For the first half of this past week I drank no coffee.  Wednesday last we went on a hospital tour, and saw the very posh maternity ward where Little Bear will come into the world this summer.  Four hours later I was at home in the thralls of norovirus, vomiting hard enough I was worried I might break a rib.  I couldn’t eat or drink much the next few days, so wiping the caffeine slate clean seemed like a useful byproduct of the whole sordid affair.  Of course, I drained most of a liter french press this morning before getting off the couch for the days activities, so it did not take long for things to get back to normal.

Coffee is one habit which has given my life shape for the last decade, plus.  In the recent years of post-grad school adulthood proper, my consumption has hardened into black only and frequent triple espressos, which seems appropriately dour.  I have yet to relapse back into the 2pm espresso habit.

Wanderings outside have (obviously) been another defining factor, and they too have been quite mellow since we returned from New Zealand, to the point of seeming absence. Thankfully winter has in the past two months been wholly uninspiring, here in Montana, which has made my new inclination to stay home look less outstanding.  In the past I’ve written about the various ways to get outside more often, neglecting out of myopicicity the most salient point: prioritize doing so over social obligations.  In 2015, for the first time, staying local to attend a party is not appears responsibly, it is what I want to do.  Which is to say that soon everything will change, and that will be welcome.

(I still hiked ~25 miles this weekend.  An early spring will at least let me go into the Bob Open with decent dirt miles on my feet for the first time in the events history.)

I dislike gloves, and having warm hands I’m often able to get away without them, but that’s not always the case. Skiing, cycling, and hunting are all examples of activities where cold exposure is increased and the demands for dexterity heightened. The following are two examples of gloves which provide maximum weather protection with minimal inhibition of dexterity.

The Rab Phantom Grip is at left, the Black Diamond Mont Blanc at right.  The gloves pictured are both men’s medium.

The Phantom is 100% Polartec Wind Pro, with silicone dot palm.  The Mont Blanc combines a laminate, windproof synthetic back with a light stretchy palm material.  As is obvious, the Mont Blanc is thinner and much less bulky than the Phantom, which makes it my favorite of the two when I can get away with it.  The genius of the Mont Blanc is that the back is very windproof right where you need it, while the palm and inside of the fingers breath well to fight sweat and fit very closely.  I wore the Mont Blancs every day hunting in October and November because they don’t impede trigger feel or slow down bolt manipulation in the least.  For the same reason, these gloves give a great grip on handbars.

The Mont Blancs get almost all their warmth from windproofing, so when the ambient temperatures are low I switch to the Phantoms.  The Phantoms aren’t as windproof, so when it’s both cold and windy I’ll add a shell mitt of some type.  The less-tight fit of the Phantoms also promotes good blood flow when it’s darn cold.  Wind Pro has a great dry time for the amount of warmth and wind protection it provides, providing a nice counterpoint to the Mont Blanc, whose only issue is the slow drying laminate material.

Durability is always a concern with gloves, one reason I try to use fairly inexpensive gloves as my mainstay.  At 20 bucks MSRP, the Mont Blanc is an unmatched value.  At 45, the Phantom is much less so.  Both are reasonably, but not exceptionally, durable.  I had low expectations for the Mont Blanc finger and palm material, but aisde from the touch screen material on the index fingers wearing through, both pairs I own have survived the winter with no holes, which is impressive  The Phantoms have fuzzed out quite a bit on the fingers, and one thumb picked up a hole of unknown origin, which is acceptable.

The Mont Blancs I recommend heartily; indeed they’re my favorite gloves of all time, in spite of the poor dry time.  The Phantoms are a bit expensive given their modest durability, but they are well constructed of a great material.  Combine a pair of each with a good shell mitten and you have a versatile system for less than the cost of a single pair of mid-level Arc’teryx gloves.

Disclaimer: Seek Outside gave me the shelter discussed below for free in exchange for feedback.

It’s illustrative to think back to the first “cottage” shelter I purchased, one of the first MLD Trailstars, in September of 2009. I was still so little initiated in the ultralight world that I emailed Ron Bell about making one of 70D sil, to which he in essence replied “what the hell for?”  That shelter hung around the closet for a long time, eventually going down the road some time in 2011 or 2012, mostly due to the large footprint, awkward pitch, and modest interior space.

The Trailstar made it’s name with an unmatched weight to wind resistance ratio, and it survived what is still the windiest night I’ve ever spent outside remarkably quietly once I had it well staked.  That windproofing doesn’t just come from good construction, though that it a big part of it, but from a low and aerodynamic shape.  The conundrum is how to approach that degree of windproofing while also having good snow shedding abilities, traits which in ‘mids and tarp shelters seem to be at odds, especially when you introduce the further contradictory requirements of having a relatively small footprint and at the same time decent interior living space.  Oh, and it’d be nice to seal out those pesky drafts along the bottom, while still keeping the ability to raise the hem and vent as needed.

Thankfully, it is now 2015, and Seek Outside managed to balance all of the above in the Beyond Timberline 2 person tipi, more simply known as the BT2.

The BT2 is as simple and stripped down as possible.  Seek Outside calls it “a purpose built ultralight, storm worthy, backpacking  shelter to help you to go lighter and go further in difficult terrain” and this is a good starting point for analysis.  It’s made of 30D silnylon, which has rightfully become the standard modern shelter fabric.  It’s a symmetrical hexagon, 64 inches (162cm) tall at the peak when pitched tight to the ground.  It is 108 inches wide zipper to zipper (or corner to corner), and 96 inches side to side.  It has a double-reinforced apex cone of DX40 (read: massively puncture resistant) with interior and exterior hang loops, dual doors which open via #8 non-waterproof metal YKK zippers (read: the smoothest, strongest zipper made), with sliders at both the top and bottom.  The zipper flap is a piece of 2″ grosgrain webbing with three velcro patches to keep it closed.

The tieouts on the BT2 are worth mentioning.  They’re basic loops of 1/2″ webbing, sewn into cordura reinforcement patches on both the inside and outside, and you’ll find a loop on both the inside and outside of the tent.  You’ll also find them places 4″ up from the bottom edge of the shelter.

This feature is significant for two reasons.   If you stake the BT2 down with the exterior loops, as is most natural, and especially if you use all twelve of the loops, the extra 4″ of silnylon will be tucked under into the interior of the shelter, forming a sod cloth or snow flap which is totally effective in sealing out all wind, as well as almost all flying insects.  Every other mid I’ve owned was cursed by massive drafts in cold winds when there was not enough snow on the ground to pile up over the bottom edge.  Seek Outside has solved this problem in a simple fashion which adds almost no weight to the shelter, and almost no complexity (read: $$) to the production process.  If you want ventilation, stake the shelter using the interior loops, and raise the pole a bit.  If you want more ventilation, extent some of the loops with a bit of cord.

Kevin Timm of Seek Outside also told me, a while ago, that the sod cloth feature helped solve another problem with silnylon shelters; sagging when wet.  Because the tie points are not loaded along a sewn and stretch-less seam, a greater degree of elasticity is preserved within the shelter system, and sagging after a night of rain is much reduced.  It is not eliminated, but I’d estimate that it is reduced by around 50%.  After a night of hard rain a further 1/2″ or so of height in the center pole brings the BT2 back up to ideal tautness.

Pitching the BT2 is not as fast as with a square or rectangular mid, but it is darn close.  The basic hexagonal pitch shown above is the default, and good for any sort of “normal” weather.  Stakes the non-zippered corner points in a rectangle with a hair of slack between each point, insert pole and tension, stakes zipper corners, then bring pole to complete tension, and done.  A ~1 minute solo pitch is easily done after the first few attempts.

