The other items that need special treatment are those with durable water-repellent treatments (DWR), such as all waterproof-breathable garments, most wind shells and soft shells, and some fleeces. Dirt impairs water repellency, so it’s best to sponge or wipe it off as soon as possible. When water-repellent garments need washing, don’t use detergents, not even mild, environmentally friendly types like Ecover, since they can damage water repellency and also leave a residue in the fabric that attracts moisture. (That’s why detergent is so effective at cleaning, of course—it pulls water through fabrics.) Instead, garments should be washed with a soap such as Nikwax Loft Tech Wash, Granger’s Extreme Cleaner Plus, Blue Magic Tectron Pro Wash, Dri-Pak soap flakes, or Dr. Bronner’s liquid soap. These can all be used in washing machines, though you need to remove and clean the detergent dispenser and run a rinse cycle or two to make sure there’s no detergent left in the machine. If you do wash garments in detergent, rinsing them is not enough to get all the detergent out, no matter how many times you do it and no matter what the labels on the garments say. I no longer wash any garment with a water-repellent finish in detergent. Unfortunately, some garment washing instructions say detergent is OK. If you use detergent, you then need to wash the garment in liquid soap to remove detergent traces. The DWR may still be damaged and need reviving or replacing. Don’t have water-repellent garments dry-cleaned either—the solvents strip off all DWR.
Even if you use soap, DWR treatments will cease to work in time—after about ten washes, according to Granger’s. When this happens, dark, damp patches appear on the outside of the garment as it starts to absorb moisture, a process known as wetting out. Moisture absorption adds to weight and drying time and impairs breathability; condensation makes many wearers think their garments are leaking. Much work has gone into creating better DWR treatments. They certainly last much longer now than when they were first introduced, but they’re not permanent.
Garments with water-repellent finishes should be washed in soap products like these, not detergent, since detergents can damage the water repellency.
Care products for hiking garments can enhance and restore water repellency.
Water repellency can be revived with heat, which melts the original DWR and spreads it over the fabric. You can put the garment in a dryer, iron it, or even run a hair dryer over it. Keep the heat settings low so you don’t melt the fabric as well as the DWR. If you tumble-dry clothing, make sure all zippers are done up and flaps closed to minimize damage. One test showed that tumble-drying often damages coatings and membranes, leading to eventual leakage. Using an iron or a hair dryer is much safer. If applying heat doesn’t restore the DWR, then it needs replacing, which can be done with a wash-in waterproofing treatment like Nikwax TX, Granger’s Extreme Synthetics, or Blue Magic Tectron Wash-In Waterproofer. Check that you have the right treatment product for your garment. Nikwax makes TX-Direct for waterproof-breathable garments; PolarProof for fleece, synthetic insulation, and wool; and Cotton Proof and Soft Shell for those materials. Consult the label before treating garments. With some products that have wicking linings—lined rain gear and wind shells—only the outer should be treated, as DWR treatments can affect the wicking properties. For these garments you need a spray treatment such as Granger’s XT Water Repellent Spray, Granger’s Extreme UV Spray-On and Nikwax TX-Direct Spray-On.
During a trip, garment care is minimal; in cold and wet weather, it’s nonexistent. On walks of a week or less, I never wash anything; on longer ones, I rinse out underwear, socks, and any really grubby items every week or so, as long as it’s sunny enough for them to dry quickly. I don’t wash laundry in a stream or lake, of course; I fill a cooking pot (and clean it well afterward!) or even a waterproof stuff sack, using water from my large camp water container. The aim is to get rid of sweat, rather than stains and marks, so the garment functions again rather than looks smart. I don’t use soap for washing, since it can pollute. If you do, biodegradable soap is best and soapy wastewater should be poured into dry ground well away from streams or lakes. You can dry garments on a length of cord strung between two bushes or on the back of the pack as you walk. On walks lasting more than a few weeks, I try to find a laundromat when I stop in a town to pick up supplies. I don’t carry fabrics, like silk, that require special care, because I want to do one load and then tumble it dry on a hot setting. Because of the effect detergents can have on water-repellent treatments, I don’t wash any garments with a DWR finish in a laundromat unless I can find some soap powder.
Most outdoor clothing can be stored flat in drawers, but down- and synthetic-filled garments should be kept uncompressed on hangers so they maintain their full loft; even slight prolonged compression may permanently affect the loft of synthetic fills. Check zippers and fastenings before you put garments away, and make necessary repairs. It’s irritating to discover that a zipper needs replacing when you’re packing hastily for a trip.
chapter six
shelter
camping in the wilderness
[I]N CASE OF HEAVY RAIN I PROPOSED TO MAKE MYSELF A LITTLE TENT, OR TENTLET, WITH MY WATERPROOF COAT, THREE STONES, AND A BENT BRANCH.
