Easing Back into Backpacking (In a Mostly Manly Way)

My friend Brian and I have been talking a lot lately about backpacking. Most of that conversation takes place, though, inside our cushy campsites at East Fork State Park. It’s fun to reminisce about former trips, and even make some vague plans for new ones, especially while sitting in our cozy camper chairs, sipping a Keurig-brewed coffee and munching a plate full of assorted fire-grilled meat products.

But who really wants to hoist their entire camp onto their backs, hike for who knows how many miles and mountains, and then set it up every night, often when they are barely able to still move?

A lot of people do. Me too, but I have to be in the mood. It’s been over a year, a couple surgeries, and a 70th birthday since I’ve backpacked. Brian said for him it’s been decades.

One evening at camp, at the same time we were enjoying some flame-broiled teriyaki-marinated beef tips, we cooked up a plan to get back onto the trail . . . kind of. At least it would be a start. We would still camp at East Fork as we had been doing, only this trip, instead of packing our entire vehicles, we would bring only what would fit into our packs. We would try to keep the weight fairly reasonable, poundage we could imagine lugging over hill and dale when we actually do hoist our camp onto our backs and hike with them. And we would do our best to pack all the necessities we’d need for a real multi-day trip in the woods.

About two weeks before this non-hiking backpack trip was planned to go off, though, reality started to sink in. I have been totally spoiled this year. What about the coffee machine, the ceramic heater, the queen-sized My Pillow, the giant air bed, the oversized camping chair? This is just a partial list, but you get my drift.

I grimaced as I watched the real me surface. It wasn’t pretty. Despite our solemn agreement, I started making a list of necessities which I would take in my car in a separate crate, not necessarily to actually use, mind you, but just in case. I would apologize to Brian, or, much better, inspire him to put together his own crate.

Even as I was filling mine, though, a disheartening thought occurred to me. I’d already lost a bunch of man-points by skipping the hiking part. Now, I’d forfeit some more by taking “emergency” supplies. Plus, the fact that a guy even came up with a Plan B might cost me one or two.

This inner battle was giving me a headache, so I decided to come back to the crate later. Now was a good time to decide which pack to take. I have a manly stash of five, not counting day packs. My two Keltys and my Swissgear pack all have easily accessible compartments and pouches galore. Those packs are a great way to stay organized, but they weigh about four pounds more than either of my two Go-Lite ultralight packs, which are basically large sacks into which I stuff smaller sacks.

I decided to go light. Though the various stuff-sacks might add up to as much as a half-pound, I would still be better off weight-wise. Besides, I find that on most hikes I usually don’t need access to anything inside between camps except food. I will miss all those cool places to poke stuff into, though.

I picked out the 50-liter, the larger of the two light sacks. My hiking buddies have named it the Mustard Pack. I have to keep telling them it’s “aspen” colored. At least that’s how it was advertised online.

With that settled, I considered the contents. I whispered a thank-you prayer for my smart phone because it takes care of my Bible, camera, voice recorder, compass, emergency light, and maps. (Sometimes even food, like when I have pizza delivered if the trail passes close enough to a town.) All that’s left to do now is to pack items from the five most important categories, in order of importance.

Category One: Caffeine

The coffeemaker is in the crate already, but in the event I resist the urge to cheat, I’ll pack plenty of Starbucks coffee packets. Each pack contains a combination of instant and microground coffee. To me they make a brew that’s almost as good as a real Starbucks. Two or three of these in the morning and I’m ready to hike. Since we are not hiking this time, though, I may have to run a couple laps around our campsite and then drop for some push-ups.

I’ll pack a couple liters of water for coffee and other cooking, even though we won’t really need it at East Fork since there will be a water spigot 50 feet from our campsite. And I won’t need my Saywer filter or my purification chemicals, but I’ll pack them up as practice for the real thing when we could encounter Giardia, Cryptosporidium, rotavirus, or E. Coli. (Should I add coronavirus to this list now?)

Category Two: Food

So much for frying pans, grills, and Brian’s white gas-powered, double-burner Coleman stove. I’ll be using a small pan over a tiny PocketRocket stove. On my backpacking trips, there’s not much to cooking besides boiling water and trying not to get burned on the stove or the pan. I’m taking instant oatmeal, instant grits, instant spaghetti and meatballs, instant mountain chili, and instant mac & cheese. Also Halloween candy and some fruit bars (for an instant sugar fix). I know that’s a lot of food for just one evening and morning, but, like Bonnie says, I don’t have to carry the pack.

Category Three: Supplies for a good night’s sleep

I’ve never done real well sleeping on the ground on a backpacking trip, so maybe I should change good night’s sleep to “sporadic napping.” The cycle consists of a half hour of sleep, attempts to get comfortable again, then repeat till daylight. My sleeping pad is super light. I can’t think of anything else good to say about it. If I can’t bear it, there’s always the 12-inch-thick 20-pound Walmart air mattress that will be waiting in the car. It might well be worth the shame involved. Back to the pack. I’ll take my Montbell down sleeping bag. It’s only one pound five ounces, and it’s really only warm down to about 40 or 45 degrees. That’s why I’ll bring a liner, plus an ultralight down quilt to throw over the bag as well. It’s supposed to get down to freezing the night we camp.

I think my coldest night ever was 25 degrees Fahrenheit. I know there are many people who camp in frigid weather, even in temperatures below zero. I admire them, but I have no aspirations of becoming a Popsicle.

There’s always the ceramic heater that’s in the crate.

Category Four: Tent to stay dry and bug-free at night while I’m napping

This summer I used a shelter big enough to run tiny laps in. Bryan’s was big enough for a pick-up basketball game. The Coleman Dakota backpacking tent I’ll take this time has barely enough room to shiver in.

Category Five: Stuff to stay clean with

This will not be a problem on just an overnight. But I did pack a change of clothes, and even a little soap, just for practice.

With that taken care of, I stuffed in a few other miscellaneous things to finish the job. My aspen pack was looking pretty good, even with its subtle mustard tint. It sat in the living room by the front door, ready to go. A couple days before the trip I noticed they were predicting the temperature would drop to 25 degrees. It would have been over the top to start a second emergency crate, so I crammed an additional sleeping bag into my pack. At least I wouldn’t cheat on that. It was a cheap, bulky bag, not made for packing. I managed to get it inside after moving several other items to the outside of my pack. Without compartments and pouches, they had to hang loose. I don’t know, maybe it’s more manly now.

The day before the outing was scheduled to take place, my conscience finally won the wrestling match and I decided to do without the crate of extra supplies. I’m sure it was also partly because I didn’t want to look wimpy in front of my friend. I did make one exception though: my camper chair. I would need something really comfortable to sit in around the campfire while Brian and I talked about maybe someday going on a real backpacking trip. Nothing like a comfy chair to help get me in the mood to carry my entire camp on my back.