Pre-trip Gear Testing: Baby’s First Alcohol Stove

Posted on June 26, 2014 by adventurestan

Growing up, camping meant taking a pop-up travel trailer up the North Umpqua River or along the south Oregon coast and eating whatever my mother cooked in her cast-iron skillet over an open fire or anything I picked up off the ground and managed to shove in my mouth before it could be taken away.

As an adult, camping involved being driven to a campsite somewhere in New England, setting up a six pound tent from REI, and eating whatever my friends cooked over a Coleman propane camp stove.

On a few occasions, camping as an adult involved taking a ferry or a kayak to an island in Boston Harbor or off the coast of Maine and eating whatever my camping partner cooked for me over the MSR Pocket Rocket I bought from EMS in 2006. (I am still on my first canister of fuel!)

For the AT, I opted to buy a relatively failure-proof alcohol stove system from Trail Designs. Exciting! My first alcohol stove! After scouring the shelves at BiMart for denatured alcohol, I ended up with a gallon of the stuff because smaller containers are apparently not a thing you can easily find? I know there are mini bottles of HEET you can buy, but everything I read said that’s (a) toxic, and (b) will horribly discolor your titanium pots, so now I have enough denatured alcohol to last me the rest of my life… since I can only use it if I’m camping within driving distance of my parents’ house because no airline is going to let me take that in my carry-on bag.

Thank god my parents had a stone patio built last year, because wow, pouring out two ounces of alcohol from a giant metal container is really difficult and alcohol goes just everywhere, and they are not kidding when they say it produces a really big, really invisible flame. I didn’t set myself or anything else on fire, but I don’t think it would have gone as well if I’d tried that on the grass.

Holy shit, ok, for future reference I am definitely going to clear all the leaves off the ground until I’ve got a big patch of bare dirt, and I will never ever forget to put aluminum foil underneath the stove. Just. Damn. That was a really big fireball.

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Pre-trip Gear Testing: Sleeping Outside

Posted on June 26, 2014 by adventurestan

I try very hard to accept that other people’s lived experiences may be different from my own. That being said, I would be lying if I said there wasn’t a small part of me convinced that a person who claims to sleep really well in a tent on a pad on the ground is just straight-up messing with people.

I can wholeheartedly accept literally any other statement as a subjective truth, but I just can’t bring myself to believe anyone finds that comfortable. Are they lying to me? Are they lying to themselves? Is it a context issue, like maybe they share their bed at home with two cats, an asthmatic dog and one or more partners with sleep apnea, so in comparison even the cold unforgiving forest floor is a quiet solitary blessing? Who knows.

It took me four tries before I managed to spend one entire night in my tent. When there is a perfectly good pillow top mattress just a few yards away, it takes more will power than I normally possess to turn away from its soft & comforting embrace.

Attempt #1: A complete non-starter. After struggling to put up the tent and arrange the pad and sleeping bag, I was too irritated to spend any more time out there.

Attempt #2: A few nights later, at midnight, I decided to try again. I put on my headlamp. I grabbed two bottles of water. I put my phone and my laptop and some snacks in a dry bag because it was raining pretty heavily. I took an Ambien to maximize my chances of falling asleep immediately. For a first time, might as well do everything possible to ensure success. No tossing and turning for me tonight, no sir!

I ran through the rain, unpacked all my stuff, arranged it neatly around my sleeping bag, and then realized I forgot to bring a pillow. I can’t sleep without something under my head. I decided to go back inside and grab a bed pillow (oh, such luxury), but I got my hair stuck in the velcro of the tent flap when I tried to get out. By the time I managed to free myself, I was soaking wet and the Ambien had kicked in enough that I couldn’t really focus my eyes or walk in a straight line. This was all clearly a sign that tonight was not the night, so I went back inside, changed into dry pajamas, and did not venture back out.

