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1/5/2009

I was cruising the net today looking for things to write about and decided to check out the rumours of what may be the best thing to hit backpacking in many years, the generating backpack frame. Patented as the Suspended Load Frame in 1995 this hi tech but experimental build generates 7 Watts of DC power from waste energy harvested from the hiker's vertical body movement. This is the new gear everybody wants, but there seems to be nothing around for us to buy that has it. So, what's happened to the idea? I've tracked down the inventor and I'll try to find out.

The reason serious packers want this: it cuts down on battery weight. The main reason a device like the Etrex GPS I also wrote about here on Hubs is not worthwhile on long treks is the weight of the batteries it needs. My old Etrex goes through two AA's every twelve hours, even if it can't see through the trees. Emergency cell phones, LED flashlights, and whatever else you can imagine could all be featherlight on the trail with this new power source.

People testing the prototype said that the pack was more comfortable as well, the generation system sucking up some of the bounce and turning it into Watts, like putting your pack on shock absorbers. This could turn the pack world upside down again, if the only application of the new tech is the old external frame.

But it's been years since the patent was issued--where's my new pack?! The clue may be in the original press release, which mentioned the U.S. military as a customer with considerable interest. Military loads sometimes contain as much as twenty pounds of battery weight to run the high tech gear of the modern battlefield. When a new technology arrives, who gets it first? The military. The rest of us have to wait until whatever is top secret gets leaked, or replaced by something better. The technology gap is about twenty years wide between the military and civilian worlds.

Let's see, that means we have about sixteen years to wait.  Darn.

For over fifty years, wilderness backpacking has been my recreation of choice. I don't care much for resorts, or cities, or tourist traps; if I have time off I head for the back country. I'll drive for days in order to spend days in places where I won't see people. A hike is a success if I go far enough into the hard places that I camp without neighbors.

If I had a chance to start this again, I'd do things a lot differently, especially now that the choice of gear has improved so much over what was available the first time I put together a kit for adventuring. Back then I had a lot of wrong ideas about what I needed, and the things I could buy (if I had the sense and the money) were not nearly so good as what is on the market now. Some things I've tried stood the test of time, and when I hike they still go with me; most things have been replaced, not once but many times, either by better things or by gear I hoped would be better. If I had the kit I have now, back in 1972 when I hit the trail alone for the first time, I'd have suffered much less and had a better time.

It's important to begin without mistakes--at least without poor choices of equipment. Errors in judgement and overcoming the problems that result are just part of the fun. The lure of trekking goes beyond the appreciation of solitude and scenery; wilderness travel is freedom and independence and all the responsibility that goes with that. You're on your own out there. If you have troubles, you deal with them yourself. There's no reason to take extra trouble with you, though, and you can avoid much pointless misery by starting out with the right gear.

The first backpack I ever owned was the cheapest model that REI sold back then, a fairly sturdy aluminum frame that held a single chamber ripstop nylon bag with two pockets and a map compartment under the top flap. Anything else was extra. As a kid or in the Army I'd never had anything quite that fancy, and I felt like it was probably more than I needed. I didn't even spring for the padded hip belt, feeling pretty sure that the wide nylon web belt that came with it would be good enough. I tried it on in the store and it felt weightless and magical.

On the trail it was a different beast. I seldom carried less than 45 pounds in it, and that nylon strap cut into my hips like an angled iron bar. The third time I packed into the mountains for a weekend's outing, that same strap pulled loose from the pack frame and I had to patch it together with nylon cord from my tent rigging. I suppose it was a good pack, because I carried it for hundreds of miles and many years, still patched with that same cord, before I gave it up for something better. The first time I tried something better, I regretted not spending more money on a backpack in 1972. Better was available even back then.

If you want to go backpacking, you probably have done some day hiking with a light day pack, and you probably have a pair of shoes you like, already. If you want to get away from the day hiker crowds and hit the country that most people never see, you need a way to carry the essentials of life. That's the purpose of the backpack, to get you that far without trashing your body. With the worst of them, you'll have no fun and you'll probably have to turn around and go home, convinced this was a really bad idea. With the best of them, there will still be hardship and pain. Becoming a backpacker is like taking up golf; someone with experience needs to ask you first, if you are really sure you want to do this.

For those of you who do, the information in the rest of this article will be of help.

Fashion trends apply to backpacking as to any other sport. Fifty years ago I'd still see people on the trails with homemade wooden pack frames and canvas packs, the design that had been popular until aluminum tubes and nylon became the hot item. Now that internal frames are so common, the focus of the marketplace has shifted to them, and the old external frame packs are becoming legacy equipment. REI offers one in its current catalog; everything else is internal frame equipment.

The major problem with the older external pack design was clumsiness. The old packs were wider than the average human, and the top of the load sat higher than your head. Although the weight of the load rode on the hips (ideally) the frame itself kept the load behind you, shifting your center of gravity back and up. If you have a heavy load (if you are going far and for more than two or three days you'll need one) you'll have to lean forward. Most of the scenery you see will be about three feet in front of you, on the ground. If you do any bushwhacking (off the trail travel) you'll find you don't fit between the trees very well at all. Although many people don't use hiking staffs, I never hit the trail without one (well, not since that tragic incident in 75 when I made a misstep and had to drag my leg seven miles back to the car). There are too many moments when, in some dicey area, you need three feet instead of two.