The BT2 has mid-panel stake points throughout, and by using each of theses and pulling them tight after the initial pitching the shape become aggressively conical and the BT2 becomes miniature tipi shelter.  As I wrote a few years ago this lack of vertical corners facilitates windproofing, something the BT2 does exceedingly well.  It equals the MLD Solomid in this area, and comes darn close to the Trailstar, while providing a lot more interior space.  Thus far the winter of 2014-15 has not cooperated and given me a big snowstorm on a trip, but I’m confident the BT2 will do just fine in that area.

All that said, it’s important to bear in mind that the BT2 is not a large shelter, nor designed to be a palace for playing cards and waiting out weather.  For one comparison, see the above photo and know that I’m 5’11”. For another, consider that the 108″ corner to corner length of the BT2 is equal to the actual width of the BD Megalight (BD still modestly claims 86″, which accurately reflects the useable width), the length of the MLD Solomid, and is just shy of the 103″ length of the old Golite Shangrila 2.  It’s well shy of the 110-140″ length of the Trailstar.  The BT2 is in it’s 96″ functional length shorter than almost all other comparable mids, a feat it accomplishes by keeping the walls steep.  I have plenty of space to avoid the walls with both the head and foot of my sleeping bag, but again I’m 5’11”.  If you are 6’5″ and sleep atop a 3″ air mat you might push the available length pretty close.

At 25 ounces for the canopy, the BT2 is light enough and small enough to be a reasonable solo shelter in bad weather.  It fits two no problem, though with only modest room to spare.  Seek Outside makes a nice nest for the BT2 in case of serious bug pressure, but with the sod clothes most won’t need it.  A nice side benefit of the nest is that the walls are high enough, and set far enough from the shelter canopy, that you’re protected from condensation.

Condensation deserves a word, as it’s an inevitable fact of life in single wall shelters.  Vent properly, and anticipate conditions, and you should be able to avoid the worst of it.  The camp pictured immediately above was cold and close to a river, ideal moisture conditions.  It was also blowing 30-40 mph and gusting a bit of snow all night, so fully battening down the hatches and just venting the bottom of the down wind door about 8 inches kept it to a minimum.  The night before, pictured further up, was also close to a lot of water, had more modest winds, and a few torrential rain showers in the early morning.  I left both doors 1/3 open for most of the night, which gave me enough shelter when the rain came up and plenty of ventilation.  Proactive, thoughtful technique works much better than built in vents, which unless they’re really big (Shagrila 2, Seek Outside’s LBO) do just about nothing.

The BT2 is a backpackers shelter, not a campers tent.  It prioritizes function and has just enough convenience to not impede useability.  Beyond the foul weather performance, which I’ve found simply exceptional, I find the minimalist aesthetic hugely appealing.  Based on the first four months of use, I’d say that the BT2 is perfect, and haven’t found a single improvement to suggest to Seek Outside.  And that is a rare thing.

The downsides are minimal and inherent: it’s a floorless shelter, which some folks don’t like.  It requires a pole height which is taller than almost all trekking poles, thus requiring a paddle, specialized pole, or two poles lashed together.  It does not offer an excess of space or feel-good features.  It just offers function, and if that is what you like, you’ll probably want a BT2.  For 230 bucks and a bomber, made in the USA shelter, that is a bargain.

The last two times I’ve driven west out of Augusta, the sky has looked like this.

Saturday was supposed to be fairly warm, but instead it rained, snowed a tiny bit, and howled east at 30 mph all day long.

The ground looked well into spring, with no snow and the first hints of green grass, while the sky was still close to winter.

Packrafting was not particularly appealing, even with the rivers at ideal levels.  I motivated to get on the water with a big fire and liters of hot drinks.

The day dawned clear and grew warmer.  With plenty of time to make the distance, I took a big detour around this hill to do some hunt practice on a herd of bighorn ewes, eventually crawling within 40 yards.

I brought my toy shotgun along to hunt small game, and ate fried and braised squirrel and onion the first night.  After stalking the sheep I was back up the hill at my pack eating chocolate when a squirrel trilled in the woods.  After some hurrying and some standing and listening I located the little fellow.  Walking over to retrieve the carcass, I found an impressive elk shed.

Which along with the squirrel haul added training weight for the pack out.

I’ve long struggled with out and backs like this route.  Packrafting helps in that it makes things less repetitive, but I’ve still found more relevance on point-to-point trips where desire and necessity are one and the same.  Recently, this has ceased to be the case, and watching animals, hunting small game, hanging around camp, and rambling through patches off trail have become a focus, with urgency a less-frequent companion.  I see better now, and more than anything want to fill the time and stretch the hours as full as they’ll go.

This was a full 48 hours.  I drove in Friday night and hiked a few miles in by moonlight, to a meadow I’d wanted to camp in for a few years.  The wind the next day was occasionally scary; it seemed that every thirty minutes a tree fell in the distance with the sound of a shelf collapsing in a lumbar room, and once on the river I occasionally had to throw out a brace to keep the tailwind from flipping me.  I floated up within 10 feet of a fat river otter wrestling with a trout before it noticed me and dove, and arrived in a scenic grass camp amongst boulders very wet and cold.  Staying focused and warm all day sucked up a lot of calories and energy, and has left me still tired today.

The next began with a cold and wet final stretch of packrafting, and then the aforementioned diversion to stalk sheep.  It was impressive that my crabwalking downhill in diagonals, never moving too much or going directly towards the herd of 20, I was able to get within bow range fairly quickly.  And then just sit and watch them eat grass, bed down, stand up again, and chew.  And once sheep spook they run off in herd, on each others heels, wheeling as a unit with a precision which defies the human understanding of mammalian communication.  I left the other herds on that hillside alone, and followed elk trails back to the human trail, and then to the car, the road, and a cheeseburger.  It was a good weekend.

Yesterday I did one of my favorite hikin’ and packraftin’ loops in Glacier National Park. In spite of thus-far unfulfilled intentions to ski it, I’ve never been in there this early. I had snowshoes on my pack as well as the usual rafting gear, which made for good training weight, but the ‘shoes went unused. Most peculiar for the first week of April.

Late in the morning, I was graced by something which thus far in 2015 has been quite rare: fresh snow.

The storm did not last, and soon I could enjoy dry-dirt trail cruising without my hood up.

The North Fork of the Flathead is big, gentle valley at a modest elevation (3-4000′).  With enough width to garner abundant southern exposure, snow never gets that deep (>2 feet in the bottoms is unusual).  This combination of abundant water and predictable sun, almost complete absence of paved roads and a relative (for the 21st century) lack of dirt roads make it a wildlife haven.  Moose, elk, black and grizzly bears are all common.  Wolves naturally began retaking the lower 48 here in the early 1980s.  The only megavertebrate missing is the Woodland Caribou.

Evidence of wolf success was plain throughout the first 8 miles of my walk, in the form of hair and bone filled scats every 300 meters on average.

There was quite a lot of fresh moose scat and tracks in evidence.  I saw more moose than griz last year, a rarity.  Large and loud though they are, moose are good at avoiding human attention.

The North Fork also contains an impressive, vast population of forest/mountain Whitetail Deer, who in turn form the backbone of the wolf and lion populations.  (Below, middle, a third of the way to the left.)

I saw four groups of elk on my way back south; two from the raft in river bottoms, and two from the car in fields, along with 30-40 deer in one bottom during the mile walk from the take-out to the truck.  A warm, low-snow winter with a moderate and controlled melt off promises to be kind to all the ungulates, and thus to those who eat them.  Myself included.

