One thing that I read about in the late 1950s has stuck with me. I don't see it used or even talked about, which is surprising. It's immensely useful for backpacking.
What I read about was how to moor a boat using a real rope and a piece of rubber rope.
Rubber rope is a thing I've never seen, but it's the idea that counts. The same idea in the world of backpacking shelters works out to be what's called "shock cord", which is just an elastic core wrapped in fabric.
You tie some of this into the middle of a guyline for a tent, or a tarp, or a hammock tarp, and leave a little slack in the real guy line, and this lets the tent or tarp move a little, give a little in the wind, like a flexible tree bending a little, but not snapping off.
The thing is, it's hard to fasten a length of plain shock cord so it stays tied. All knots in the stuff eventually work loose.
Well, you can run this stuff through a little soft metal tube and then crimp the tube, but where do you get super lightweight metal tubing about 1/8" in diameter, in like 1" segments? (3mm by 25mm) There are things like this made for exactly this purpose, but you don't see them just sitting around in every store, and it's baffling what a guy could use as a substitute, so I've been stumped.
Yeah, so today while buying groceries and letting myself be open for ideas about whatever, and also to kill time, I blithely wandered through the women's doodad section at the supermarket and had a nice bingo moment.
Goody. Goody Ouchless Hair Elastics and Goody Ponytail Holders. Yep. Them's things, and they were there. Just about what I wanted, and all ready-made. Cheap too.
Goody.com doesn't have details. You have to follow the links from there to Walmart or Target and check them, and that's where I stole the images you see here. Too good not to steal.
I made a dumb graphic (right below) showing how to use elastic with guylines and it shows way too much slack, but I'm not going to do it over, so use your imagination. And what looks like a knot on each side should be in red. Or something. The graphic should be clearer, but I'm not a pro, hey. (Another D'Oh! moment, brought to you by me.) But it's the idea that counts, and this is one idea that is really fine. Think about it. I believe you've even caught on already. The elastic stretches just so far under heavy stress, and then the actual guyline takes over. Brilliant, as they say.
Guy line with elastic tensioner, showing way too much slack.
Ouchless hair elastics.
Ouchless hair elastics showing thickness.
Ponytail holders.
One ponytail holder, showing "welded" ends — no knots, no crimping, etc. Woot!
Updated tensioner graphic. More schematic but possibly no clearer. At least I tried, eh?
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Me? Still trying after all these years.
Etc...
so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction definitions: outdoor terms fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals
(1) The process of food shooting up into your nose when you have a simultaneous hiccup, belch and gag experience while eating. You know. You do.
(2) The sound you make when this happens.
(3) A small in-tent fart that you hope no one else hears. Another good reason to stealth camp.
(4) The soft, hairy, dark stuff you get on yogurt when you've let it sit too long in the container after opening it, or the hair itself, which is really a fungus. Fungus...
(5) A portable, circular tent with a low conical roof, traditionally made of yak hide, or possibly felt, laid over a collapsible framework. Native to the steppes of north central Asia. Mostly too big, complex, and heavy for backpacking use, unless you're an ogre. If so, all bets are off, of course.
(6) The thing you wake up in, suddenly, alone and naked, somewhere on the steppes of north central Asia, in the dead of night, after meeting the supposedly mythical trail yogi and failing to leave even a token offering. You poor, stupid bastard. Better luck next lifetime, if there will be one for you. Probably not, considering.
Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Also portable.
Etc...
so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction definitions: outdoor terms fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals
(1) The place you are sent when you can't keep quiet.
Inside this device, you can hoop and holler all you want without bothering the chipmunks, even if outside you're just another loud jerk.
This might seem impossible from a structure made of fabric and a few bent lengths of fiberglass rod or aluminum tubing, but it turns out that the entire structure is tunable, and when you get the right number of hoops in place, with the right spacing between them, you can either amplify or hush any sounds inside the structure, and block any and all sounds from outside, which is darn amazing.
This means that the hoop tent is an especially good choice for mechanically-adept light sleepers with at least a moderately good ear (for the tuning part).
And it gets better.
This tunability extends beyond the range of hearing into the sub-quantum meta-aural bands, which allows you to bring in baseball broadcasts from the 1930s (when conditions are right), to control the local weather (but only to make it worse, unfortunately), and, to some extent, to affect the price of canned cat food (if bought in bulk).
(2) A tent of ancient design, handed down through thousands of generations within the tradition of the Hoo-Pal peoples of northeastern South Cattledonia, known for their acute sense of design, clever and nimble fingers, and ability to make entirely modern looking structures from lizard skin and giant bat ribs.
The first European explorers were dumbfounded by the sturdy but backpackable tent-like structures ("hooples") they found erected everywhere, but their favorite was named after the ancient local god, Maht (or Maht-Tha).
This was the origin of the sturdy four-season shelters we now know as "Mott-The Hooples".
These days these structured are generally called just hoop tents, and consist of one largish hemispherical swatch of fabric stretched over several flexible bent arches or hoops. Pretty cool, eh?
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Me? Just woke up alone, with a note pinned to my face. Just one word on it: "Nope." No idea what that's about.
If a regular tent has four sides, then this, having one, is a very light tent indeed.
Some tents have six or eight sides, so by comparison a single-wall tent is way lighter. Call it a tarp. No matter if it's square or rectangular or some other funny shape that got designed and puckered somewhere in the manufacturing process, a tarp is still one piece of fabric. It's a multi-sided shelter that magically actually has only one side, something like that mythical coin which if you drop it, and it lands face down, you never find it again. (D'oh indeed!)
But tarps do have two sides to each piece, so you can find them even in the dark just by feeling around, or by listening for the flapping sound if you didn't pitch it right. However tarps do lack all the unnecessary things, like an inside. Tarps don't know from inside or outside. They don't have floors, or bug nets. No pockets. No zippers. No instructions. No nothing, practically. Just the one wall, which you can pitch any way you like unless you got one of the fancy designed and puckered ones with extra seams.
Now other shelters are actually rated not by how many sides they have but by how many layers. Your standard tent (the double wall tent) is not notable because it has two walls on each side (though it actually does). No. How they measure these things is like, if you tossed a cat toward one of these tents, and the cat had really sharp claws, and when it hit the tent it cut right through the wall, like how many walls would the cat go through to get to the middle?