The internal frame packs bring the load closer to your back--in fact, they bring it right up against your back, conforming to it. That makes proper selection and fitting very important; packs don't come in one-size-fits-all patterns any more. Chest size, torso height, and waist size all come into play. If you want a pack that fits, go to a store where the people will help you out. Have them load it up with 45 pounds and fit it to you. Then if you want to shop for bargains online, look for that same model and no other.

Some models offer more head room by bending the frame (and load) back in the space above the shoulders. That's a small advantage but a nice comfort point, and will allow you to lift your head from its focus on the dirt and look at pretty things. It won't solve the issue I have. I always wear a wide brim hat, and most of the time whenever I look up, my pack knocks my hat loose. I have solutions, but none of them perfect.

An internal frame pack is narrower than an external design--typically not wider than the torso of an average human. This pulls the load even tighter toward the body center, and the result is a more upright and maneuverable stance on the trail. You won't be so tippy, and when you get off the trail you won't be so apt to get stuck between trees.

Internal frame packs are designed for modern equipment because of their narrow dimensions. If you have older and wider gear of other kinds, you will have to scrap that as well (sleeping mats, tents, etc.). Carrying volume can actually exceed that of the older style packs. The external frames are great for strapping things on, way beyond what the manufacturer expected a sane person to do, which is sometimes what you have to do when you're undertaking a long hike and have to eat your way through the pack load. Some allow you to easily remove the pack itself from the frame and use the frame by itself to pack other gear or game, an excellent feature for hunters with a heavy kill to carry back to camp, and also for canoeists who have a lot of cargo to portage.

One drawback of the internal frame design is heat. The pack rides right against the skin of your back. In all conditions, from tropical to arctic, you will sweat when you hike with a heavy load. Since the major advantage that shifted me over to external frame packs from the canvas-and-shoulder-strap military packs I had grown up with was the simple luxury of having space between me and the load, where air could flow, I find this concerning. If I were climbing in the high country, where balance was a moment to moment issue, I'd go with the internal frame. On a trail I know, where it's easy traveling, I'd choose the external. The better internal designs use foam pad barriers, breathable fabric, and advanced engineering to overcome the heat issues. In fact, if you are new to the vocation, and you start with an internal frame pack and appropriate gear for it, you may not notice the problems at all.

My experience causes me to believe that it's worth the money to start out with the best equipment. With that in mind, if I was shopping for equipment for the first time today I'd look for the best internal frame pack I could find. At REI the Osprey Aether 70 is very highly rated by those who've put it to use, and many people like it well enough that they've taken the time to praise it in the review section. With that many satisfied customers talking, it's definitely worth a closer look. One of the comments which drew my attention spoke about the load bearing comfort of this pack with loads over 35 pounds. Many less advanced packs are comfortable with lighter loads but require constant readjustment with heavier cargo. Part of the reason the Aether 70 excels beyond that 35 lb tipping point is the custom molding of the hip belt. This requires a special oven and is done in-store at specific REI outlets. A hip belt molded to fit your unique body structure is much less likely to cause friction sores or slip under heavy loads. The Aether 70 also features a foam harness designed to overcome the ventilation issues where back meets pack, with fabric that wicks moisture away from that critical area. A sheet of polyurethane armor keeps pointy cargo from digging into your soft spots. Hydration bladders are available but cost extra (I'm still fond of my external canteens anyway) and the top pocket can be completely removed and used as a fanny pack, for the emergency kit we all should have enough sense to carry with us whenever we wander away from camp.

In theory, I can get all the pertinent extras of this pack by lashing them here and there on my old external frame model, but the Aether 70 combines them all in a compact and efficient package that exceeds the quality of anything I could piece together on my own.

In spite of marketing pressures to shift from old to new and create sales volume, the old external frame packs are here to stay. This old style is actually very different from the one I bought in '72. Frames are available to fit the person, with a multitude of adjustable straps that will customize the experience, bringing the ancient clumsy pack system much closer to the stability of the new internal frame designs. These modern packs require an instruction manual to set up properly, but once you do they are genuinely better than the primal version.

Ventilation is, of course, the major virtue of the old style. The balance issues are no more troublesome than learning to ride a bike (very very slowly). The new model packs aren't so thick as the old ones, so the center of gravity isn't so far back. Most have more pockets than my old REI, so a little creative weight distribution can greatly improve the trail experience. Modern packs usually have multiple compartments in the main bag, so you can split up your gear into "must have" and "need later" categories, but only the external packs have the space and tie points you need for strapping on extra gear.

The Kelty Trekker combines the best of old and new. Storage volume is nearly as large as the Osprey Aether, with six pockets rather than two, which makes a lot of difference in terms of convenience on the trail. Each of these packs has a main compartment and a separate compartment for storing a sleeping bag. I never use that compartment for a sleeping bag, preferring to tie mine onto the lower part of the frame, inside a stuff bag. That "bag" compartment is where I put food and cooking gear. People who use the Kelty and care enough to talk about it mention the wonderful ventilation it allows; that's a hard problem to ignore unless you really don't know any better.