In the Crown of the Continent ecosystem, if you wait for the snow to melt before hiking you will be waiting a long time. Better to deploy some of the following tips, get out early, and enjoy the solitude and occasional excessive challenge which come with postholing through spring snow. The first, or Sun Tzu, rule of postholing is to avoid postholing, and the best way to do that short of staying home is to pay very close attention to the various factors which influence snow accumulation, melt off, and consistency. Do this well most of the time, bring the proper equipment and attitude, and spring postholing will not be too much of a burden. As shown above, sun exposure is the most obvious factor. In the northern hemisphere, south facing slopes will melt off much faster than north facing ones. This is particularly relevant in early spring, when sunny days are often not especially warm.  Big variations, like the top photo, are easy to see and accommodate, but smaller ones like that pictured in the second photo can be equally as relevant.  The slope in this photo actually faces south-southeast, probably the ideal aspect for fast melting, but is at a higher elevation and under mature timber cover.  In this case the small gulleys (left side) are a bit cooler and more shaded than the ridges (right), and thus the later melt considerably faster.  Field experience and satellite photographs will give you a good eye for which routes are least likely to hold snow. Eventually you will have to walk across snow, at which point the second major rule of postholing comes into play: cheat.  Do everything you can to pick the most solid line available.  In the photo above, this logging road has seen winter snowmachine traffic, the trail being just barely visible.  Compacted snow from machine or human traffic will melt slower than untraveled snow, eventually leaving a raised and more consolidated area upon which travel is usually better.  Balancing along a nordic ski rail is not easy, but it is often better than the alternative. The corollary to cheating is to have the right equipment,  Trekking poles are essential, and snow baskets often a worthwhile investment.  If you are concerned about really awful snow conditions, night above freezing and rainy, overcast days being a particularly noxious combination, do not hesitate to bring snowshoes.   Of course, the worst postholing is when you have skis or snowshoes and are still breaking in past your knees, as was the case above, when it rained the previous night at 8000′ in Wyoming’s Thorofare and stayed chilly and overcast all day.  When this happens be patient, don’t do anything hasty, and think of how much worse it would be without the ‘shoes. Snowshoes usually are the ticket for spring trips, especially the ones with a fairly aggressive steel crampon.  While the snow may start out mushy, inevitably you’ll get a clear day with a cold night and hard freeze, and you’ll want good grip on steeper slopes.  Some trips under these conditions may require crampons. Lastly, pay attention to the snow and try to read its mind, as to what it will do and what is underneath it.  This photo shows a classic mistake on my part, made late on a tiring day.  I neglected to notice the buried sappling, which facilitates air pockets under the uniform surface snow, making perfect foot traps.  I got caught in this one, but it wasn’t too bad.  Bigger ones can easily be ankle breakers. When you’re stuck in a long stretch of postholing, rushing through it is the worst thing short of giving up and waiting for rescue.  Steady, deliberate, sustainable movement is the fastest way.  Remember to eat and drink, make every step the best you can, and laugh at your mistakes.  No matter how slow you go, all such things will eventually come to and end. In addition to snowshoes, a few other gear notes are in order.  I generally do not wear waterproof shoes in spring, because there are generally enough tall stream crossings that getting wet is inevitable.  I’ve written a bunch about my preferred system, with this being the most recent version.  Occasionally my feet get cold, but overall it works well and I have not substantially altered it over the previous four years. There’s a certain satisfaction to being out in miserable conditions and making them work well, but the main reward of spring hiking in the mountains is that you probably won’t see anyone else.  You’ll likely be the first human the animals have seen for months.  Places which are busy come summer are quiet, lonely, and slow.  Adverse travel conditions aside, it’s an exceptionally tranquil time to be out and about.

Amendment No. 838 (Purpose: To establish a spending-neutral reserve fund relating to the disposal of certain Federal land) At the appropriate place, insert the following: SEC. ___. SPENDING-NEUTRAL RESERVE FUND RELATING TO THE DISPOSAL OF CERTAIN FEDERAL LAND.

The Chairman of the Committee on the Budget of the Senate may revise the allocations of a committee or committees, aggregates, and other appropriate levels in this resolution for one or more bills, joint resolutions, amendments, amendments between the Houses, motions, or conference reports relating to initiatives to sell or transfer to, or exchange with, a State or local government any Federal land that is not within the boundaries of a National Park, National Preserve, or National Monument, by the amounts provided in such legislation for those purposes, provided that such legislation would not raise new revenue and would not increase the deficit over either the period of the total of fiscal years 2016 through 2020 or the period of the total of fiscal years 2016 through 2025.

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At the end of last month the US Senate passed the above, 51-49.  My understanding is that as a budget amendment it holds no force nor compels any action, but given the larger social context the vote has attracted a lot of attention, binding or no.  In the near sense it all started in Utah, with a law voted in over 3 years ago which “provides a framework for transferring public lands into state ownership.”  To keep a long story simple, there is compelling evidence that the Utah law is intended to make those federal lands private, and that the interests behind the Utah effort are those responsible for the continued national prominence of the issue, and the recent senate budget amendment. This concerns me deeply, and to that end I’ve written the Montana congressional delegation, especially junior senator Steve Daines, who voted for said amendment after specifically stating on multiple occasions that he did not support the transfer of federal lands to the states.  In response to two different letters I received the following letter (twice, identical both times), which has been edited for length.

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Dear Mr. Chenault,

The weather forecast is good, even a little excessively warm. The rivers aren’t high. The snow will be minimal. Attendance at the start promises to be the highest ever, possibly by a lot. The Bob Open should be a good time.

I’m taking a more relaxed approach this year, with a bit of extra time built in to accommodate unexpected conditions or excessive coffee breaks. See ya’ll next week.

Preparation comes before success, and a few weeks before the Bob Open I knew that I wouldn’t have the legs to really push things.  I’ve had other priorities this spring, and like everywhere else there are no honest shortcuts in the wilderness.  Last year complications put me behind schedule and strongly suggested an early exit, something I’d have been able to resist had I built in an extra half day and packed a bit more food.  So the plan this year was to do a scenic tour, travel 12-14 hours a day, and have a good backpacking trip.

Justin, Morgan, M and I left Whitefish Friday afternoon on a hot and sunny day.  Troublingly so, if such weather pushed into the weekend it would make the snow soft and hydration difficult.  We arrived at the Hungry Bear in Condon to find that the rather substantial crew had taken over half the restaurant and were having a large footprint not entirely welcome.  What I had suspected was going to prove true: this year’s attendance would set a record.

After M dropped us off at Owl Creek I pitched my tarp, chatted with folks, and did not try very hard to get a sense of who and how many.  The point of this “event” is to stir complacency while fostering independence, and I liked the fact that I had only an inexact idea of who would turn up the next morning.

It turned out to be a beautiful Saturday.  16 guys (c’mon ladies) took the start, and after my shortest speech yet we were all heading up to Upper Holland Lake.  I let Dan, Tanner, and Derek disappear up the trail, never to be seen again by me on this particular trip.  My first variation on the main trails was a high traverse over a pass to Lena Lake, shortcutting the detours down to lower valleys.  This worked well for several reasons.  First, most of it faced enough south to be free of snow.  Second, it was almost all at or above 7000′ and through aesthetic alpine forests and meadows, occasionally on nice game trail (some of which was outfitter-maintained).  Third, I had sold Dan, Tanner, and Greg on my variation and the former two were well ahead and good enough route finders that they broke trail in all the important spots, giving me an easier ride.