Well, if it's a double-wall tent, the answer is two, no matter how many sides the tent had, unless the cat went entirely through the tent and came out the other side, but most cats don't have that kind of stamina, so they usually find a nice spot once they get inside, and then have a nap there.
Though if you try this, then never, ever go inside the tent while the cat is there. Let it come out when it's ready, especially if it's a cat you picked up around your campsite. Some of them weigh 80 to 100 pounds or more (35 to 45 kg no less), and are actually strong enough to kill deer, and elk, and sometimes cows, so it's a wonder you even managed to pick it up in the first place, let alone throw it at your tent. (Another word to the wise here too — don't push your luck — try this trick only once per cat. They catch on fast and tend to get prickly if they think that they're being taken advantage of.)
Now that you know how to decide whether you have a single-wall tent or a double-wall tent, take a break. Wait for the cat to make a proper exit after its nap. You will have lots of patching to do, and it can be a lot of work, and you want to be rested up for that. Anyhow, that's the story on the number of walls.
Single-wall tents have some advantages and some disadvantages. For one, there's less material to a single-wall tent, usually, so they are lighter, and simpler. They are more likely to be floorless. Once inside you can set up housekeeping using only a simple ground cloth, and if you turn out to be a messy person you can just sweep debris off the edge of that, but then on the other hand you have less protection from vermin.
Vermin, indeed. Always with the vermin.
A bug net is usually a necessary option with a single-wall tent, and you may not need one right up front, but when you need one, you need one for sure, so think about that for a while. Like how many bugs can you stand to have in your ears? While you try to sleep? And like that.
Double-wall tents do get condensation on the inside, but it's inside the outer wall, and you can't touch it because of the inner wall, which is handy because it keeps you from playing with the outer wall when you shouldn't but does add weight.
And we could go on and on like this. Sometimes it makes you dizzy just to think about all the options and permutations, and you get to the point where you simply want to pick up your stuff and go backpacking for a while, but there you go then, because you still have to decide what to take, so you're kind of hosed no matter what, which is pretty much the story of life, in a nutshell.
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Me? Still looking for that damn coin.
(Originally published Wednesday, September 17, 2008 on another blog. Slightly updated here.)
There seems to be a lack of individual responsibility around these days. Or maybe that's just me. Maybe it's always been this way. Probably. Some things I don't notice so good, but I think I'm right on this one.
I've always been surprised by how lazy and opportunistic people are. Maybe that's just me. Maybe I'm not as bright as I've thought, or maybe I just haven't caught on yet to the true meaning of life. Something like that. I haven't caught on to massive sloth and grabbing what's easy.
I noticed during job interviews, or even worse, while on the job, that I scared people when I told them I stood 100% behind my work. Don't know why. That seems like a good characteristic to me, but it's never flown. People get spooked. Someone once asked me if I carry a gun.
Maybe a lot of them are scared to see someone care. Most of my working life was in state government, where, when you swing through the trees, you see a lot of sleepy apes. The entire point of a bureaucrat's life is not to do anything. If you do anything you can be blamed, but you can never be blamed for doing nothing. Everyone in that kind of environment understands the idea of making decisions judiciously. Without question. I.e., doing nothing.
That's why it can take a year to get a stapler unless you steal one from a desk that's just been vacated.
That world works that way because there is never a positive incentive. There is no profit sharing. No bonuses. You don't get big stock options if you bet your job and a lot of company resources on a bold gamble. There is none of that, only the opposite.
Negative incentives.
What is, is. The status quo is the highest good. Muck up and the only option is punishment. Do well and you mess up the status quo. The only option is punishment. Keeping up appearances is the highest good.
I've worked with people who were demoted and moved across town into jobs they knew nothing about only because they happened to work for someone else who lost a turf war. I've seen a talented and experienced programmer given a desk and chair and nothing else, expected to sit there until he gave up and quit, only because he once spoke the truth. I know someone who, as a project manager whose project failed, was given a promotion because she followed the rules as she drove the project into the ground.
No change, no gain. No gain, no pain. A small promotion is about the best you can get, and failure restores a quiet, enduring balance to a bureaucrat's life. A few dollars more a month from a promotion seems like a positive incentive but it's really more of a threat. You have to work harder to keep up appearances, so maybe it's not a good thing to get. And you still have to show up every day for decades until they finally have to turn you loose. No matter who you are, how good you are, if you play in this system you weather and get worn down to the same level as everyone else. You want only to get through today, and live long enough to retire. Nothing more. Trying to actually do something only causes confusion and pain.
I've been a member of two Meetup groups based around web technology. I just learned today that the second one has now also failed. There are 71 members and only nine or 10 have shown up at meetings. The two organizers have been doing the presentations and the rest have been sitting there. People keep joining. And not showing up.
So easy. So clean.
I sort of know a web developer who lost his job when the big bust came a few years back. Henry Shires. In 1999 he hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, using a shelter he made himself. He did it because he wanted to. He didn't sit around waiting for someone to ask, or to give orders. He needed to do the hike for personal reasons, so he did. To help he designed a shelter that was sort of like a tent and sort of like a tarp.
Later he got into web development. I don't know much about this part of his story, but having talked to him a time or two I heard that he lost his job. It was bad all over then. Happened to lots.
Sometime later, after he'd posted his original tarptent plans, then updated them with a new model or two (all free information for the taking), I found that he was in business. Making and selling tarptents.
Now he's one of the big names in the ultralight cottage industry class. Sounds like damning with faint praise but it's really praising with no damns at all. This is tough work, in a small market, and now he has a worldwide clientele and a reputation to go with it.
This is what personal responsibility is about.
First he had a dream, to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. And he did it.
Then he had a job, and then didn't.
Then he created a business and made it work.
This is real web develpment. Henry Shires had a stake in it. He had something to gain. Web development now isn't something for his resume. It is a vehicle for his business. He had a reason to work with that, which was to develop his business, because he liked hiking and liked tarptents. So he took on the responsibility of it all. It gave him a payback. Not like what you get when you decide to become a member of an anonymous group.
Not a big story at all, but nice. Not like clicking a link on a web page and joining a group and never showing up. First Henry showed up at life and then the group joined him.
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Me? Still planning to eat my weight in caremel nibbles.