Attempt #3:  I waited for a dry night. I took a makeshift pillow (e.g., dry bag filled with clothes) out to the tent in the early afternoon. I did NOT take a sleep aid, but I DID make sure to only get three hours of sleep the previous night so I’d have exhaustion on my side. But I took too much time fussing around inside the tent with the bug net unzipped, and spiders got in. SPIDERS. INSIDE THE TENT. WITH ME. ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!

Attempt #4:  I did it. I finally did it. I went out at 11:30pm, and I read 36 pages of Bear Attacks of the Century: True Stories of Courage and Survival, and I dozed intermittently until a flock of turkeys started making a lot of noise at 7:15am.

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Pre-trip Gear Testing: Tent, Pad, Bag

Posted on June 26, 2014 by adventurestan

I didn’t do any actual hiking with all my new gear before I started the trail, but I did make sure I tried everything out at least once, and I spent a few nights camping in my parents’ back yard.

I wouldn’t really say it went all that well.

It took me almost twenty minutes to set up my tent the first time. I guess that’s not terrible, and surely someone has taken longer, but we’re not talking about a complicated piece of equipment here. There is one pole. There are two stakes. All the Youtube videos show people throwing that thing up in under a minute. Consequently, I did not feel the warm sense of pride I hoped to feel once I finished, although that might possibly be due to the fact that my mother and father spent those twenty minutes standing in the window of their family room, waving at me and ignoring the increasingly rude gestures I kept making as I tried to get them to go away.

But I got the stupid thing up, and eventually my parents got tired of taunting me, so I moved on to Stage 2:  Putting Things Inside.

First up, my sleeping pad. I blew it up. I carefully placed it in the center of the bathtub floor. I crawled inside to lie down. DENIED. The mattress immediately slid to far left edge of the tent. I repositioned it. Sadly, that did not help.

Fun fact #1:  Turns out silicone-coated nylon, or silnylon, is really slippery. Like, really fucking slippery, even if you put dots or lines of silicone sealer all over it. I ended up cutting a torso-length section of Slip-Stop shelf liner to put under the pad, which added two more ounces to my base weight, but at least allowed me to turn over without sending the pad shooting out from under me.

Then I unrolled the sleeping bag, crawled inside, zipped it up and tried to get comfortable.

Fun fact #2: If you are a restless side sleeper trying to stay balanced on a ThermaRest NeoAir inside a silnylon tent while zipped into a mummy bag with zero pad attachment points, it is not going to work. You are going to fall off the pad.

So, fine, I decided I would just use my sleeping bag as a quilt. Why not?! Sure, it would have made more sense to spend a little more money for an actual quilt, but unfortunately I didn’t realize I was definitely a quilt person until I’d already cut all the tags off my brand new bag.

Here is a tip: Do not cut all the tags off your brand new gear until you are sure you really really really really like it. I do not care how much you enjoy cutting off tags; you will regret it later.

So yeah. That was two hours of my life, from start to finish, that I am never ever getting back. I found the entire experience very demoralizing and didn’t bother trying to sleep in the tent until four nights later.

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Ethical Dilemmas

Posted on June 26, 2014 by adventurestan

One thing that quickly struck me about life on the Appalachian Trail is how easily hikers share personal information, not just about themselves, but also what they’ve learned about other hikers. I’m guessing it’s due to the perceived anonymity of trail names coupled with the feelings of intimacy created by the shared experience of hiking. Anyone with a backpack becomes part of your friendship circle, and it’s habit to talk about friends with other friends, so exchanges like these become commonplace:

“Have you met [Hiker A] yet? Great guy. He’s in the military. Did he tell you about how he and his best friend have an arrangement to sleep with one another’s wives while they’re deployed.”

“Did you pass [Hiker B] this morning? No? That’s too bad, I’ve been wondering how she’s doing. Her boyfriend cheated on her right before she left, and she’s been having some pretty terrible mood swings. Tell her I say hi if you catch up to her!”

Deeply personal details become part of the shorthand description you give to other hikers when you’re trying to figure out which acquaintances you share.