The traverse went well, though it was not especially fast.  Lena was totally frozen, and the trail down into the next valley deep enough in snow that it was impossible to find.  I took a good guess and while I was never on it, came out onto the less snowy Shaw Creek valley 200 yards from the right junction, breaking a carbon trekking pole along the way.  Tanner and Dan had not been anywhere near me, and I briefly thought I might have been sneaky enough to get ahead of them, but once I made it up to the main trail over to the pass into Burnt Creek footprints were already there.

At this point I had already revised my route.  I wanted to bring a raft, and didn’t want to swim the Flathead or detour to either of the bridges, so justified that weight by intending to float north and hike up Helen Creek and over Pagoda Pass, trading an extra pass for some free fast miles.  With slow legs and lots of snow, it was obvious that would be a bad idea.  So opted for the sure-ur thing, and dropped straight into Bartlett Creek, which was longer than Burnt, but more open and had a nice set of cliffs to serve as a benchmark for refinding the trail.  That last part sort of worked, as I found the old trail which was easy to follow but chocked with 10 years of willow growth.  It eventually led to the newer trail, which was easy and enjoyable walking.  Soon enough I was at the river, in my boat, then wet and cold, then taking out at the White River and hiking fast to get warm, then making camp a mile or so shy of the West Fork of the White, late on a nice evening.  My feet were tired, but life seemed very good.

Sunday I woke up early, went back to sleep for a while, and still woke up early.  I brewed coffee, snarfed a granola bar, put the coffee in my nalgene, and was still on the trail at 0630.  15 minutes later I had a nice fat black bear, complete with white chest flagging, at 20 yards in a meadow.  The bear was in full cow mode, munching the greenest grass with intensity.  I forgot to take a picture, but did stand there for 30 second thinking about how I should have bagged the traverse and done a float-out bear hunt.  But without a tag or rifle, I yelled at the bear, which ran quickly, and kept going.

The choice to hike the White River valley, then the long way over Larch Hill pass proper and past My Lake, was a good one.  Needle Falls is a nice piece of Yellowstone, and Brushy Park was full of elk, whitetails, and mule deer.  I’d been wanting to see the Chinese Wall proper since that first trip with Kevin back in 2009, and was glad I did.  As a feature it’s fame is justified, and that’s a damn good thing, because the loop around to My Lake surely added 90 minutes compared to the traverse straight over to Spotted Bear pass.

Every trip has a crux, tipping point, come-to-jesus moment.  Mine was at Spotted Bear pass at 430pm, with 12 miles til Gates Park and some seriously cashed-out feet and legs.  Make those miles and I’d easily be on schedule, with room to spare.  Fail to do so and I’d be under the gun.  In the end it’s only walking, of course, and nothing is more basic than putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how annoying.  Gates Park had a bunch of elk and whitetails in the meadow by the ranger station, and a nice camp by the creek 1/3 of a mile beyond.  I made dinner in a hurry, drank a lot of water and drink mix to rehydrate, and fell asleep quickly.

Sunday night was clear, and cold.  I woke up shivering at 0200 to put on my hooded vest, and on purpose slept as late as I could manage.  My legs were stiff and slow in the morning, something which did not improve at all the whole day.  The extended snow slogging up Nesbit Creek into the Teton River drainage did not help, though the Griz who had led the way a few days previous made route finding easy.  The day before I had followed either deer or mountain goats along the traverse to Larch Hill pass, and on both days was struck again by how infallible animals are at following a trail under 10 feet of snow.  Griz in particular always cut switchbacks expeditiously.

I made the bit of road on the Teton River in time for a late lunch or early hot dinner, which along with 45 minutes sitting gave me enough pep to make the days third ten mile stretch up the Teton, through the forest in the rain, and over into the Birch Creek headwaters.  It had stopped raining by the end of the day, when I came down into a sweeping V-valley, Alaska style, with a rugged and loud little stream surrounded by gnarled birch groves cupped by tall talus slopes.  I had extra time, and if I broke my no hiking after 10pm rule could probably have made the TH.  But there was a gorgeous little meadow and a bit of firewood, along with a lovely view.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have the presence of mind to take out the camera until I was already under the tarp, deeply tired, but with enough energy for the final push.

The South Fork Birch Creek trail was awful, an obnoxious mix of sticky clay and iron hard horse divots.  Not nice on tired ankles.  The South Fork of Birch itself could not have been more different, with delightful floating that was wet, but not too wet.  Even better, I got to paddle straight across the reservoir, substituting 45 minutes of flat water for 4 miles of walking.  And just like that, I was done.

The sun was peaking in and out of the clouds, so I took off my shoes, yardsaled everything on the grass, put on all my clothes, and took an hour long nap.  I woke up to banging, which turned out to be the same couple Tanner spoke with changing a tire on their truck, which is complicated with a fifth-wheel attached.  I gave them a hand, waved goodbye, and went inside the little hut to eat my last food and avoid the rain, and 10 minutes late Mike and crew showed up.  They had big smiles and beer in their truck, which filled the time nicely until M showed up and we could drive north, get chicken-fried steak at the Two Med Grill, and go home.

It was a good and remarkably no-drama, even-keeled trip, especially given how much of a grind the miles ended up being.  I was quite up to my schedule, but I’ve been feeling the after-effects all week, and quite acutely.  My food was good and I had just enough,  I got no blisters, everything worked fine, and I was glad to have my rafting stuff, even though I used it for only a tenth of the distance.  It was, simply, fun, in the sense of being a satisfying walk through an area which has over the last six years lost something of its aura, though in exchange I’ve received a commensurately deeper feel for the vagaries, charms, and rhythms of the Bob.  I update the Open page a few hours ago to say that 2016 will probably not take place in the Bob, but I’ll almost certainly change my mind on that.  Going back is different from going to new places, but it is no less grand.

For the most part, the gear I used to cross the Bob this year worked well.  This is the sixth trip in as many years I’ve done through similar terrain around this time of year, so if I haven’t yet found a good system yet I’m just not paying attention.  The same basic complement of clothing, a floorless shelter, and ~25 degree sleeping bag are reliable options.  My packs have evolved considerably, with a different homemade one used each year.  That will be the subject of a later post, along with details on the bag I used this year, but the basic details are that a good frame of some kind and waterproof fabric are both highly recommended.  As can be seen my newest pack has a lid, which I found quite handy.

I used Black Diamond Liquid Point Goretex pants, which work well once I replaced the stock waistband, which does a very poor job of holding them up.  I’ve suffered by without rain pants plenty on the past, but they’re really nice to have in wet brush, to say nothing of packrafting, and the Liquid Points have a nice tough fabric, and legs zips which both make putting them on easy and allow you to vent on the go (just zip them back up before deep stream crossings).  BD is having fit issues with their first generations of clothing, but once they sort those out the great fabrics and features should really shine.

Altra Olympus 1.5 shoes were another newish piece of gear which performed well, albeit with reservations.  They’re “maximalist” zero drop jobs, with over 3cm of cushion and stack height.  Most importantly, they have the Altra last, which I find absolutely perfect.  No blisters proves that.  The extra cushion certainly seemed to fight fatigue well, but the extra height gives irregular ground surface extra leverage against your ankles, which is not welcome side hilling off trail or while slogging softer snow.  My ankles and lower legs suffered a bit of extra fatigue as a result, but overall they were at least energy neutral, and probably a net benefit.  The Lone Peaks remain a more versatile option, while the Olympus is a good trail shoe.  Most significantly, the Olympus 1.5 upper is both faster draining and more durable than the Lone Peak 1.5, providing hope that sooner than later Altra will get their shit together and push their altogether good shoes into the realm of excellent.