It's old, in internet years, and could vanish completely at any moment.
It's clever — shows good thinking.
I can't get it out of my head.
I want to make a cloak like this and extend it to a full shelter system.
And, let's not forget Scary Karen. (I definitely like her spirit.)
Most of the content here belongs to others, but let's consider this an act of preservation. The quality of the images is bad enough now — guess how hard they'll be to deal with when they're gone entirely.
So let's go then, let's learn about the P.A.P., the Peyo Abri Poncho (or, in English, the Peyo Shelter Poncho / Peyo Poncho Shelter), starting with Pierre "Peyo" Dumay's first comment.
Peyo 11-01-2006 23:42:46
As you may know, I just finished sewing a tarp. Its dimensions are 160X260 and weighs 200 grs (silnylon) [Measurements: 160x260 cm = 63x102" = 5'3"x8'6". Weight: 200g = 7.1 oz. ]
A tarp is good but to gain weight should think of multiple use for the same article.
In this respect the poncho is a beautiful invention because it serves as rain gear, sursac (back) and tarp for the bivouac. [Sursac is literally an "outer bag", or maybe a "bag cover" or "splash bivy", or just "bivy sack", in this case a waterproof one.]
I have long had poncho-tarp views at Backpackinglight.com. In silnylon they offer everything I just mentioned.
But besides the price that hurts, these poncho-tarp have the huge disadvantage in my eyes to have a hole (well yes the hood) in their middle when they pose tarp.
It's obvious...
Certainly a hood can close effectively by twisting its cord around. The hole is no longer a problem therefore (or when setting the tension tarp anyway).
I was ready to take the plunge, grab my scissors and make a nice circular hole in my new tarp.
Yes but here ... I had to solve a preliminary technical problem: how to sew cleanly and efficiently a hood while at its base it was circular?
I started to sew (with machine) for a little less than a year and that I still do not know how to do it.
Then there was the problem of the size and the resistance of the hood.
Finally, the sewing and of course the application of a silicone coating on the seam had to be superbly done to avoid that I find myself in a big puddle during my bivouacs in the rain.
So many pitfalls that made me look for an alternative solution (and just as much, if not lighter).
I had thought of fixing the tarp on my skull with various methods, but none were effective.
And especially on this page. (Even if the lady scares me. wink)
So here I am tonight doing tests.
The tutorial of the second site did not suit me but it allowed me to follow my own way that I will deliver you in image and that I will make mine for my future hike.
Step 1:
The tarp rests on my head in its middle on its longest side (260/2 = 130 cms of each side) [51"] and as I am 173 cms [68"] the 2 back angles drag.
To avoid this I grab the two back angles at the straps.
Ready, set, um...
And I pass these straps in the chest strap of my backpack (as in hiking I do not walk so sporty with my bag is not a problem). The angles are no longer dragging.
Grab the rear corners...
2nd step:
Now it is necessary to effectively close the system and especially to form a hood that will hold well even with wind or at a good pace.
For this you have to use a simple lace and a tankka (a blocker to push as on jackets or sleeping bags).
We draw the fabric well on the head (practice in hiking because during the establishment the walker is protected!) And we put the lace with the tankka around the neck.
And attach them to the sternum strap...
We get up to adjust the cord and hood (playing on the cord and the fabric we can make a hood at his will, a small back and here is a visor) (God, I look stupid ... That's good because it's you! wink )
For those who fear a potential throttle, know that we do not need to tighten too much and that the lace fits perfectly inside the poncho (thus avoiding inadvertent snapping)
Then adjust the hood...
Here is the hood and the poncho are finished! (dressing time less than a minute)
Not a single seam so no escape.
Of course the front is not completely closed but there are two advantages: we can take out the arms if we fall and the fabric folds away against the sides ensuring good resistance to water inlets (it can even be wedged under the shoulder straps of the bag)
In any case, this PAP is made to be used with a jacket windproof and water repellent when there is heavy weather.
But we will gain significantly weight (and money) by taking a jacket that does not need a membrane / coating machine-bidule.
In this case a jacket Pertex Quantum (just water repellent) is perfect for a hike 2/3 seasons (100 grs). [3.5 oz.]
Then wrap yourself in it...
Here a profile view. What more can you ask than to have a shelter, a rain suit (covering head, bust and mid-legs) and a [protected] backpack for all in all for 200 grs!
Take a look from the side, with a pack on...
Here the Peyo quite happy with him (I know it's not good ... big_smile) but especially a nice view on the top closure with the tankka and the departure of the hood.
Besides with or without the hood this poncho is very good in the effort (test intensive gul [no idea what this word should be] with the bag on the back: nothing moves)
Looks tidy, dunnit?
That's it, I think it's squaring my circle in this matter ...
But I'm still looking (perhaps a small scratch at the front closure? Or a strap at the waist for better wind resistance).
Small detail, with a tarp as small I use a bivybag (sursac bivouac) but the Pertex 5 is in command for a sursac even lighter. To follow then.
Ciao
...
Peyo 12-01-2006 12:19:24
I consider 4 parameters that make me prefer this method.
1 / The total cost:
the end of silnylon cost me nothing (it was a gift). a jacket loss quantum about 55 euros (at CAMP) and my sursac had cost me 30 euros (they still do at Expe).
So rain suit and bivy protection for cheap.
2 / The big time
In bad weather, I totally trust my sursac and a poncho is a real insurance when you walk (the only technique not to be wet in my opinion).
When there is a lot of wind (and if rain) I do not climb the tarp but I literally put it on me by tying it with its stakes (or stuck with stones or wooden stakes carved on the spot)
3 / The weight:
My PAP is 200 grams (go 210 with my kite rope guideline)
the jacket in lossx quantum 80 grs in M at Camp (with hood and 1/2 closure)
Support in silnylon 1.1 and quantum lossx (or grade 5) 6.5 oz (180 grs)
All this for 470 grs.
4 / Montage
It is clear that it is much more adaptable than a normal shelter, both at the field level (I have often been late looking for a place for my tent when there was room in some places for a sleeper), at the level of the will of the walker.
...
Peyo 06-05-2006 10:33:11
But honestly he could know some improvements that it would not bother (especially at the level of closure).
Now that I have Gatewood at Sixmoondesigns, it's true that I have something more comfortable.
