lock buckles on the load lifter straps are outside of the top pocket.
Although I was not able to test it in this configuration, the frame and top pocket are fairly easy to remove from both packs to create a frameless rucksack with a fixed hipbelt. This minimalist configuration gets the Flash 50 pack weight down to 29 ounces and the Flash 65 down to 34 ounces.
Overall, I was very pleased with the fit, features, comfort, and weight carrying capacity of the Flash 50 and 65. Although they do not have an adjustable torso, it is possible to obtain a very good fit by choosing the correct pack size and bending the backpanel/stays unit to fit the curvature of your back. With the fit dialed in, these packs are very comfortable for carrying moderate loads typical of lightweight backpacking.
The REI Flash 50 and 65 are unique because they have a removable frame. This gives them extra versatility because they can be used as either an internal frame or frameless backpack, albeit not the lightest in either configuration. As a frameless pack, the Flash 65 at 34 ounces is similar in volume to the Six Moon Designs Starlite and Comet packs, and is 4-5 ounces heavier (which isn’t bad). But the Gossamer Gear Mariposa Plus, at 22 ounces, is the lightweight champ in this category.
Osprey Exos 46 (left) and REI Flash 50 (right).
Compared to the Osprey Exos 46 and 58, the Flash 50 and 65 packs are 6 and 11 ounces heavier, respectively. The Flash and Exos packs are both full-featured and the features are quite similar. The main differences are in the frame and suspension; the Exos has a tubular peripheral frame that wraps around the hips, a trampoline backpanel, and thinly padded suspension, while the Flash has a removable framesheet with attached stays and thicker shoulder straps. I found both packs to be quite comfortable with moderate loads. There is a big difference in the price tags; the Flash 50 costs $50 less than the Exos 46 and the Flash 65 costs $70 less than the Exos 58. Both Flash packs are an outstanding value.
Bottom line, all of the above mentioned packs are well designed and very comfortable with moderate loads. The choice gets down to the user’s preferences and priorities, so there’s no substitute for each hiker doing his/her own comparisons and making an informed decision. For an aspiring lightweight backpacker wanting to balance fit, features, comfort, and cost the REI Flash 50 and 65 backpacks are hard to beat.
John Muir will be forever linked with the High Sierra and California, but it was far from there that his life began, in the little coastal town of Dunbar on the southeast coast of Scotland.
John Muir will be forever linked with the High Sierra and California, but it was far from there that his life began, in the little coastal town of Dunbar on the southeast coast of Scotland. Here, Muir was born and lived until age eleven, when his family moved to the USA. Muir has long been honoured in the USA for his pioneering conservation work, but was little known in Scotland until recently, and his birthplace was forgotten. Only when the John Muir Trust was set up to protect wild land in Scotland in 1983 did his name start to become known; it was not until 1998 that the John Muir Birthplace Trust was formed, and work began to preserve the house he was born in to turn it into an interpretative centre about his life and work.
I first read John Muir back in 1982, when I was hiking the Pacific Crest Trail and picked up an old copy of The Mountains of California. I have read most of his writings since then, some many times, and he has been an ongoing source of inspiration. Some years ago I visited his house in Martinez, California, which is now a National Historic Site, but I had never been to Dunbar until last autumn when I spent a cold, windy November day wandering the town and the coast, thinking about Muir and the valuable legacy he left us.
John Muir was born on April 21, 1838 at 128 High Street, a three-story stone house in the middle of Dunbar. Although small – the population is only 6,350 today and would have been much less in Muir’s day – Dunbar has played an important part in Scotland’s history and is an ancient settlement. Bronze Age artefacts and a Celtic fort have been discovered in the area, and, in the Middle Ages, Dunbar Castle was one of the most important in Scotland. King David II of Scotland made Dunbar a Royal Burgh in 1370. The town was involved in several wars with the English and was destroyed twice. However, nothing in the violent history of Dunbar is as significant as being the birthplace and first home to John Muir.
Plaque on the wall of 128 High Street, Dunbar. The house, with the new interpretative centre, was opened to the public in 2003, not without controversy, as many people in Scotland and the USA opposed the tearing out of the internal structure of the house in order to install the new exhibits, saying this was destroying the very place Muir lived. Supporters of the new centre argued that the internal structures had no historic value and that Muir spent nine of his eleven years in Dunbar living in the house next door and so was in Number 128 for a short time only.
One of the first displays inside 128 High Street is a facsimile of Muir’s birth certificate, showing he was born to Daniel Muir and Anne Gilrye. Daniel Muir is described as a shopkeeper, though he was actually a dealer in grain. He became a farmer when he emigrated to Wisconsin.