“Do you know [Hiker C]? Blond hair, mid twenties, works as a geologist I think, older brother died last year from cancer? You do?! Isn’t she great? I’m hoping to catch up to her by the next town stop.”

I’m always half-gleeful about hearing interesting gossip and half-horrified over how casually people hand over these secrets that don’t actually belong to them. I very quickly realized the trail should be treated like the internet:  Don’t share anything unless you’re fine with the whole world knowing it; privacy is very much not guaranteed.

I have jotted down so many second-hand anecdotes, taken hundreds of photographs of people who are sweaty and exhausted, and witnessed a not-insignificant number of people behaving in ridiculous, hilarious, embarrassing ways. That stuff makes the BEST stories, but I’m really not interested in sharing anything negative that could be linked back to a hiker’s real identity.

When I photograph people, even in groups, I do always ask for permission. Some people have said no; others have said yes, with the caveat that I either not post it online or give them veto power first. The vast majority have just said, “Sure!”

I feel pretty comfortable posting photos of people and identifying them by trail name if they’re sober, aren’t doing anything shifty or foolish, look as presentable as a hiker can expect to look, and didn’t expressly ask me not to post, especially if I’m not also sharing any incriminating or embarrassing anecdotes.

If I’m sharing a personal story I heard second-hand, I won’t use an identifiable name and won’t post a photograph.

If I’m sharing a story involving something I witnessed firsthand that paints the subject in a questionable light, I might post a photograph but definitely won’t use an identifiable name.

My mother has been obsessively reading trail journals kept by other hikers who started around the same time I did, and she actually managed to find a few different photos of me posted in various places and an anecdote attached to my real first name. (At the time, I was pretty pleased to be “nice” Sarah, but now I kind of want to challenge the other Sarahs to a fistfight or maybe a dance-off to see if I can’t upgrade to “sassy” or “smart”. I can barely keep myself alive in the woods, though, so I’m happy to pass on “with black dog”. Also? It is a very good thing I really love my mother and do not ever anticipate needing to hide from her, as it is clear I will be unable to successfully do so.)

This experience really brought home the fact that, while I desperately want to talk at length about the terrible snorer who drove me out of the Fontana Hilton shelter at 3am and the kid who started his hike wearing 11-pound carpenter jeans and carrying a machete, I DO NOT want them or their family members to stumble across those stories.

(To my fellow hikers:  If I ever post a photo of you or a story about you that you want removed, just let me know.)

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Blogging on the Trail

Posted on June 26, 2014 by adventurestan

My goal was to set up this blog before I left for the trail. I bought a new tablet and a data plan and dreamed of writing entries every day. Friends and family could follow my progress! New acquaintances would be kept apprised of my current location! Life would be bathed in a sweet rosy glow and nothing would ever hurt.

But dreams die.

If you don’t bring the right cable to connect the new camera you don’t really know how to use to the new tablet you also don’t really know how to use,  you can’t upload any photos.

If you do not already know how to make a blog entry, the best time to try to teach yourself is not in a tent at night after you’ve spent 10+ hours dragging a 30+ lb backpack along the trail.

T-Mobile may be the most convenient pay-as-you-go carrier to have if you spend a lot of time outside the US and don’t want a contract, but coverage along the trail in Georgia and North Carolina is almost nonexistent. Even if you possessed the proper photo-uploading technology and the requisite blog-posting knowledge, it’s worthless without a reliable signal.

I started hiking north from Amicalola Falls on April 19 and got off the trail at Clingman’s Dome on May 18 to fly to Oregon for my mother’s surgery. I kept a journal! I took a lot of photographs! I talked to a lot of people! I only fell down six times! Unfortunately, I just didn’t manage to share any of it in realtime.

But I have a new dream! I’d like to upload the entries from that first month before I get back on the trail the first (or maybe second?) week of July and then continue to make regular entries whenever I’ve got a wifi connection. I wouldn’t necessarily bet any real money on that happening yet, but I would definitely bet some internet money.

