Max was almost naked. He was in his boxer briefs and his hiking boots. That’s it. No shirt, no pants, no problem. Except it was December 28 and we were climbing Mt. Washington.
It’s the tallest mountain in the Northeast and home of some of the craziest weather in the U.S. It’s not a mountain to be taken lightly, even with its modest height. But on that day, the temperature was above average and we were exerting a lot of energy. The result was a lot of sweat and steam and a semi-naked hiker.
Max was 18 at the time and fit as a fiddle so he looked good without a shirt on. I was in my early forties and not so fit. I don’t look so good without a shirt, so I kept it on. And my pants. They stayed on too. I did take off a few layers but the sweat still trickled down my back and into the crack of my behind. Not pleasant.
What I remember from that day - aside from hiking with a nearly naked kid (and another older guy and a guide) - was carrying a huge backpack. We needed to because we were going to camp on the mountain, and, well, it was Mt. Washington at the end of December. We carried a heavy-duty tent, extra clothes, plenty of food and water, crampons, ice axes, and whole bunch of other stuff. And it was heavy. Like really heavy.
I didn’t think anything much about all this weight I was carrying. It was my first winter hiking/camping trip and I knew nothing. I relied on my guide and the place that rented us the gear to keep us warm and safe and they did. It was a successful trip. We summited the next day and got off the mountain.
That trip ignited something in me and led me to do a series of other winter hikes, which soon turned into ice climbing. Nothing too dangerous or crazy, just some pretty popular beginner to intermediate climbs like Cinema Gulley, the Standard Route on Frankenstein, Pinnacle Gulley on Mt. Washington’s Huntingon Ravine, and a few others.
With each trip I learned how to take less stuff. I discovered what I needed and what I didn’t need, and which items I didn’t really need but added enough to the trip make them worth bringing (so-called “luxury items”). This took strain off my back and allowed me to hike/climb a little faster. But as I got a little older, put on a little more weight, and got a little more out of shape, I got away from hiking and climbing.
After a respite of a few years, I knew I needed to get back outdoors. It was beckoning me. This time around, I decided to do something different. A 278-mile hike of the Long Trail. It was time to replace the ice, snow, and cold with heat, rain, bugs, and the infamous Vermont mud…
My Evolution
To get ready for my new adventure, I put together a list of stuff I thought I'd need for a long-distance hike. I quickly realized it was going to be pretty much the same for a weekend hike. Some of the gear I already had, some needed upgrading, some needed to be purchased. My guiding principle was to go as light as possible. I didn't want to carry the kind of weight I did on Mt. Washington. I knew that wouldn't be any fun. But then again, I'll be hiking in August instead of December so certain things like an ice axe won't be necessary.
As I considered my gear choices, I tried to choose the lightest pieces possible. I did this with my tent, rain jacket, backpack, clothes, cooking stuff, sleep system, etc. Just about everything. I weighed it all and created a page on lighterpack.com to keep track of it.
My goal was the “magical” 10 lbs. base weight that (arbitrarily) makes you an “ultralight” hiker. Base weight is the weight of your pack and everything in it except food and water. Not sure why I got obsessed with getting to this arbitrary number but it helped in one sense as I was able to sharpen my decision-making in what to bring and what to leave behind. We often pack our fears after all.
What if I get lost? What if I twist an ankle? What if I lose this piece of gear or that piece of gear? What if I get attacked by a herd of deer? What if it snows in August? The next thing you know, you’re carrying a 50 lbs. of shit and inadvertently increasing your odds of getting hurt. Your back, your leg muscles, your joints, your feet, all take a pounding as you grind out the miles with a heavy pack. And you go slower so you’re out on the trail for a longer period of time. More importantly, if there is a serious weather event moving in, the extra weight can slow you down and put you in danger.
So where’s the line between safety and speed? Between comfort and suffering? Or more accurately, where’s that line for me? It’s different for all of us. I think the truest answer is whatever makes you feel comfortable enough to get there based on your objective. Hike your own hike and all that.
But I do think if you don’t put enough thought into it, you may never want to get out there again. Too much stuff may cause injury or just make the hike a slog. Too little stuff could make you miserable when it rains or gets cold or, worse, put you in serious danger (what Andrew Skurka calls being “stupid light”).
After thinking about it and obsessing about it for longer than I probably should have, I finally recalibrated. My shakedown hike of the Pemi Loop a few weeks before helped a lot. I realized I wasn’t going to get to the “magical” (albeit, arbitrary) base weight of 10 lbs. (I'm stuck at about 13 lbs.)
I learned I wanted to have “camp shoes” so I could get out of my trail runners and give my feet a breather. I discovered I wanted a pillow instead of using my spare clothes as a makeshift one (some of which I needed to keep warm at night). I realized I wanted to have a cup of hot coffee in the morning and a cooked meal at night so I needed a cooking stove. I knew I wanted a tracking GPS device so I could communicate with family or, if necessary, emergency personnel, so I borrowed a Garmin inReach (thanks, Steve!).
I share this because I found certain segments of the hiking sub-culture to be crazy obsessed with weight (the so-called gram-weenies) and I got caught up in it. It's easy to do because at some level it makes a lot of sense. Even though I have a couple "luxury items", I still largely subscribe to it. Adventure Alan makes a strong case for the ultralight hiking philosophy in this piece.
But while it's important to be cognizant of how much you're carrying, hiking is ultimately about what you are trying to get out of it. In other words, it's figuring out what your objective is and having the right gear to accomplish it. Hiking legend Andrew Skurka wrote a great article about this very topic that I highly recommend.
As a result, I came to peace with the fact that I won't be carrying a 10 lbs. base weight. I would have had to forgo a few of the things that would make my hike a better experience and I wasn't ready to do that. For example, an inflatable pillow will help me sleep better so I'm better rested. Sandals (i.e., my camp shoes) will give my feet a break when I'm in camp. My inReach Garmin will allow me to reassure family members I'm safe or get help if I need it, no matter where I am on the trail.
And no need to get naked. I'll keep my clothes on for everyone's sake. The weight savings aren't worth subjecting anyone to that!
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*P.S. Max ended up summiting Mt. Everest the following year (honestly, that's his summit photo) and Denali a few years after that. The kid has no fear. But I suspect he kept his clothes on for those climbs.