I broke one of my Gossamer Gear poles around noon on the first day, when it punched two feet deep into the snow and jammed against a buried log.  Not really the poles fault, so much as proof that I should have brought my much heavier and more durable alu poles.  Having only one pole for the next four snowy passes did suck, as my attempt the first night to carve a wood shim didn’t work out.

I only packrafted 12ish miles out of approximately 105, which made the 7 pounds of rafting gear a poor investment, enjoyable though those miles were.  I continue to want something between my Scout, which is of very limited utility in cold conditions, and my heavy and bulky Yukon Yak.  Putting my own deck on a Curiyak is not a project I relish, but until Alpacka comes out with a new model or Roman sells off his custom I may have to do it, one of these days.  Paddling lakes is absolutely more efficient than hiking around them, especially given how much faster and better against a headwind the 10″ tubed, non-rockered Scout is.

My food was fine, and I had enough, but I always find it logistically challenging to keep on top of consistent calorie intake.  Using sports drinks for these things is something I need to take more seriously in the future.

Lastly, while my fitness was fine and what I expected it to be, I would not have minded being so close to my limit for so much of the trip.  As I age, and with the kid due shortly, it is clear that my old approach of primarily letting fun stuff serve as de facto training is not going to get the job done.  I may have to re-take up running.

Until next time.

Photo by Sam Haraldson.

The 2015 Open, from the Owl Creek TH at Holland Lake to the Swift Reservoir TH, set a record for attendance with 16 starters. Under sunny and warm skies on Saturday morning the various hikers fanned out into five different drainages above Upper Holland Lake, taking diverse routes down to the South Fork the Flathead. Mike, Kevin, and John (Helena, MT), Nick and Conner (Bigfork, MT), and Morgan and Justin (NorCal) all headed down Gorden Creek and took advantage of the Big Prairie pack bridge to cross the South Fork. The middle two pairs both headed up the White River and crossed the Continental Divide at Larch Hill before descending Rock Creek to Gates Park along the North Fork of the Sun. Conner and Nick stayed west, cutting off a few miles by not using the Headquarters Creek bridge in exchange for a burly wade across the North Fork at Lick Creek. They then took Sun River pass north before cutting east through the Gateway Gorge and taking the South Fork of Birch Creek down to Swift Reservoir, and eventually the trailhead. Nick and Conner finished Tuesday night at 10pm.

Mike, Kevin, and John followed the upper White into Wall Creek, which facing north was snowy and presented route finding issues. They camped the second night at the Pentagon patrol cabin, and tackled the big climb up Switchback pass and the traverse past Dean Lake and down to the headwaters of the Middle Fork of the Flathead on a sunny Monday morning after a night of hard freezing. They considered pushing on up Gateway Creek into the South Fork of Birch, but after extrapolating a 5am finish decided to camp and finish the next day, which they did, around 130pm on Tuesday.

Morgan and Justin had set out on the slow plan, with heavy and luxurious food bags, plus fishing gear which Justin put to good use. They Went over White River pass and made their way down to Gibson Reservoir before calling for a pickup Thursday afternoon completing an enjoyable traverse.

Dan (Vancouver, CA) and Tanner (Bozeman) led Greg (Colorado) and myself on a route of my own design, wrapping around cross country to the frozen Lena Lake before heading over a second pass to descend Burnt and Holbrook Creeks, respectively. Dan had a packraft while Tanner did not, and fortuitous timing allowed the former to get a good view as the later swam the South Fork. Dan continued floating down to the Mid Creek takeout, making 6-7 mph, while Tanner hiked up the White River. Dan hiked around Meadow Creek gorge, and kept hiking into the night up Harrison and Corporal Creeks, making camp at 1130pm 3 miles short of the Spotted Bear river.

I descended Bartlett Creek to the South Fork, putting in on the river upstream and several hours after Dan. By the time I floated to the White River I was quite cold in my open boat, and decided to ascend the White that evening rather than float further south and climb over Pagoda Pass. I made it most of the way to the South Fork of the White, camping on a gravel bar several miles short of the camp Tanner made along the same drainage.

Meanwhile Greg had tweaked his knee on the slick beargrass traverse to Lena Lake, and after changing course to descend Big Salmon Creek and hiking until midnight to make up time, was stopped by high water in the dark at Black Bear Creek. Greg awoke from a short bivouac to find a knee not in good shape, realized that further travel was unwise, hiked and rafted out to the Spotted Bear ranger station, and arranged a ride out. Derek, traveling from Georgia and descending Pendant Lakes to Big Salmon Creek, caught up with Dan in the wee hours of Sunday morning, traveling entirely on foot. Unfortunately, he was also stopped cold by the high and fast Spotted Bear river. While Dan was able to raft across, Derek decided a ford was not possible and bailed after hiking to the ranger station downstream.

Les and Micah from Helena, along with Chase and Alex from Oregan, had also descended Pendant to Big Salmon Lake. The former pair with an ambitious plan to ascend Pagoda Pass before dark and push for a 48 hour finish. The snow in the high country made this not possible, and they camped in Helen Creek at 10pm. The next day they crossed over Pagoda and descended to the White, not far behind me and not far ahead of Mike et al. They camped below Switchback Sunday night, and made a long push out the same route Mike, Kevin, and John would travel to finish at 10pm on Monday.

Tanner was still further ahead on the same course, following the Upper White into Wall Creek and ascending Switchback pass and dropping into and crossing the Middle Fork to camp near Gooseberry Sunday night. He took a clever diversion into the Middle Fork of Birch Creek, which both saved distance and avoided the horribly horse-wrecked trail along the South Fork of Birch. Tanner finished in the early afternoon Monday.

First to finish was Dan, who reached at trailhead at 845am Monday. After crossing the Spotted Bear early Sunday morning he combined trails and bushwacking to drop north into the upper reaches of Schafer Creek, which he followed to Schafer Meadows and a packraft crossing of the Middle Fork of the Flathead. Good, muddy trail up Cox Creek took him to Badger Pass just before dark, and a bivouac near snowline on the east side when darkness made navigation problematic. The next morning a quick bit of rafting the North Fork of Birch Creek and hiking along the north shore of the reservoir had him at the TH very quickly indeed.

Lastly, I crossed the Sun on the Headquarters Creek bridge Monday morning, and took Route Creek and Nesbit Creek over into the North Fork Teton drainage, then followed that north into Phone Creek. A gorgeous meadows amongst birch groves at 6000′ compelled a stop at 8pm. I woke up refreshed the next morning, and rafting a fair bit of the South Fork of Birch Creek before paddling across the reservoir and reaching the TH at 11am.  Chase and Alex had originally planned on fording the S Fork, but decided against it and detoured south Saturday evening to Big Prairie, where they then ascended the White and followed my route to Gates Park and beyond.  They were behind schedule due to Alex’s swollen ankle, and contemplated having him picked up from the Teton road when they arrived there Wednesday night, but felt better the next morning and decided to both push on for the finish.  Like Morgan and Justin they were soaked by strong rain, and endured flooding creek crossings and a bit of hypothermia before finishing late Thursday afternoon.

Overall 2015 will stand for the wide variety of routes, widely varied scenery, and the many determined efforts put in by the various hikers to finish. The pre and post trip planning thread over at BPL is recommended for those seeking more detail, and contains links to all the trip reports from which the above information was collated.

“For centuries, highways had been deceiving us. We were like that queen who determined to move among her subjects so that she might learn for herself whether or not they rejoiced in her reign. Her courtiers took advantage of her innocence to garland the road she traveled and set dancers in her path. Led forward of their halter, she saw nothing of her kingdom and could not know that over the countryside the famished were cursing her.