...
Peyo 06-05-2006 11:25:44
Versatility, yes that's the key word.
The PAP is in silnylon so there is more resistant.
For improvement, it would be enough to make a closure with Velcro for windy days. After all is possible ...
Like the inside of your nose, but all over your tent.
Here's what the National Park Service thinks: "The condensation of water vapor into clouds and precipitation is a vital link in the water cycle."
Picture throngs of gorgeous buzzing neon rainbows at sunset while butterflies flutter by gently and birds sing their last glorious notes of the day in perfect harmony among amazing, delicately-leafed trees, and the skin of your weenie puffs out as it roasts over a crackling fire.
Meanwhile, next morning, in his tent on an actual trail, so far from civilization that he can't see a parking lot or even hear traffic anymore, in a place where animals snuffle and snort around without proper supervision and eat each other when they meet, Harold Hiker awakes from sleep.
Harold has been hiking in the rain that fell from the Park Service's condensation. Harold knows what condensation really means. Most of the rain that was aimed at him hit the ground and bounced, and then ran straight into Harold's boots, and then climbed up his legs and really got to work.
When Harold set up camp he did it with a great sigh of relief. At least, at last, he thought — at last he could stop walking and get some relief from the damn rain. For a few hours anyway he would be someplace dry where the rain wouldn't be jackhammering his head and slithering up his legs in pursuit of his underwear.
Harold wanted a night of rest. He got out of his wet clothes and right into his sleeping bag and gratefully fell asleep. When Harold woke the next morning he found that the entire inside of his tent was full of condensation.
Condensation above him, condensation below him, condensation on every side of him. His sleeping bag was soaked with it. And now it was closing in for the kill. Condensation has no conscience or sense of humor, you see. Condensation will not mellow out and just be your pal. Condensation is dedicated to doing you in.
Condensation is the physical process that changes a gas to a liquid, and liquid is the stuff that makes you wet.
This is the mad dog of physics that was in the tent with Harold, and Harold had nowhere to go. Poor Harold. Some say that double-wall tents are a bad deal because they don't allow enough air circulation to prevent condensation. This may be true, but you haven't been to hell until you have spent the night closed up tight in a shiny-new single-wall tent.
Some say that tarps are better than either of the above because tarps allow more air circulation and thereby defeat condensation buildup.
This may be true, but you haven't been to hell until you have spent the night under (under is used loosely here) an open tarp, exposed to exactly every single puff of freezing, incessantly probing, rain-saturated air in the known and unknown universes.
In other words condensation is an immutable force of nature that will always be with us. Like every other form of liquid water and all known immutable forces of nature, condensation slithers and creeps around, over, into, and through everything, anything, and usually the place it wants to go most is the very last place you want ever to find it.
Nasty. It is nasty. That is the only way to say it.
The only sure way to avoid condensation is to stay home and watch TV with a big bowl of chips and a few beers handy, in front of a hot fire.
You can roast your weenie in comfort there. Dry, condensation-free roasting, in comfort, of your weenie.
And you can have pets there too. Which are also warm and dry and soft and fuzzy. Unless you are into lizards.
Things change. The old has to make way for the new because retailers wouldn't be able to sell you more of what you already have. The coming year will be no different. Here's what to look for in 2015.
Packs.
Probably the biggest trend is Ultralight, and it's most notable in packs. Every backpack manufacturer these days has not only an ultralight pack, but a whole line of them. In fact, every pack by every maker is now ultralight.
And don't think that by going ultralight you're leaving anything out. That's totally 20th century.
Here are typical Packbag Features these days:
Top lid, main packbag access zipper, auxiliary packbag access zipper, stretch mesh belt pockets, stretch mesh water bottle pockets, ice ax loops, trekking pole loops, hydration ports, spindrift collar, carry handle, front pocket, Perfect-O-Fit adjustable suspension, dual aluminum stays, framesheet, reinforced waistbelt, lumbar support, two layer padded waistbelt, two layer padded shoulder straps, load lifter straps, belt stabilizer straps, bear canister compatibility, zippered interior stash pocket for storing valuables and an interior security pocket, also for storing valuables, key fob.
Weights? Only 3.5 to 5 pounds (1.6 to 2.3 kg). Empty. Practically nothing, and if you think a few inconsequential pounds to make your pack idiot-proof is too much, you can join the lunatic fringe and find a pack in the 2.5 to 3 pound range. If you dare. But do it fast, because weights of ultralight packs will continue to climb all year, and who knows where they'll end up.
Shelters.
Remember how tents developed? Remember tents? Hello?
Back when people wore armor, rode horses, and had hair coming out their ears and noses, tents were all cotton, held up by wooden frames, and every guy was named Clint.
Some time after that the Double-Wall era arrived, blossoming into colorful sheets of nylon and polyester, tensioned over flexible wand thingies, with an an outer tent to shed rain and an inner tent to do something or other that the outer one didn't.
Then one day someone dared to try a Single-Wall tent, using only that rain-shedding part.
But that's getting stale too, so look for Zero-Wall tents a little later this year.
Advantages of going to Zero:
Quicker setup. (I.e., none.)
Less confusing teardown — No need to count the walls when you break camp because there aren't any.
Lighter — Zero is the number with the big hole in its middle, and so is your shelter.
Unparalleled ventilation. (Duh!)
Helps you work on your grim determination to survive, especially on windy, rainy nights.
Bedding.
Quilts continue to grow in popularity. After all, most of them have no zippers, no flaps, no straps, no strings, no turnbuckles or ties. Just insulation sandwiched between two layers of gauze. So simple — roll yourself in your quilt and shiver the night away.
But even the best piece of equipment can be improved, so look for things. Expect them to go in two different directions.
The Li'l-Tucker auto-puckering self-tucking quilt that helps you slide into unconsciousness by cooing gentle nothings at you once you're all snug in there. With a teddy-bear attachment if you're one of those people. (Batteries extra. Impervious to bed-wetting incidents.)
The All-In-Wunder. Use it as a flat quilt, or yank on the hidden zippers and drawstrings, and quickly turn it into insulated coveralls or PuffPants and matching Therm-O-Vest or even a pseudo-bag if you're feeling nostalgic. Black on one side, rescue orange on the other in case you need to signal to aliens that you want to be abducted the hell out of the woods already.
