klkak
05-04-2008, 10:03 PM
I pulled this out of todays Anchorage Daily News Paper. Maybe it will give some folks something to think about before taking to the woods and trails.
CRAIG MEDRED
OUTDOORS
Published: May 3rd, 2008 10:51 PM
Last Modified: May 3rd, 2008 03:25 AM
When did everything become so much about the gear? Want to catch more fish? Buy a better -- and, of course, more expensive -- high-modulus graphite rod with state-of-the-art ceramic guides. Want to be safe from avalanches? Buy the latest beacon with digitized tracking. Want to be secure in your ocean kayak? Buy not only the best personal flotation device but a Gore-Tex dry suit too. Want to be faster on the bike? Buy a new ultra light weight carbon frame. Buy, buy, buy!
Pick up a lot of outdoor publications these days, and they look more like advertising supplements, right down to the quote-unquote "gear reviews."
Why not just run a pretty picture of the newest, hottest piece of gear and a headline simply saying, "Buy this!''?
Most of the stuff being reviewed has clearly never been out of an office anyway, let alone bashed, trashed and truly judged as to how it performs and wears.
I've used a fair bit of this state-of-the-art gear. Some is very, very good. Some is not.
One pair of trail-running shoes leaps to mind. They lasted one trip from Whittier overland to Carmen Lake in the Twentymile River drainage and then out by packraft to the Seward Highway. Side-hilling across scree slashed the sides right out of them. Obviously someone's choice of high-tech material for the uppers was based on something other than resistance to abrasion. Were the only issue here that expensive gear can fail, it would be irritating. But there is a bigger issue, a far bigger issue.
This focus on gear is overpowering the development of skill and judgment.
Don't learn to navigate in the wild; just get a better GPS to tell you where you are and some sort of satellite-signaling device to call for rescue in the event you get lost anyway. Don't laugh. I met a guy lost on a neighborhood ski trail near the edge of Chugach State Park above my house this winter. We stopped to chat because he was coming downhill on trail that most everyone else uses to go up the neighborhood ski loop. After I explained this, he responded that he'd just met another skier who told him the same thing. Then I noticed what I thought was a camera hanging from the strap of his rather large backpack. It was, in fact, a GPS.
This led to further discussion, which led to his asking for directions for getting back to where he'd begun his trek. Despite the GPS, he was -- shall we say -- a little confused.
That is not meant as any sort of condemnation. Anyone who has spent time in the Alaska backcountry has been a little confused -- if not downright lost. And if you're going to get confused as to where you are, close to Anchorage is a good place to do it. I confess to having gone astray in wild places, once for more than a week. And gear is not what is important out there. Yeah, fancy gear is nice. I've got my share of it, probably more than my share. Because I'm a self-admitted weight weenie, high-tech is definitely a big plus. Sil-nylon tent flies or tarps are not only lighter than traditional urethane-coated nylon, they're stronger. The same goes for titanium tent pegs and cookware. Paddle shafts of carbon fiber are lighter, stronger and warmer in the hand than those of aluminum. No doubt high-tech gear can make you a lot more comfortable out there. But it won't zero out bad judgment or make up for a lack of skill. Shaped skis will make you a better skier, but ski into terrain above your skill level and you're still going to be in a heap of trouble.
New avalanche beacons will make it easier for your friends to find you if you're caught in an avalanche. But if the sense of security provided by the beacon leads you to push things to where you end up triggering an avalanche that buries you 20 feet deep, you're toast anyway. And no gear yet invented will build you a fire.
How many people reading this know how to build a fire, really know how to build a fire? Because no matter how good your gear, if you spend enough time in-country, there is going to come a day when a fire -- the oldest, most basic of man's "tools'' -- is going to become a godsend, maybe a lifesaver. Yes, there are high-tech gadgets that can help with fire building. But that $60 indestructible, weatherproof, windproof lighter isn't worth anything if you don't know how and where to find tinder and how to nurture the first little flames that spring from it into tongues of fire lapping at the twigs that feed the flames that grow until you can pile trees limbs or driftwood into a bonfire that provides the heat to rewarm a body or dry some clothes.
A hundred years ago in Alaska, everybody knew how to build a fire. It was such an important skill Jack London wrote a short story about it, a short story about a man who died merely because he built his fire in the wrong place. The story became well-read American literature. Some still read it to this day. It underlines a wilderness reality: Survival really isn't so much about gear as it is about skill and judgment. That was true in London's day and remains so today. You never know when technology might fail you, as it did poor James Kim in the mountains of Oregon. Remember James Kim? His plight made national news a couple years ago after he droves his family out of cell phone range into the snowy Coast Range mountains. His family was eventually found and rescued by searchers, but Kim -- who tried to hike out for help -- died.
He made some bad decisions, and he lacked wilderness survival skills. He was, in that regard, not much different than some of the Alaskans who, sadly, die almost every winter because they buy the latest in go-anywhere, do-anything, high-tech snowmachines. They ride them far but don't know how to survive -- or are unprepared to do so -- when they break down. Now go buy some more gear.