Even so have we been making our way along the winding roads. Road avoid the barren lands, the rocks, the sands. They shape themselves to man’s needs and run from stream to stream. They lead the farmer from his barns to his wheatfields, receive at the thresholds of stables the sleepy cattle and pour them forth at dawn into meadows of alfalfa. They join village to village, for between villages marriages are made.

And even when a road hazards its way over the desert, you will see it make a thousand detours to take its pleasure at the oases. Thus, led astray by the divagations of roads, as by other indulgent fictions, having in the course of our travels skirted so many well-watered lands, so many orchards, so many meadows, we have from the beginning of time embellished the picture of our prison. We have elected to believe that our planet was merciful and fruitful.”

-Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Wind, Sand, and Stars Familiarity is a danger.  Friday evening I left home knowing where I would park and how long it would take to get there, and left the trailhead in the late daylight 24 hours before the solstice knowing, to within five minutes, how long I’d walk before camp.  The most unexpected thing about the next morning was being woken up, very early and yet still in the light, by a snowshoe hare hopping slowly over gravel 10 feet from my ears.  I told the hare it was fortunate I had left all shotguns at home before turning over and sleeping for another hour.

The miles that day were dusty, full of hardpacked dirt and gravel which poked me through my thin, old shoes.  I sweated as the sun rose, broken barely every hour by small high clouds moving slowly.  I stopped at choice streams to rinse my head, soak my hat and bandana, and fill and drink my bottle from water I did not care to treat for safety.  My goal for the day was not short, and in spite of however many trips in the past five years still mistook one butte for another and though I was three miles closer.  And for all that the walking still felt effortless.  On days like that one I could hike for the rest of my life and hardly need to eat again. That night I floated, fished, floated, fished some more, dragged two trout up into the rocks and partially decapitated them with a rock, for dinner, and kept floating.  Every bend, wave, run, and pink-red cobble was memory trickling up my legs like spiders.  I camped in a new spot, but only new because I’d floated past it last year, twice, with the idea that it’d get good early morning light and had a long flat gravel bar with plenty of firewood. I gutted fish with a rescue knife, wrapped them in foil, drenched them in salt and oil, and listened the the flesh crackle and smelled the skin burn under the influence of cottonwood and pine sticks, baked crisp and clean, burning under snows, floods, and the long late spring sun.

Twelve hours later I was 10 miles downriver, huddled in the lee of a limestone pinnacle reached via a waist deep wade, trying to keep the shadow my rod away from trout 15 feet deep when another packrafter came past.

“How far is the take out?”

“Not far.”

And she was gone.

I casted for another few minutes, my too light streamer impotent against the current and against fish hiding deep from the chilly morning, before a hasty wade and stuffing everything back into my pack.  Hurried paddling revealed the take out two big bends further, and the packrafter standing on cobbles still getting her gear in order.

J works for the Bob Marshall Wilderness Foundation, and this is the first time she’s traveled from one side of the place to another, starting south at the North Fork Blackfoot trailhead five days ago with her friend.  She’s a paddler but rented this packraft, and is in proper awe of seeing the most brilliant boat in action for the first time.  We make the few miles back to the cars in short minutes, chatting all the while, and I’m so thankful for this pure conduit back to my own beginner’s mind that I don’t want to leave, even when the beers are empty and we’re standing around the parking lot with flies covering our legs and the bouquet of horse shit heavy in the air. The sentence I cut off the head of Saint-Ex’s first paragraph is “The airplane has unveiled for us the true face of the earth.”  I have no doubt he was correct, but that did not contribute to the sense of decorum which was the only thing holding me back from mooning the five Piper Cubs which buzzed the South Fork in formation, 200 feet up, mid-Saturday afternoon.

It’s a joy that the South Fork of the Flathead exists, and it’s a small miracle the road stops at the N Fork Blackfoot and Meadow Creek and that Mr. Marshall and those less famous were able to have it designated a primitive area, back before Wilderness existed in law.  There’s nothing separating this valley from many others, like the main Blackfoot, Swan, or North Fork, nearby, other than that this one is more beautiful, doesn’t have a road up it, and has never been logged.  The most accessible revelation from my first trip down this river five years ago was that this was in fact what a never-logged western Montana landscape looks like, and while I’ve learned many more things since then that thought has grown no less precious.

I will always go back.

As good as the Unaweep is, and every time I use any other pack I’m reminded at just how good and how versatile it is, there are inherent limits to the design.  Namely, the size and external presence of the frame.  There are rather few instances in which this is an issue, but problems exist simply to be solved.  Eventually.

I’ve been enamored with the suspension in this pack, with a few significant reservations.  As readers observed, the foam pad is so wide it inhibits ideal hipbelt wrap.  Unexpectedly, the single stay ended up being the limiting factor, as at certain weights it presents a point pressure against the lumbar, even with three layers of padding between it and the user.  This version has two stays, six inches apart, and a foam panel slot 8 inches wide.  As can be seen above, the belt attaches with velcro a la Gossamer Gear, so the pack can be run without the stays.  The shoulder straps attach with 1 inch webbing, which makes attaching them easier and allows me to swap straps.

I’ve become a firm believer in wide and thin packs, so the back on this one is 12 inches wide.  Felled seams throughout.  I did outsmart myself a bit here, as with no structure beyond the 8 inch center panel there is nothing to prevent the 2 inch strips on either side from barreling out and making the pack far fatter.  I improvised and sewed a velcro sleeve inside the full width of the back, which currently holds a 1/4 inch by 12 inch steel rod.  Not an elegant solution, but functional.

Bottom diameter is 32 inches.  Top diameter is 36.  Height is 34.  Standard feature set includes twin daisy chains from 3/8 inch webbing, two side pockets, and an inside zippered pocket.

Main fabric is X33, which remains a favorite.  The bottom is X51, a great heavy use fabric.  Side pockets, inside pocket, and the exterior of the pad sleeve are WX20, which is light and flexible.  I’m using an old Gossamer Gear belt, and Mountain Hardwear shoulder straps.  Stays are 1/8 inch by 1 inch 7075-T6, which is the only way to go.  Blue foam from Walmart.

I’ve only put a limited number of miles into it, but thus far it is promising.  The idea is to have the option to run enough suspension when the pack is totally full of heavy stuff (see top picture, with 2 days of packrafting and fishing stuff), and also run it frameless as well as beltless for smaller trips.  To this end the torso length is a half inch undersized.

I’ll keep ya’ll updated.

If you’re in the Glacier area with a bike and packraft, and have a hot day to dispense with, this loop is a good way to do it. Something around 35 miles and in the 5-8 hour range depending on the river level and how fast you ride, it has good scenery, convenient logistics, and consistently fast riding terrain and the river will both keep you cool.
After riding up the Camas Road in the park (paved, climbs steadily for most of the way, light traffic) cross the bridge over the North Fork of the Flathead, walk down to the gravel bar, and do the obligatory bikerafting gear explosion.  The North Fork between this bridge and the confluence has a few rapids which are no joke at higher levels, as well as some pretty broad and slow stretches, so picking the right flow is tricky.  Between 3000 and 5000 cfs is my suggestion; any bigger and the rapids get hairy with a bike on board (and portaging would be tiresome due to short cliffs), any smaller (like the 2700 I had recently) and the beginning and ending stretches are slow.

I’d also recommend getting a not too late start.  The North Fork usually generates fairly stiff upriver winds starting around 1600, which can make the few miles before the confluence frustrating.