Fancy-Meals.
Freeze-dried is, face it — like stale pet droppings.
We're gonna move beyond that real soon now, with Kozi-Eats Hiker Treats, a new kind of self-heating meal pak. Just throw a package of your favorite dinner on the ground, trample it gently to fracture the chemical reservoirs inside and initiate the thermal process, wait two minutes, tear open, and squeeze the now-warm contents into your gullet. Or just stick your head inside the pouch if you're eating a meal for six all by yourself.
Each package comes with a dose of anti-emetic and an industrial-strength fart-attenuator, in case you have (a) trouble keeping it down, or (b) you don't.
Essentials for Wilderness Survival, Part 7: Nesting.
You may ask why you might want to build a nest in the woods. Here are some reasons you might consider:
Have a quiet place to lay your eggs.
Ensure privacy while changing your underwear.
Hide from UFOs and avoid distasteful probing episodes.
Because it's fun — like building a fort, but cozier.
Practice your outdoor fung shway skillz away from prying eyes.
Stay warm, sleep, remain alive, go home again.
Most people pick the last option. It's the lowest common denominator, like GoreTex jackets, or titanium sporks, and pretty much everyone understands how remaining alive works. After all, it's the core of wilderness survival, and you have had the way shown by such TV slime molds as Gear Bylls and ManSurvivor, so how hard could it be?
Well, kind of. Getting sponsors is not that easy any more.
Once upon a time, if you had any kind of idea at all, you got on TV. Big appliance companies and tobacco companies and personal hygiene companies and car companies were climbing all over each other to throw money at anyone who could stand in front of 10,000-watt kleig lights for half an hour and smile at a camera lens and not croak, because TV was new and exciting and more fun with live people than dead ones, even if their only talent was standing there and toothing mindless grins at the camera.
Nowadays you get air-dropped down onto the east branch of Upper Desolation Creek, in the never-visited far corner of Bleak County, with only your clothes, a knife, and a video camera. You stay for ten days, and if and only if the footage is OK (which you have to shoot yourself), and you come out alive, do they let you do another episode. Presuming you haven't had to eat your own foot to stay alive.
And even those niches are now full.
But what about more normal people? Like people without sponsors or video equipment? How do they cope without shelter in the wilderness?
Well, most of them die, but you don't have to, even if you don't get a contract or your own chain of SurvivEquip™ stores, featuring Gear Bylls Survival Stuff by ByllsGear® with that distinctive orange BS logo.
Some tips then...
For maximum safety, never go hiking.
If you never go outside, you never need any special skills.
Also, you never get lost as long as you have cab money and know your own address.
If you go hiking, don't go far.
True fact: Most people never walk anywhere — there's probably a reason for that, right?
It's best not to get out of sight of your apartment or condo. (Recall that Out of sight, out of mind saying? Don't be the one they forget!)
City parks are usually safe, in certain seasons, at the right time of the day, if patrolled by armed guards. Use yours.
If you tire of your own city park, try other cities.
But if the worst happens, and you go too far, and you can't find your way home again, then what?
Gather sticks. You can always find a use for sticks, but only if you have plenty, so make a stack of them.
Likewise, scrape up a big pile of leaves. Dry leaves make great insulation, so be sure to get lost in the fall.
Save up twine. To tie things together. Start when you're young so you have plenty by the time you go missing.
Don't panic, but prepare to face death calmly.
Keep your wits about you — you will need them if you survive. (Remember — you'll be dealing with agents, talent scouts, TV producers, and lawyers, if you're lucky.)
Step One: Stand by the road and throw sticks at passing cars to gain the attention of helpful drivers. If this doesn't work, then heap up your remaining sticks, and cover that mound with dry leaves. Now you have a home.
Step Two: Eat a hearty supper. Since food gives you energy to shiver all night, it's a good idea to eat a lot. Have someone drive you into town where you can get plenty of greasy, calorie-rich food, then go to bed right away.
Step Three: If something crawled into your hidey-hole before you got back, try reaching a compromise with it. Promise not to snore if you can just sleep on one side of the shelter — something like that. If all you hear in return is growls and snorts, it's probably not your lucky night. Start over with more sticks and leaves, but if it's already daylight by now, screw it. Forget about all that sleeping in leaves crap and just go home.
Step Four: If you did manage to get into your shelter, or part of it, go ahead and shiver all night, but be glad that at least it isn't raining. In case it starts to rain, swear. It probably won't hurt, unless you make enough noise to disturb your nest-mates. If so, you may be toast, or a complete breakfast. Give your ass a fond farewell kiss.
Step Five: Assuming that all went well, you made it home again. Now the real work begins. Right away, create a web site and start your own survival school. Maybe you'll even get your own TV show, if you can make enough dumb mistakes and survive them in a telegenic way. If you need tips, check out how Gear Bylls and ManSurvivor did it — they aren't getting any younger so this may be your chance. As a last resort, develop multiple personalities, go on the Jerry Springer show, and get into a fight with yourself. There's never enough of that on TV. It's a new category. They call it reality.
I'm not into knots. They confuse me. I can't remember how to tie them. I think that a part of my mind never switched on, the part that handles topology. (Hey – it's even hard to pronounce.)
But they are essential, knots. Truly. As in holding up your hammock, if you use a hammock, which I've been doing for over ten years now. There are lots of advantages and disadvantages to hammocks as shelters, but the overwhelming plus, for me, is that I can sleep in one without pain. I can't do that while sleeping on the ground, any more, so that argument is over for me.
But how do you keep the damn thing up all night, and then (almost more important), how do you get the hammock down again the next morning?
It's easy to tie a knot that will hold, but not so easy to tie one that is a snap to undo, which is why there is a whole minor industry around machining bits of hardware that obviate the need to tie much of anything resembling a knot, where hammocks are concerned.
I've never invested in any of this, but haven't ever been happy with my usual attempts at knots either. Until recently.
I think I've got it now, and it's too simple to believe.
First, a knot I can tie.
Second, a knot that I don't forget how to tie from one day to the next.
Third, a knot that is trivially easy to tie.
Fourth, a knot that always holds, and...
Fifth, a knot that comes undone with one pull.
Too good to be true? Yep. Except that it is true.
It's called just the slip knot, or maybe a slippery half hitch, and possibly some other names.