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Preparation! Planning! Purchasing! Packing!

Posted on April 2, 2014 by adventurestan

In January 2014 I made the decision to tackle the AT and spent the rest of the winter and early spring preparing for the hike. This mostly involved spending a lot of time browsing through the forums at WhiteBlaze, ordering any piece of gear mentioned positively by at least three different thru-hikers, reading whatever hiking memoirs were available from the Kindle store for less than five dollars, and trying to ignore all the people talking about the importance of training regimens or shakedown hikes. I didn’t want to do actual physical prep for a couple of reasons:

  • It is cold and rainy in Oregon during the winter and spring, and I am a delicate dainty flower;
  • I grew up listening to stories about hikers being MURDERED by RENEGADE MARIJUANA FARMERS in the VERY DANGEROUS OREGON WILDERNESS, so I remain convinced that hiking alone off-season is fraught with danger;
  • What if I injure myself before the trip?? Better not risk it!

The UPS delivery guy got a lot of exercise delivering all my packages, though. Every day something new arrived. It felt like I managed to extend the Christmas season until early March. So many wonderful packages. So much bubble wrap. Such a tremendous hit to my bank account.

It was definitely a challenge trying to figure out what gear would work best for me and find a balance between price, availability, functionality and weight.

This is what I ended up taking on the trail:

[As soon as I figure out how to get my spreadsheet in here, you will know what I ended up taking on the trail. WordPress is really frustrating, and right now I bitterly resent every single person who’s ever told me to start a blog.]

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Current Adventure: The Appalachian Trail

Posted on April 1, 2014 by adventurestan

Someday, probably not any time in the near or semi-distant future, I am going to customize this blog. Oh yeah, it’s going to be so pretty and sleek. I’ll upload my packing lists! I’ll upload the questionnaire I give to potential travel buddies! I’ll hire someone to make me a sweet cartoon logo, I’ll have one of those fancy maps that shows all the places I’ve visited, and I’ll lovingly and painstakingly type out all my best travel adventure stories, like the one about getting menaced by wild dogs in Romania and the one about riding a pony into the middle of a yak herd in Mongolia and the one about going dogsledding above the Arctic Circle in Norway and the one about kayaking through the canals of Venice.

Someday, sweet blog, you will be gorgeous and perfect because I just spent $15.92 on the 2014 edition of Wordpress for Dummies, and by god, that money will not be wasted. But I’m on a bit of a time crunch, so for now this is going to be a pretty bare-bones blog about my current attempt to hike the Appalachian Trail.

Some background:  Last year I decided I wanted to become more outdoorsy and start doing some backpacking trips. I grew up in Oregon and had done my fair share of day hikes and car camping, but I’d never actually put a pack on my back and walked in one general direction for several days in a row.

The first trip I took was summiting Kilimanjaro in August 2013 with four friends from New England. We spent seven days hiking and covered… well, not a lot of distance, to be honest, but there was some hardcore elevation gain! Since this was my first time doing a multi-day hiking trip, I totally hired a personal porter to carry my daypack. NO SHAME! (That’s a lie. I was actually pretty ashamed.) But, ugh, it was a really hard climb, and there’s no way I’d have made it without help. Even with assistance, I had to be split off from my friends on summit night. They reached Uhuru Peak sometime around 6:30am, and I didn’t roll in until after 9am. At least I didn’t have to wait in line to get my picture taken with the sign. Ha! I cling to the tiny victories.

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On top of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania with my porter, John

I learned two valuable lessons from that trip:  (1) I have a super slow hiking pace; (2) I automatically want to punch anybody who tells me, “You’re almost at the top! It’s so worth it! You can do it!!” Seriously. I just want to punch them right in the face.