The confluence of the North and Middle Forks is easy to spot, as it is right upstream of Blankenship bridge, the first bridge you’ll have seen since the put in.  Take out on the small gravel bar at river left right at the confluence and put your bike back together.  The old Flathead ranger station road, in Glacier, is atop the hill above the confluence, and is the only real dirt trail in the park open to bikes.  It’s a short but steep push on a fisherman’s trail up the hill, and a mostly fast ride back to the trailhead, dirt road, Quarter-Circle bridge over McDonald Creek, and the bike path back to Apgar.

This trail is gentle enough to do on a ‘cross bike.  I you have a road bike, take out at Blankenship and ride east (well graded gravel) back to highway 2 a few miles east of West Glacier.  A longer and more properly mountain bike version of this would be to ride the inside North Fork road from Fish Creek campground north to a mile or so past Logging Creek, where the river can be accessed via a very short bushwack.  This route is on the long end of what is possible for a day trip, and would make a fine overnighter.  The NPS boundary is the middle of the river, so as long as you camp on the west bank (and not in someones yard) you are legal.

In the name of practicality (Chariot towing) I recently put gears back on the Karate Monkey.  Up front are the same Sugino cranks and 20/30/38 chainrings I’ve had for years.  The 20 is a steel Race Face, 30 a steel Surly, and both have massive miles with no visible wear.  My back wheel is the same Mike C-built Arch on Hope SS I’ve ridden for seven years.  It suffered it’s first casualty on this recent trip; I nipple which broke off inside the rim.  Considering the miles I’d call that a good record.  I used to be able to fit 7 gears, barely, but six is more conservative and the only option now that the edge of the freewheel splines wore a hair.  Using cogs from various low end cassettes I have a 14-34 spread, though the jumps wouldn’t make the cadence-sensitive happy.  Shifting happens via an X9 twistie for the front, and a Durace/Paul friction thumbie for the rear.  XT derailleurs both.

This was originally posted almost three years ago, but I’m bumping and updating it in light of record-setting low flows which will seriously effect packrafting this summer and fall.  I’ll include specific predictions for when I think each section will cease to be floatable, and some trip recommendations.

The wilderness portion of the South Fork can be divided into four or five sections, each with a different character:

1) confluence to Big Prairie pack bridge
2) Big Prairie to White River
3) White River to Salmon Forks
4) Salmon Forks to Black Bear Creek
5) Black Bear Creek to Mid Creek takeout

They are described below in turn. All cfs references are to the Twin Creeks gauge.  (This gauge is below the Spotted Bear river, so it does measure quite a bit more water than you’d see above Meadow Creek, but it is a reliable indicator nonetheless.)

1) This section is open, meandering, with big views, good camping, and often extensive log jams. At flows much below 1200 cfs this section gets pretty draggy, and packraft speeds will likely average below 2 mph. At around 8000 cfs this section is a laugh, and speeds approach 5 mph.  For 2015, I wouldn’t recommend floating this section much past mid-July.

2) Below Big Prairie things get a bit more constricted, and Burnt Park has what are two of the cruxier rapids at lower flows (between river miles 8 and 10.5). At 5000cfs or above these get washed out and are noticeable only as slightly bigger wave trains. Low water speeds (below 1500cfs) are 2-2.5 mph, while around 8000cfs speeds likely approach 8mph in the more constricted sections. Below river mile 11 things mellow out and the river from here to Big Salmon is very similar.  Again, much past mid-July will be very slow for this section, this year.  There are plenty of deep sections that are fine below 1000 cfs, but also plenty of gravel bars and rock gardens which will get very slow.

3) From White River to Salmon Forks the river splits the difference between the first and fourth sections. At lower flows, there are plenty of braids and gravel bars set within low dirt hills, and no obstacles of consequence. Speeds below 1500cfs approach 3 mph. Below 800cfs, they’re closer to 2, with lots of rocks to avoid.  For 2015, avoid this section beyond August 1st.

4) Below Salmon Forks (the entrance of Big Salmon Creek) the river becomes more concentrated, with steep pine-covered walls. This is probably the point below which floating is decent at just about any level. Speeds between 1000 and 1500cfs are around 3mph. At lower levels floating is mellow. Above 5000 or so cfs things get pushy, with the many riffles morphing into larger and larger rapids.  This section is good floating even at 500 cfs in early October, and should be fine floating all year.

5) In the short stretch between Black Bear Creek and the Mid Creek takeout are several tricky bedrock rapids and micro-gorges, which are worth paying heed at any level. Speeds are relatively fast, and the fishing is excellent. Watch out for the final takeout warning sign, which is well above river level and midway through the rapid right after the takeout gravel bar.  Meadow Creek gorge is pretty fun packrafting at low water, and the silver lining of 2015 is that it’s in good runnable shape right now, and should remain so all summer.

Normal July packraft trips in the Bob often involve hiking into and floating either Youngs or Danaher Creek down into the South Fork.  And for good reason, as these trips which see the drainage grow and evolve are the best in the Bob.  This year they are just not going to work.  Danaher is probably only good for another week, if that, and lower Youngs for perhaps a bit longer.  For alternate July routes I’d concentrate on the lower South Fork, and the Middle Fork.  As of this typing the Middle at West Glacier is at 2300 cfs, just a hair above what I consider the ideal level for a full run of all the great whitewater from Schafer to Bear Creek.  In what is shaping up to be the worst boating summer in quite some time, this is just about the only silver lining to be had.

This is an update of and the evolution from this post 18 months ago.

A good pack fabric, like the well patina’d 1000 denier Cordura above, can do a lot of great work, simply. There is a subtle elegance to something which is easily sewn into a finished product which continues as a reliable, innocuous companion for many years and many miles.  The following is a collation of experiences and opinions from the last few years.

In the first half of 2015 I’ve gone out of my way to beat up on cuben fiber whenever I have the chance.  I don’t think cuben makes sense from a cost/function perspective, but my primary objection is that companies like Hyperlite Mountain Gear have begun to use it as a sole talking point, rather than discussing how they have nice packs which happen to be made of good fabric.

The 150 denier hybrid cuben pictured here is good fabric.  The cuben backing is very waterproof, and the tight polyester face fabric is impressively tough for what is by any standard light duty stuff.  I can’t think of anything of a comparable denier which comes close, but nonetheless there just isn’t that much material there.  As seen above, holes in the poly face are easy to come by, the while the cuben backing does put up a fight, the package just does not stand up to abrasion very well.  Tear strength is pretty good, but abrasion is the source of every hole I’ve ever put in a pack.  If you don’t beat on your gear regularly this heavier hybrid will last a long time, but with other options that weight almost the same, have exactly the same performance properties, and cost half as much I just don’t see a reason for cuben hybrid, other than fashion novelty.

Closing question: would HMG sell more or sell fewer Windrider 3400s if they were made from X33, weighed a few ounces more, and cost 75 dollars less?

This leaves me with Xpac fabrics, for which my enthusiasm has not diminished.  VX42 is still a favorite, as pictured above and below, which has held up very well and is heavy enough for almost anything but not egregiously so.  As Brendan has often said, the X layer looks cool but doesn’t really do anything but provide an abrasion point.

The oxford face fabric of VX42 lags behind the plain Cordura face of X33 and X50, which are my current preferred moderate and heavy use fabrics, respectively.  There is just something about the even and symmetrical Cordura weave which stands up proud to abuse of all types.  The X series is quite a bit more pliable and quiet than the VX series, which is welcome, but currently only available retail in multicam prints, which is less so.  I’ve put holes into X33, but it takes more quite a bit of effort.