The trick is to use two of them, and pull them both tight. The first one holds the load and the second one locks the first one. Simple. It takes about ten seconds to tie both knots, and about two seconds (or less) to yank them both out again. And in between, they hold.
Now I use this knot not only to suspend my hammock but in guying out the rain fly, hanging my food bag, and for basically any other situation requiring a knot that has to hold, has to release easily, and might have to be re-done during the night in order to take up any slack that develops.
You could even tie this knot with your eyes closed, by touch alone.
Unfortunately, I'm not good enough with any software to create a decent illustration of this knot, but what I've got here probably gets the point across. The only key part isn't tying the knot but adding the second knot to lock the first one.
Topology n. (1) The study of the properties of geometric figures or solids that are not changed by homeomorphisms, such as stretching or bending. Donuts and picture frames are topologically equivalent, for example. (2) A collection C of subsets of a set X such that the empty set and X are both members of C and C is closed under arbitrary unions and finite intersections. (3) In topology, knot theory is the study of mathematical knots. While inspired by knots which appear in daily life in shoelaces and rope, a mathematician's knot differs in that the ends are joined together so that it cannot be undone. In mathematical language, a knot is an embedding of a circle in 3-dimensional Euclidean space, R3 (Note that since we're using topology the concept of circle isn't bound only to the classical geometric concept, but to all of its homeomorphisms). <= See? Confoozling, right?
"I guess I just got tired of being dull," retorts Kande Feld, when asked about his new summer line of brightly colored backpacking tents. "I mean, how many shades of green are there, really?"
Feld, a graduate of the prestigious Andrew Gyn School of Design at Drainpipe Narrows, hasn't been backpacking long, but thinks he knows what his fellow hikers need. In a word, "Style".
"When you're out standing in a field, you should be outstanding in your field," says Feld, "and the best way I know of is with one of my Candy Wrapper Print tents. We have Berry Delicious, Pining for You, Nocturnal Exhibition, and Springtime in Iowa, plus others featuring butterflies and cute little animals.
Asked how he came up with the inspiration for his tents, Feld said simply, "I looked at what everyone else was doing and did the opposite, plus a large helping of precious. That never hurts when fashion is involved."
Price is $741.71 for a two-person, 6 kg ultralight tent. All tents are 100% polyester wash-and-wear, digitally printed in various fade-proof flavors, and come with a matching man-purse, for those occasional side trips out of camp.
Each tent, when shipped, is carefully packed in a layer of recyclable stage four treasure peanuts, and can be converted to gift wrap at the end of the season.
I admire the British. Robust, adventurous, stout-hearted people. Able to live successfully in a disadvantageous climate due partly to their character (stiff upper lip, never say die) and their clever use of woolens and abundant body hair (especially some of the women).
You could say that Britain's "temperate maritime climate" is, well, tentatively temperate. With an average yearly low at 1°C (34°F), that doesn't seem bad. The average high of 21°C (70°F) doesn't seem bad either. But add 800 days a year of lead-gray skies and blowing mist, and you have a problem.
This is hypothermia country.
It is also a country of inveterate walkers.
The British (Welsh, Scots, English, Leprechauns, and so on) have an almost unnerving desire to abandon their cozy spots by the hearth and go tromping around here and there. This may be why they once ruled every part of the world worth stealing.
If you've seen pictures of the British Isles you may have noticed that the countryside is at least 99% grassland, and something like 27% rocky outcrops, with small groves of stunted shrubs standing in for what used to be endless medieval forests.
All now, all of it, incessantly whipped by gale-force winds carrying countless stinging droplets of icewater.
Ben Nevis, the highest point in the British Isles, is typical. You can look it up. A gigantic heartless lump of barren rock. Yearly precipitation: 4000mm (161 inches). Constant howling frigid wind.
And yet people persist in tramping all over it.
Still, with all their tweeds and mittens and furry legs, the British require a bit more protection from the elements, especially when sitting down for lunch, on bare ground, in a gale, in blind fog, on a mountain which has no inherent scenic qualities or redeeming virtues whatsoever.
So, what would you do? I mean, if you had to be there and couldn't get away.
Well, the British decided to put bags over their heads.
This seemed like such a nifty idea that they kept doing on it.
The bags got bigger and bigger until a person's whole body fit inside, and then someone thought "Hey. What about my friends?" And so the bothy bag was invented. Some of these are now large enough to seat 12. Think of it.
For a measure of this invention's romance, consider the bothy bag's inspiration: "I lived in a broken down long-deserted shepherd's hut, known as a bothy, out on a windy Scottish mountainside, without electricity." (From a work titled "To The Hilt", which may have been about suicide.)
The idea is that you and your friends, all freezing, damp, and shivering, unfold this big fabric bag and pull it over yourselves. Then you sit inside it, all facing each other, and breathe each other's breath and get wetter from condensation, and possibly stinkier, and then you break out your cold damp lunch and eat it, listening to everyone else chew, swallow, and wheeze.
There is no frame to a bothy bag. There are no stakes or guy lines.
There may be vents, and a plastic window or two so you can see what misery surrounds you, but the whole thing is supported by the bodies of the occupants, who stay inside the bothy bag until realizing that quick death out in the open is preferable to a suffocating death by re-breathing re-breathed air heavy with wool-stink. Not to mention being solidly wedged in foot to crotch and nose to eyebrow with everyone else.
So there you have it. A nearly perfect solution to dealing with life outdoors in a tricky climate.
The other solution, of course (which the British can no longer afford), is moving somewhere decent.
Can a weird loner guy have fun in the dark with a piece of plastic?
Smaller is lighter. Lighter is usually better.
It was a dark and stormy night. There I was on the ground in the dark, under a transparent sheet of plastic, wrapped in a home-made backpacking quilt, all alone at Christmas, in a hail storm.
Perfect. I am nuts and this is my story.
I used to visit the beaches of Olympic National Park at Thanksgiving, when I had four days free of work, when it was just the tides, the storms, the birds and me. And maybe some dead things on the beach.
X is for Xmas.
One year I tried Christmas instead, and pushed the limits a little by taking my first shot at tarp camping. Ray Jardine's "Beyond Backpacking" (now out of print) covered the subject pretty well, but he had a newer book available, just about tarps, and I bought it. It inspired wild thoughts.