Three weeks later, in mid-September 2013, I set off with a friend from the UK to hike the Camino Frances pilgrimage route. It took us 41 days to hike approximately 500 miles from St. Jean Pied de Port in France to Santiago de Compostela in Spain, and we coordinated our hiking pace to rendezvous with a mutual friend who joined us for the last 10 days. I totally carried my own pack on this trip (go me!) and walked 100% of the trail, but we slept at hostels, ate in restaurants, and stopped at least four times a day for coffee and/or wine. I didn’t even bother taking a sleeping bag.

P1110944   P1110174   P1140358

Lessons learned from this trip:  (1) Oh my god, I really am very slow, I can’t actually blame my speed on elevation because even at sea level I’m like an elderly diseased snail; (2) I do not actually like hiking with people, where by “with” I mean “directly adjacent to”; (3) I most definitely do not like having a hiking schedule that’s set in stone, with no ability to say, “You know, this place looks good. I know we planned to go another three kilometers today, but I’m not going any farther,”; (4) ponchos are awesome; and (5) leather hiking boots are very much NOT awesome. They are, in fact, a terrible terrible terrible idea. So much pain. So many tears. Such a terrible case of plantar fasciitis.

By the end of 2013 I’d spent a week doing a fully-supported hike in Africa and six weeks hiking from hostel to hostel in Europe. In 2014 I wanted to do a long hike that required me to carry a tent and a stove and several days of food. My original plan was to do the Bibbulmun Track in western Australia, but then my mother found out she’d need to have brain surgery in the spring, and holy shit, that is serious business, and I did not want to be on the other side of the world while she’s recovering in case something goes wrong.

I started looking into long-distance hikes in the U.S. and pretty quickly decided to try to do a big chunk of the Appalachian Trail. I spent about five minutes seriously considering doing the Pacific Crest Trail before remembering I don’t actually have any outdoor skills yet. Some people are fine with jumping right off the deep end, but not me, no way, that is how you die horribly in a totally preventable accident. For my very first wilderness trip (for various definitions of “wilderness”), I am going to stick with a crowded trail that’s got frequent bail-out points, no grizzly bears, and is famous for trail angels giving out free food to passing hikers. The AT seemed like the perfect choice for a beginner.

Initially, I was just going to hike as far as I could by mid-August, but now I’m thinking I’d like to try to do the whole thing. The key word here is “try”. I have read a lot of AT hiker blogs in preparation for this trip (because reading is much easier than, say, doing shakedown hikes) and there are few things sadder than a blog written by someone who starts off like this:

“HERE I GO! I AM OFF TO SPRINGER TOMORROW! NOTHING WILL STOP ME UNTIL I REACH MAINE!! MAINE OR BUST!! I AM A HARDCORE CHAMPION WHO WILL NOT BE STOPPED!! I AM DOING FIFTY MILES THE FIRST DAY AND SIXTY MILES THE SECOND DAY AND I WILL BE AT KATAHDIN IN THREE MONTHS BECAUSE NOBODY IS BETTER THAN ME!! WOOOOOOOO!!”

and ends like this:

“I have been hiking for three days now, and boy it is harder than I thought. I am going home tomorrow because hiking is terrible and camping is terrible and I hate everything.”

I have read so many blogs like that! I don’t want this to be a failure blog! I don’t want to shout about how I’m totally going to hike 2000+ miles and then quit after 700 miles because I’m a quitting loser who quits stuff and will never succeed at anything ever and will die alone in a box in the rain with no friends because nobody likes a loser who quits and also fails.

That’s just depressing.

Instead, my plan is to just take it day by day and see how it goes. That way, if I do quit after some number of miles I can be all, “Check me out! I just hiked a bunch of miles because I am amazing and you should probably be giving me a cookie right about now.” On the off chance I DON’T quit, and I DO manage to hike the entire trail this year, I will be even more amazing and deserve even more cookies. I will also manage to casually work that fact into every conversation I have for the rest of my life. I am going to be so irritating if I finish this trail, oh man, you have no idea.

 

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