CRAIG MEDRED
OUTDOORS
Published: May 3rd, 2008 10:51 PM
Last Modified: May 3rd, 2008 03:25 AM
When did everything become so much about the gear? Want to catch more fish? Buy a better -- and, of course, more expensive -- high-modulus graphite rod with state-of-the-art ceramic guides. Want to be safe from avalanches? Buy the latest beacon with digitized tracking. Want to be secure in your ocean kayak? Buy not only the best personal flotation device but a Gore-Tex dry suit too. Want to be faster on the bike? Buy a new ultra light weight carbon frame. Buy, buy, buy!
Pick up a lot of outdoor publications these days, and they look more like advertising supplements, right down to the quote-unquote "gear reviews."
Why not just run a pretty picture of the newest, hottest piece of gear and a headline simply saying, "Buy this!''?
Most of the stuff being reviewed has clearly never been out of an office anyway, let alone bashed, trashed and truly judged as to how it performs and wears.
I've used a fair bit of this state-of-the-art gear. Some is very, very good. Some is not.
One pair of trail-running shoes leaps to mind. They lasted one trip from Whittier overland to Carmen Lake in the Twentymile River drainage and then out by packraft to the Seward Highway. Side-hilling across scree slashed the sides right out of them. Obviously someone's choice of high-tech material for the uppers was based on something other than resistance to abrasion. Were the only issue here that expensive gear can fail, it would be irritating. But there is a bigger issue, a far bigger issue.
This focus on gear is overpowering the development of skill and judgment.
Don't learn to navigate in the wild; just get a better GPS to tell you where you are and some sort of satellite-signaling device to call for rescue in the event you get lost anyway. Don't laugh. I met a guy lost on a neighborhood ski trail near the edge of Chugach State Park above my house this winter. We stopped to chat because he was coming downhill on trail that most everyone else uses to go up the neighborhood ski loop. After I explained this, he responded that he'd just met another skier who told him the same thing. Then I noticed what I thought was a camera hanging from the strap of his rather large backpack. It was, in fact, a GPS.
This led to further discussion, which led to his asking for directions for getting back to where he'd begun his trek. Despite the GPS, he was -- shall we say -- a little confused.
That is not meant as any sort of condemnation. Anyone who has spent time in the Alaska backcountry has been a little confused -- if not downright lost. And if you're going to get confused as to where you are, close to Anchorage is a good place to do it. I confess to having gone astray in wild places, once for more than a week. And gear is not what is important out there. Yeah, fancy gear is nice. I've got my share of it, probably more than my share. Because I'm a self-admitted weight weenie, high-tech is definitely a big plus. Sil-nylon tent flies or tarps are not only lighter than traditional urethane-coated nylon, they're stronger. The same goes for titanium tent pegs and cookware. Paddle shafts of carbon fiber are lighter, stronger and warmer in the hand than those of aluminum. No doubt high-tech gear can make you a lot more comfortable out there. But it won't zero out bad judgment or make up for a lack of skill. Shaped skis will make you a better skier, but ski into terrain above your skill level and you're still going to be in a heap of trouble.
New avalanche beacons will make it easier for your friends to find you if you're caught in an avalanche. But if the sense of security provided by the beacon leads you to push things to where you end up triggering an avalanche that buries you 20 feet deep, you're toast anyway. And no gear yet invented will build you a fire.
How many people reading this know how to build a fire, really know how to build a fire? Because no matter how good your gear, if you spend enough time in-country, there is going to come a day when a fire -- the oldest, most basic of man's "tools'' -- is going to become a godsend, maybe a lifesaver. Yes, there are high-tech gadgets that can help with fire building. But that $60 indestructible, weatherproof, windproof lighter isn't worth anything if you don't know how and where to find tinder and how to nurture the first little flames that spring from it into tongues of fire lapping at the twigs that feed the flames that grow until you can pile trees limbs or driftwood into a bonfire that provides the heat to rewarm a body or dry some clothes.
A hundred years ago in Alaska, everybody knew how to build a fire. It was such an important skill Jack London wrote a short story about it, a short story about a man who died merely because he built his fire in the wrong place. The story became well-read American literature. Some still read it to this day. It underlines a wilderness reality: Survival really isn't so much about gear as it is about skill and judgment. That was true in London's day and remains so today. You never know when technology might fail you, as it did poor James Kim in the mountains of Oregon. Remember James Kim? His plight made national news a couple years ago after he droves his family out of cell phone range into the snowy Coast Range mountains. His family was eventually found and rescued by searchers, but Kim -- who tried to hike out for help -- died.
He made some bad decisions, and he lacked wilderness survival skills. He was, in that regard, not much different than some of the Alaskans who, sadly, die almost every winter because they buy the latest in go-anywhere, do-anything, high-tech snowmachines. They ride them far but don't know how to survive -- or are unprepared to do so -- when they break down. Now go buy some more gear.