I pitched an 8 X 10 foot (244 by 305 cm) piece of 3-mil (0.076 mm) transparent polyethylene, with another 40-inch by 7-foot (102 by 213 cm) sheet to go under me as a combination floor and ground sheet. Cost: about $3.50. And though crazy I'm not stupid, at least not in public if I can avoid it, so I took another shelter as a backup.
This tarp setup was a bit heavy at 25 ounces (709 g), but much lighter than even my single-lonely-guy's lightweight tent, and nearly as light as my Hennessy Adventure-Racer hammock. What was missing was netting to keep out teeny creeping critters or biting flying nighttime nippers, and any ability to zip it shut and make the world go away.
Howdy, world.
What I gained was a full-sky view of the world through a transparent roof, and 360-degree ventilation.
First-night's impressions: Drafty. The temperature was barely above freezing, the walls ended a hand's width above the ground, and the air was unsettled all night, changing direction frequently and finding all my unprotected spots.
Take two.
I lowered the sides to the ground for night two and stuffed my open umbrella into the drafty end. There was only a lick of condensation right above my blow hole. How about rain? Yes, it rained. And sleeted. And hailed, for hours on end. Lightning and thunder too.
Second-night's impression: Not too bad. Because of the weather it was a whole lot like sleeping inside a snare drum during a parade, but the tarp held.
No wet, no splashing, plenty of room to move around. Lots of room to wave my arms and swear, to curse various things, and wonder if I'd ever make it home again. But camped back in the forest as I was, away from the open beach, there was no wind, only a steady gentle draft that kept condensation at bay.
Teeth and claws.
Critters? Everything with wings and blood lust was already dead for the season, so mosquito netting was irrelevant.
I had a bigger worry though -- what if one of the larger, more clever locals felt like having a midnight snack, felt like moseying on over to eat my face, for example?
My first two backpacking nights in 1980 had been inside a plastic tube tent where I kept panicking all night, dreaming I'd wake to find my scalp full of teeth and my face full of claws, hearing a distressing munching sound. Ray Jardine insisted that was safe to sleep wide open. So, I figured, it must be, and went for it.
But I had an idea. As a test I tried leaving three peanuts on the ground near my head before saying my prayers.
The next morning in their place was half a cheese doodle with tooth marks on it. Hmmm.
Second night: I left a couple of raisins and a pretzel. Got back half a stick of chewing gum and six sesame seeds.
So, OK.
Then, third night, I laid out a broken wristwatch and a $10 bill. On the final morning I got the watch back, in perfect working order, 43 cents in change and a receipt from Mikey's Fixit Shop saying that it was a pleasure doing business with me, signed with a minuscule paw print.
Hey. I'm cool. You?
So, no complaints on this score, either. All mellow.
Now let's review. The plastic tarp was heavier and noisier than a silnylon one would have been, but much lighter than a tent, and is an easy way to try this way of camping. Hey, anything is noisy in hail. Besides, I could see the stars through my roof, and make a decision about the new day as morning approached without having to leave my nest.
Pitched low, the tarp was a awkward to enter and leave from the narrow end, but cleaning the floor was easy -- just sweep things off the ground sheet. I stowed my footwear inside without making a mess, because my shoes were out on the ground, but still protected from rain.
Ventilation? Great. I guessed that this setup would be much more comfortable in warm weather though. But in warm weather there would be bugs, so I couldn't complain.
Easy to set up and easy to repack. Cheap. Lo-tech. I was sold on the experiment. Pretty soon I ordered a bunch of fabric and designed a smaller, lighter and much more expensive tarp that ultimately worked out pretty well.
So this trip was fun for me, but I'm kinda weird anyway, so use your own judgment. Mikey was sure nice, though. Gotta say that. I'd like to meet him some day.
I just completed a four day backpacking trip to Mt St Helens. I wanted to go have another look at a place I got to last year. Which I did, sort of, but with snow pack at two to three times normal, the end of June this year is not a third of the way through backpacking season, but pre-season.
A few years back, I drove in on April 30 and went hiking anywhere I wanted. The only snow then was up where only climbers would go, not anywhere that sane hikers would have trouble with it.
And so it was for the first several years that I spent exploring the area.
No longer. This is the fourth year running that heavy snow has pushed the hiking season out toward autumn. It looks like the window for real backpacking will again be only two or three weeks long.
Lumpy and snowy and foggy.
Bummer.
But it wasn't all bad this trip because I was expecting to deal with snow. Not so much, but some.
I also knew that where I'd be going I'd have no chance to use my hammock.
In places there are trees tall enough and thick enough to support a hammock, but those trees grow in only a few spaces. They are bushy, hard to hang from. And their trunks are covered with blisters that pop open under pressure and ooze a thick, sticky sap that smells like turpentine.
Transparent. Nice in the moonlight. A real dew-catcher.
The smell is fine. It's a strong, clean smell, but the stickiness isn't.
Get this stuff on your hands and it won't come off. Get it on the suspension of your hammock and it's worse. It hardens and though alcohol will remove it from hands, and spots of it from clothing, if your hammock suspension gets saturated with it, you have to let it harden and just live with it.
So anyway, I had a piece of plastic I wanted to play with. I used it once as an 8x10 tarp, then cut it down to make a sort of tent-like shelter. I took that.
As a backup I took my home-made Brawny Shelter, a.k.a. Dancing Light Gear Tacoma.
Seemed to keep the werewolves away too.
The short of it: I missed the hammock. A lot.
I'm way past the days when I can sleep on the ground comfortably. A couple of years ago I talked to Ron Moak of Six Moon Designs, who said that he doesn't even use a sleeping pad. Apparently just a waterproof sheet beneath him, and he gets by OK.
Could have been pitched better though.
Go, Ron.
I have enough wrong with my back, plus a heap of years piled on top that I can't sleep more than two hours on the ground without awakening from the pain. In a hammock I can just snore my way through the whole night.
Night two. Slight clearing.
But hammocks aren't perfect either.
A big hammock tarp will catch the wind. A smaller tarp catches less wind but gives less protection from both wind and rain. Being above ground level you're up higher where there is more wind. This is colder, and hammock insulation is tricky.
You are also tree-dependent. You need the right size and type of trees, and need two that are just far enough apart, and oriented right so you can protect yourself from wind and weather.