What any backpacker knows is that there is no perfect solution, only the devil you like the best. Backpacking is one long string of one foot after another, every step the toughest, and an occasional glance upward from the dirt in front of you to the wonders around you. When you swing a pack to your shoulder and fit your arms into the straps, you weld yourself to the weight of the world. It's the most intimate way to travel.

Take a break for a moment and witness Jason Klass's view of the internal frame Mariposa; you may find his fascination with a minor detail of rigging to be mystifying. It's actually typical of someone who thinks of advantage in terms of weight and economy of movement.  To a backpacker, ounces are pounds and leaps are measured in inches, rather than feet.

My old REI clunker finally wore out when I tried to haul a fifty pound inflatable raft and a day's worth of gear four miles up a rough trail, all so I could float back down a few miles of back country river. It just didn't work very well, and even though I enjoyed the downriver run I swore I'd never use that backpack again. Instead, I bought a Coleman, on sale at a local sporting goods store. It was a discontinued model but very lightweight, with a padded hip belt and all sorts of pockets and adjustments. I thought it might get me through the summer if I was careful.

Here I am, years later, and the Coleman is still in fine shape. Lightweight appearances did not mean it's a flimsy pack; it has turned out to be very durable on the trail, capable of hauling both heavy loads and light ones. Nothing on it has broken, yet.

I wouldn't go so far as to call it comfortable. The belt does tend to ride down under heavy loads, but I would expect some of that from even the best of packs. There are enough adjustment options that on the bad days I can change things around a bit and put the load on different sore spots at different times, which is all I ask from a pack. There's room at the bottom of the frame to lash on a sleeping bag or a pad or both; two zippered main compartments to organize your gear and arrange emergency access; a mesh pocket for long gear, and zippered pockets for less weatherproof items. Two stout loops sewn into the top flap let me lash on a roll of rain gear or a larger tent, if I'm out with a partner. The Bozeman X 60 has options for a water bladder, the modern substitute for the canteen; my older Coleman pack does not, but I prefer a free hanging canteen anyway, something I can take with me on short hikes away from camp without lugging the main pack along.

Not everything about backpacking has to be expensive.  You can spend a lot on gear, or a little; less money usually means a lot more weight.  For the finer ultralight gear you will have to part with more cash and give up some features.  Ultralight gear isn't always rugged.

Sometimes the best is still what you make at home for next to nothing.  A fine example of that is the backpacker's stove, which you can buy in propane, gasoline, alcohol, or wood twig versions; or make for yourself from a cat food tin, as in the next video.  A wood campfire might seem to be the easiest and most practical option, since you don't have to carry it with you, but in most places open fires are banned now.  Gasoline stoves have been the standard for decades, but gasoline is explosive and dangerous; alcohol burns clean and won't blow up if you make a mistake.   

If you really do insist on following the trends, the Coleman Chinkapin offers the balance of an internal frame without breaking the budget.  The capacity is greater in actual volume than the Bozeman, but that includes a sleeping bag compartment that's open space on the Chinkapin's frame, so it's essentially the same capacity with a different frame style.  Plenty of loops on the outside for hanging gear you can't stow inside. 

If you plan to do weekend trips and the small conveniences of pocket space don't mean anything to you, the Coleman Livingston is perfectly reasonable.  You might not want to walk the Grand Canyon with this rig, but for the Boy Scout camping trip this is plenty of pack. 

You'll only realize the limitations of the Coleman Twitch when you try to pack it for a three day trip and realize there's no room left for food. Day hikes in comfort match the potential of this pack, as do pleasant weekend outings. For anything more serious, think again.  It's really hard to explain why this rather nice little pack is so far from satisfactory.  Maybe it's because out on the trail, a few days from anywhere, things you wouldn't care about in the store or the living room suddenly become very important.  If you have to punch holes in your pack and rig some way to hang your gear where you can get to it, you won't be happy.  Extra options are very nice.

Wearing forty or fifty pounds in an awkward configuration makes a lot of things different--even little things like walking across a creek can be actually dangerous.  One of the dumbest things I ever tried was to cross a runoff creek only fifteen feet from bank to bank and just deep enough to put me in water up to the high part of my thighs.  The footing was good and the water wasn't too fast, but the temperature of it was just above the melting point of ice.  Two steps in and I could hardly move my legs.  I made it across, but just barely.

Just after that I developed some rules of procedure for crossing streams, in any weather.  Always unhook every strap but your shoulder straps, so the weight hangs from your shoulders and gives you traction, but is easy to slip out of if you stumble and go under.  If your pack starts to lift, floating up as it dips in the water, you've gone too far.  Turn around and find a different spot.  Always use a staff for three point balance, even in a moderate current.  Face downstream, lean on the staff when needed, and crabwise your way across.

Other people have different solutions to the same problem.  In the following short video Wolf Mills (aka Jason Klass) teaches his unique approach to the crossing of wilderness fast water.