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Introduction |
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Obligatory tree-hugging verse. |
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Have you spent a lifetime Searching the material wilderness For things not there? |
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They're here. |
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Come to the forest. |
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Is there only a space in the place Where your soul should be? |
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Does it seem to be hiding, Just out of view? |
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It's here. |
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Come to the mountains. |
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Do your body and mind reside In two different rooms? |
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Do they share only glances When they meet on the stairs? |
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Introduce them. |
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Come to the trail. |
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Generally attributed to Marcus Bacpacus, Big Wooden Horse Shelter, 1234 BC. |
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"Who is this fool?" |
| My name is George Cole. From nine to five I'm a mild-mannered college professor. Most other times I'm either backpacking or bitching because I can't. |
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"An egghead? In the woods?" |
| I backpack because it's good for me - physically, emotionally and spiritually. If you backpack regularly you know what I mean. If you don't, look again at the photograph above. Nice view, huh? The real thing was much, much nicer, and there was no way to see it except on foot. (Well, maybe if I'd had a helicopter, but the wildlife and the Rangers liked me better without one.) |
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"But why 'ultralight,' whatever that is?" |
| Spirituality aside, I didn't always enjoy backpacking as much as I do now. That's because I used to carry everything that I might ever conceivably need if absolutely the worst possible thing that could happen did happen. In other words, I used the "what if" packing principle, and my fear of the unknown dictated that I carry forty to fifty pounds of gear, food, water and clothing, even on weekend trips. However, I discovered that a heavy pack placed me at greater real risk than all the rabid grizzlies of my imagination. If you think descending a take-your-breath-away steep and rocky trail in the rain is risky, try doing it carrying a fifty pound pack. |
| Since I now seldom carry more than a total of twenty-one pounds in the spring, summer and fall, coming down that same take-your-breath-away trail is a not as scary. Climbing it is also a lot less tiring, and while I'm waiting at the top for the forty and fifty-pounders I've got time to enjoy the view. In addition, I've found that carrying less has gone hand-in-hand with simplifying the way I live in the backcountry, and that lesson has carried over into my so-called civilized existence. |
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"So, what's the catch?" |
| Ultralight backpacking is not for all backpackers. While I feel comfortable and safe carrying no more than I do, "comfort" and "safety" are relative and subjective concepts. What's comfortable and safe for me may not be anything like what you're willing to put up with. Moreover, how light I can go depends on the type of trip I'm planning. If I'm planning to spend more than a week above 10,000 feet in a wilderness area in winter I'll certainly be carrying more than twenty pounds. I'll also be carrying more if all I want to do is walk for a couple of hours and then lounge around camp for the rest of the trip. |
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"That's it?" |
| One last thing. There is no "right" way to go light. My way works for me, but it is just one of many possibilities. You'll have to find the way that works for you. |
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"Yeah, but...." |
| If you're skeptical, good for you! You'll be less likely to end up with a closet full of gear you never use. But you don't need to take just my word for it. Follow the links on the "Other Ultralight Sites" page to read why other backpackers think lightening up is the way to go. |
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One more last thing. |
| In 2002 I wrote about a number of aspects of ultralight backpacking for a new book on the subject. The book idea has since gone South, but I've reformatted the book material for the web and am presenting it here for your amusement. You'll need Adobe Acrobat Reader to view these artifacts of a more or less intact mind. For a look at the artifact entitled "Pack Weight and the Science of Walking," click this link . |
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Copyright © 2002-3 KISKIL Outdoors