Hammocks are places to sleep, not homes. You can't wait out a day-long storm in a hammock. You can't really change clothes in one, and can't spread out your gear for convenience or for anything else. You also have more limited sleeping positions. No sleeping on your stomach, and though sleeping on your side is possible it isn't that convenient.
Not as lumpy. Almost grassy.
But there are huge positives too.
A hammock is independent of the ground. You can sleep over rocks, mud, logs, or trickles of water. You are above the night-dampness. In tree country you have many more potential camp sites, even on severe slopes, and you stay well above critters like ants, spiders, centipedes, mice, wood rats, ground squirrels, snakes, and skunks.
Setup is simple. As is takedown.
I have a fabric tube (which Tom Hennessy calls "snakeskins") that I carry the hammock in. After stringing it up, I slide this off the hammock, and unfurl the tarp. Takedown goes the other way -- I just slip this tube back over the hammock and tarp, and I have all the loose ends magically contained in a long, loosely packed bundle that's easy to arrange in the pack.
You can't be this messy with a hammock.
Using single-wall tents the last few days I had a chance to refresh myself on dealing with them.
Setup is annoyingly complicated. If I had to use a tent all the time I'd get a freestanding tent or design one. Fumbling with stakes and line three nights running made me crazy. Keeping track of the pieces too. It's really easy to lose one or more stakes any time. The lines always get tangled.
Finding a place to pitch a shelter is insane. The ground is either lumpy or at too great a slope or both, and if you find a place that works, it may be too exposed to weather or too crowded by trees and shrubs, or you have to orient the shelter facing the wind rather than away from it. You usually end up sleeping on some odd slope, either sliding or rolling downhill in your sleep.
Tent on lonesome flat, at top right.
Critters can just walk right in.
And it's damp. I had extremely heavy condensation all three nights. The ground was damp, the air cool and damp, dew collected on everything, and I was right in the middle of it. Ventilation was no help.
In the morning I had a dripping, slimy, grit-covered shelter and dangling stray lines to fold and pack away. By the next evening I had a still-dripping, slimy, grit-covered shelter to set up again, except that all the lines had gotten tangled.
For those who like sleeping on the ground, though, a carefully-chosen shelter can be the lightest way to go by far. You don't depend on finding the right trees in the right area. You have a wider variety of shelters to choose from, and you can get one at almost zero cost if using plastic sheeting, though that option is heavier than modern fabrics.
Slight clearing that later became more mist.
Tent-like shelters are easier to understand, and more familiar, and can sleep two, or three, or four at a time. They are also easier to repair, and to work around in case there is some kind of catastrophic failure. Rip the bottom of your hammock and you're screwed. Rip your tent and you can at least use the remaining part as a waterproof blanket.
Ultimately it comes down to what a person likes and can deal with.
I've done both. I'm glad I've had the experience of using a hammock and look forward to getting back to it on the next trip.
That's me. Other people like other things and that's fine too. I'm glad we have choices.
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Me? Recently nominated for this year's Doofus Awards. (Next year's too.)
These first three photos are of a model I made from a sheet of paper.
For me, that's a good way to play with ideas.
So here's the deal, in two parts.
Part one is that I want to go do a part of Mt St Helens overlooking Castle Lake to the northwest of the mountain. I went there early last year but the weather was pretty crapola, and even after 30 years, the trees aren't big and strong enough to hold a hammock.
I did find a spot but it was breezy, and my new, roughly 8x10 (244x305 cm) custom-home-made hammock tarp caught a lot of wind. So I stayed only one night.
Time to try again, and though it hurts me all over all night long, I'm going to sleep on the ground, which brings us to part two.
Which is that, once upon a time I tried a suggestion in "Beyond Backpacking" and slept under a tarp made of 3mil polyethylene sheeting. This is also generically known as "poly film", and among construction-worker types as "Visqueen", which is actually a brand name for the stuff.
This worked well enough. I cut out an 8x10 piece, and used another swath as a ground cloth. The downside was that it was awkward to pitch and drafty. And I had to crawl in from one end.
But there was plenty of room inside.
So, a pretty huge, pretty cheap shelter that weighed 25 ounces (700 g) in all, and seemed tough enough, but was hard to pitch and impossible to rearrange whenever the wind changed.
I put an umbrella into the foot end to block the wind but it still wasn't great. For several years now I've been stumbling over the wadded up sheet of plastic and thought maybe it would be fun to try again, but modified.
After playing with a sheet of paper I found that I could cut off a bunch, pitch it carefully, and have a small, even lighter shelter with a high entry and lots of headroom inside. It's also roomy enough to sleep in, and could even serve for two.
And I really like the clear plastic. Not great on a sunny day, but really fun at night. All you have to do to check on the weather is to open your eyes. If you see stars it's clear. If not, it's cloudy. Sit up after daylight and just look around. You can see everything.
I also have another shelter similar to this that I'll take as a backup. This is smaller and lighter and even a bit harder to pitch, but it could also double as an extra layer of rain wear on the way out, if things get really nasty.
The design for that came from Carol "Brawny" Wellman when she was still making and selling gear. I looked at the pictures on her web site and finally figured out the design, and then just sewed one up.
The interesting part about her design is that it has no seams. It's only a piece of coated fabric 5x9 feet (152x274 cm). See the Mountain Laurel Designs' "Monk Tarp" for something similar but pitched another way.
For my version of the "Brawny Shelter", I added a beak, since in any real rain (with any kind of breeze at all), you'd get rain inside, and the single width of fabric (60 to 66 inches is what you get) isn't quite wide enough to make a deep enough shelter.
But pitched cleverly you angle in the two ends to form a sort of doorway (unlike the Monk Tarp at MLD). Around here though the big opening is just too big.
Which is what looks interesting with this tarp I got of of my poly film scrap.
It pitches high (or can pitch high), and if you do that then you can pull in the two sides to make a sort of doorway.
I haven't tried it outdoors yet, just rigging it over the carpet using big safety pins for stakes, but if the weather isn't too bad it could be fun.
Then again there's the unpredictability of St Helens and its weather. Today is supposed to be sunny. Here is how that actually worked out:
When I go I'll get some real photos of this in action.
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Me? Do you really want to know?