A model of Muir (with a rather jaunty hat!) tucked into a corner of 128 High Street. The wool clothing is a reminder that in Muir’s day there was no specialist outdoor clothing and none of the high tech materials we have today. Yet Muir traveled light, often with just what would fit in his pockets, including minimal food. “Bread without flesh is a good diet, as on many botanical excursions I have proved. Tea also may easily be ignored. Just bread and water and delightful toil is all I need – not unreasonably much, yet one ought to be trained and tempered to enjoy life in these brave wilds in full independence of any particular kind of nourishment.” Excerpt from My First Summer in the Sierra.
128 High Street is full of quotations from Muir. This is one of my favourites, a reminder that nature never ceases. The simple line “It is always sunrise somewhere” is one I find extraordinarily uplifting. The quotation, which comes from Muir’s journals and was first published in John of the Mountains long after his death, continues “Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on seas and continents and islands, each in its turn, as the round earth rolls.”
On Dunbar High Street there is a statue of the young John Muir mounted on a big block of old red sandstone, a common local rock.. On the block is mounted this plaque with a quotation from Muir in which he reveals that it was in and around Dunbar that he learnt his love of wild places, where he learnt “to gaze and wonder” at nature.
The statue of the young John Muir in Dunbar High Street. Muir is shown with a branch as a staff and holding a hand up to the sky where three seagulls wheel. Wind blows his clothing as he stares up into the vast world across which he would travel and on which he would have such a significant effect.
Signs for the John Muir Way decorate a lamp post. The ruins of Dunbar Castle are in the background. The John Muir Way is still under development and will eventually link Dunbar with Edinburgh and the Scottish Borders. At present, two sections of seventeen and fourteen miles are complete.
One of Dunbar’s two harbours, with the ruins of the castle overlooking the entrance. This is the Victoria Harbour, built in the 1840s. The much older Cromwell Harbour, completed in 1730, established Dunbar as a major east coast fishing port. There was a fort at Dunbar in Roman times, but the first stone castle was probably originally built in the 1070s. The castle was besieged and rebuilt several times in the next 500 years before finally being destroyed in the 1560s. Today the tottering remnants are dangerous and closed to the public. Muir climbed on the crumbling walls as a boy, describing it as “one of our best playgrounds.”
Waves break through an arch in the Dunbar cliffs. Some old masonry can be seen on the right. The young John Muir climbed on these loose, disintegrating cliffs, learning skills that would prove useful in his solo climbs in the High Sierra. “We tried to see who could climb highest on the crumbling peaks and crags and took chances that no cautious mountaineer would try” (from The Story of My Boyhood and Youth). The cliffs are made of sedimentary rock cut with intrusions of volcanic rock. It was not far from Dunbar, at Siccar Point, that another great Scottish scientist, James Hutton, found confirmation of his geological theories in the rocks in 1788. Hutton is regarded as the father of modern geology and the geologist who first established that the earth is extremely old.
The sands and rocks of Dunbar with the North Sea stretching out to the distant Bass Rock, a volcanic plug in the mouth of the Firth of Forth (the estuary of the river Forth). Bass Rock is home to around 150,000 gannets, the largest concentration of these sea birds in the world.
The John Muir Country Park covers some three square miles of coastline on the western edge of Dunbar, including the ruins of Dunbar Castle. The cliffs, beaches, and rock pools have changed little since Muir explored them as a boy.
Information boards on the John Muir Country Park show that some parts of the coast are now more like they would have been in Muir’s day than they were in the years after he left Dunbar. In the late nineteenth century the beach below this sign was a “ladies bathing” area with a changing pavilion and privacy regulations, as mixed bathing was regarded with disapproval. Today the bathing area is long gone and we can wander the beaches and rock pools gazing at the wildlife like Muir, something I can relate to, having been brought up on the coast myself and gained my love of nature and the wild from the same sort of places.
Looking across low exposed rocks covered with pools and the surging cold waters of the North Sea to the decaying remains of Dunbar Castle, barely distinguishable from the rocks from which it was built at this distance.
The North Sea crashes against the rocks below the Dunbar cliffs, uncontrolled and untamed, redolent of wild nature and the call of adventure, journeys to wild places and the joys of exploration and discovery. “By the stormy North Sea, there was no lack of wildness,” wrote Muir in The Story of My Boyhood and Youth.
John Muir National Historic Site
Photographic note: the photos were taken as raw images with a Sigma DP1 camera and processed and converted to JPEGs in Adobe Lightroom.
Jetboil releases its first remote canister stove. Does this work well enough to be a good winter stove?
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