Highly waterproof fabrics like Xpac and cuben are sexy, but there’s a lot to be said for quality PU fabrics, especially if lots of precipitation is not a regular feature.  Good cordura remains an excellent option.  Sadly, lighter fabrics are more difficult to find.  The 210 denier gridstop from Thru-hiker is still a bit on the expensive side, and still an outstanding option for a moderate use pack.

In summary, I’d use X33 for most packs, and X50 and X51 for pack bottoms, and packs which will get lots of abuse.  210D gridstop is great for pockets and extension collars.  Every year more and better options appear, and more and better retail options come into being.

All the better for growing a fat quiver.

First of all, my article on baselayer technology and the excellent Rab Meco 120 and Kuiu Ultra Merino 125 shirts was recently published over at Rokslide.  It is free to all, and I reckon most of you will find it interesting.

Second, the most recent stage of the fight (which is the right word) to permit paddling in Yellowstone and Grand Teton National Parks is set to heat up this fall.  The American Packrafting Association has a bunch of handy information online, including the map shown below, which outlines the backcountry waterways which ought to at least be considered as paddling legal by the park service.

I wrote plenty about this last summer, and I don’t think much has changed.  The primary issue is I still maintain the big “fuck you” the administration in Yellowstone gave to the paddling public in 2013 when they failed to give any substantive consideration to Snake River Headwaters Wild and Scenic planning project.  It is not unlike the comparable finger they’ve given to the snowbiking community over the past five years.  Increasingly it seems that the current higher-ups in YNP are due an awakening, and passing the Paddling Act would help bring that about.  The secondary issue is the cultural conflict within the conservation/environmental community over this issue, with the Greater Yellowstone Coalition continuing to object to the bill for reasons which are to me ever more obscure.  It’s a pity, as the GYC has an ever increasing hold on the YNP administration due to the large percentage of research projects they fund.  I have to remind myself that the stereotype I outlined in that OpEd last year is not often true.

Third, the other day I did what everyone ought to occasionally, and cleaned out and updated my emergency/repair/firstaid/possibles bag.

Not too much has changed over the years.  I still bring floss and needles even though I hardly ever use them.  The same could be said of a few gauze pads.  Hammer Seat Saver lube I do use, for butt related chafing, on a fairly regular basis.  The Hammer product isn’t especially exceptional for this end, but I have a pile of these convenient small tubes which I obtained for free, so why ever not?  The major changes in this kit over the past year have been MSR Aquatabs, which are cheap and convenient and taste-free, as well as trioxane tabs (military surplus) for tinder.  Trioxane is similar to esbit, but can be lit with one spark from a fire steel and don’t quite burn as hot.  A few of each will cover fire starting in every possible scenario.  Container at bottom-right is my packraft repair kit, which remains unchanged: UV aquaseal, Patch and Go tape, and duct tape.

Lastly, M and I didn’t participate in the APA Packraft Roundup whose last day was today.  With the due date so close that seemed like tempting fate, but with no signs of the kids immanent arrival I did get out boating with Doom on Saturday, and last night got out for the tail end of the BBQ, the raffle, and Rich Rudow’s presentation on packrafting and canyoneering in Grand Canyon.  I happened to have 20 dollars in my pocket, with which I bought five tickets, and with which I also 30 minutes later won a new Yukon Yak with all the trimmings.  Sponsors came up huge this year, with an HMG pack, Werner paddle, and three packrafts (Bakraft, Kokopelli, Alpacka) making up the prize list.  APA is a great organization, and the packrafting community is served by some great companies, so support them and yourself by coming to the Roundup next year (wherever is might be).

In all good things you must be present to win.

“Go for a short walk, and you’ll know if your gear fits. You might notice the stretch, the lightness, the breathability, the warmth. But you won’t really know if it can keep you alive.”

-Sitka blog

Fire during the 2011 Wilderness Classic, still the coldest I’ve ever been.  Photo by Paige Brady.

The article/post linked to above is worth reading, not for the hyperbolic and jingoistic aspects of its marketing slant, but because it hammers home an essential truth of dressing for the woods: under duress the most important characteristic of your clothing system is not the ability to keep external moisture off you, but the ability to allow internal moisture to escape efficiently without chilling you excessively.

This is accomplished via several different tactics.  Having base and insulation layers which respond to thermal pressure and move water quickly is one.  Having enough shell gear, but not too much (i.e. wind gear rather than WPB if it isn’t raining) is another.  The most effective and important, by far, is having pieces which hold the smallest amount of moisture possible.

My upper body system for the 2011 Classic was a Capilene 1 stretch tshirt, Capilene 2 longsleeve, hi loft fleece hoody, and a Goretex anorak.  The tshirt was a poor choice, with a relatively high spandex content, and was consistently hard to dry all trip.  A cap 2 tshirt would have made all the difference.  My lower body system consisted of a pair of cap 2 undies, Patagonia Traverse pants, and Montane windpants.  The windpants let my legs get soaked, so I brought real rain pants the next year, and while the Traverse pants dried fairly fast, they were still the weak link, and were replaced the next year with a pair of more fragile but lighter and faster drying 100% nylon supplex pants.  For serious conditions little details like 4% versus 0% spandex content are absolutely worth sweating.  It’s ironic that Sitka, of all companies, published this, as they are more guilty than most of excessive spandex use.  The previous generation of the Traverse zip-t, for example, was without question the worst midlayer I’ve ever used due to an outsized ability to hold tight to sweat and water.

As a textile spandex doesn’t hold on to moisture, but in almost all occasions it is turned into a garment whose structure is a big island of moisture, and avoiding lycra/spandex is thus a good first rule for eliminating islands of moisture.  That said, fabric thickness correlates more directly with drying time than any other metric; the thinner the fabric, the faster it dries.  This is why the new lightweight Capilene (80 grams/meter!) is so exciting, and why the Alpine Start hoody is the best softshell fabric around.  Pants remain a tricky one, as they often need to be a bit heavier for durabiity’s sake.  Go as thin, tight-woven, and light as possible.  Hats are another tricky issue, but Arc’teryx figured that one out a while ago.  Insulating hats should be on the thin side, numerous, and able to layer over each other without causing eye-bugage.  And so forth.  These principles apply, with some modification, to items like backpacks and shelters.

It’s easy to dismiss concerns like these as only applying to a small percentage of users in eccentric circumstances, and while it is true that the extreme wetness which comes with packrafting did more than anything to open this issue up for me, it is equally true that if you spend enough time far enough from the car you’ll get bitten by islands of moisture.  It can even happen during warm months in the desert, though such equipment and body stress is far less probable.

The day after a full day of hiking in a downpour, on the Heaphy Track, NZ.  Had we not stayed in a hut with a coal stove the night before life would have been challenging.

An investment in these clothing and equipment details pays dividends in comfort most of the time, and in a lighter pack which contains a larger margin for error most of the time.  Occasionally, having already minded these things will make it much easier for you to save your own life.  Not as sexy as “survival” stuff like firestarters and knives, but far more significant.

When it’s cold outside, insulation is important.  And it can be cold outside at just about any time.  My new article over at Rokslide detailing the strengths and weaknesses of the various types of synthetic fills might help you keep warm.

The 2016 Bob Marshall Wilderness Open will start Saturday May 30th at 0800 mountain time, at the Bean Lake campground near the Dearborn River, southwest of Augusta. Finish will be the Cedar Creek campground on the Swan River roughly equidistant between the towns of Condon and Swan Lake. Course area will be any public lands which drain into either the Atlantic or Pacific Oceans. The normal guidelines apply.

See you there.