—Travels with a Donkey, Robert Louis Stevenson
Silence. A ragged edge of pine trees, black against a starry sky. Beyond, the white slash of a snowy slope on the distant mountainside. A cocooned figure stirs, stretches. A head emerges from the warm depths, looks around in wonderment, then slumps back to sleep. Hours pass. The stars move. An animal cry, lonely and wild, slices through the quiet. A faint line of red light appears in the east as the sky lightens and a faint breeze ripples the grasses. The figure moves again and sits up, still huddled in the sleeping bag, then pulls on a shirt. A hand reaches out, and the faint crack of a match being struck rings around the clearing. A light flares, then a soft roar breaks the stillness and a pan is placed on the stove’s blue flame. The figure draws back into its shelter, waiting for the first hot drink and watching the dawn as the stars slowly fade and the strengthening sun turns the black shadows into rocks and, farther away, cliffs, every detail sharp and bright in the growing light. The trees turn green again as warm shafts of golden sunlight illuminate the silent figure. Another day in the wilderness has begun.
Nights and dawns like that—and ones when the wind rattles the tent and the rain pounds down—distinguish backpacking from day walking and touring from hut to hut, hostel to hostel, or hotel to hotel. On all my walks I seek those moments when I feel part of the world around me, when I merge with the trees and hills. Such times come most often and last longest when I spend several days and nights living in the wilderness.
DAWN
My campsite is near a lake backed by pale talus slopes and steep cliffs. The night sky is alive with stars and edged by the deeper blackness of surrounding forest and silhouetted mountains. I awake to the first rays of sunlight catching the highest peak. The lake shines green and gray, reflecting rocks and trees in its cool depths. How many other mornings have I waited for the sun, warm in my sleeping bag? The joy does not diminish.
We need shelter from cold, wind, rain, insects, and sometimes sun. It’s a necessary evil. I use a shelter only when I have to, which admittedly is much of the time. But if I can sleep outside reasonably comfortably with no barrier between me and the world except a sleeping bag, I do.
The kind of shelter you need depends on the terrain, the time of year, and how spartan you’re prepared to be. Some people like to sleep in a tent every night; others use one only in the worst conditions. Polar explorer Robert Peary never used a tent or a sleeping bag but slept outside in his furs, curled up beside his sled. Most mortals require a little more shelter than that. In ascending order of protection, shelters include bivouac bags, tarps, tents, and huts and lean-tos, with snow shelters as a snow country option.
BIVOUAC BAGS
Sleeping out under the stars, known as bivouacking, is the ideal way to spend a night in the wilderness. The last things you see before you
fall asleep are the stars and the dark edges of trees and hills. At dawn you wake to the rising sun and watch color and movement return to the world. These most magical times of day are lost to those inside a tent.
Of course, since the weather can be unkind and is often changeable, instead of sunlight you may wake up to cold raindrops on your face. The simplest way to cope with weather changes is to use a waterproof bivouac bag, also called a bivy bag or a sleeping bag cover. This is a waterproof “envelope” you can slip your sleeping bag into when the weather turns wet or windy. More sophisticated (and usually heavier) designs have short poles or stiffened sections at the head to keep the bag fabric off your face. (Bags with poles at each end are really minitents, so I’ll explore them later, in the Tents section.)
In dry places like the Grand Canyon, a shelter may not be needed.
A chilly morning in the Sonora Desert, Arizona Trail, Tortilla Mountains, Arizona.
Bivy bags made from nonbreathable fabric are now rare. Sleep in one of these and you’ll get damp pretty quickly. Waterproof-breathable fabrics are much better, though some condensation is still possible in humid conditions. Gore-Tex is the standard fabric, though there are proprietary ones like Bibler’s ToddTex and Integral Designs’ Tegraltex as well as coated fabrics like Triplepoint (used by Exped). The extremely breathable eVENT fabric, which seems ideal for bivy bags (see pages 153–54) is starting to appear. Exped makes a 25-ounce eVENT bag. Highly breathable but not fully waterproof fabrics like Nextec’s EPIC are also used. These are less prone to condensation than waterproof fabrics and will keep off dew and light rain but not heavy rain. Most bivy bags have non-breathable, coated undersides. The idea is that your sleeping pad goes inside the bag and on top of the base, so there’s no point in making the bottom breathable. Some bags have straps inside to hold your pad in place. I prefer bags made wholly from waterproof-breathable fabric, however, since I like to put my pad under the bivy bag so the bag can move with me. I don’t want a nonbreathable layer above me, which can happen if I turn over with the bag while asleep or if I deliberately turn it over to put the leak-prone zipper under me, which is the best way to stay dry when it rains. Placing the pad under the bivy bag also protects the bag against abrasion and sharp stones and thorns. A bivy bag needs to be roomy enough to allow your sleeping bag to expand fully. If it compresses the sleeping bag, you’re likely to feel cold and uncomfortable. If the bag is too big, however, pockets of cold air can form where it doesn’t touch the sleeping bag, which is likely to lead to more condensation. All bags have hoods of some sort, closed with a zipper or drawcord and often backed by no-see-um netting—essential in bug season. The bigger bivy bags can hold some of your gear such as clothing. Weight depends on the fabric and the design but generally runs from 8 to 32 ounces.
Straight-across zippers or entrances closed by drawcords are adequate for occasional use and bags that will mostly be used as sleeping bag covers in shelters. More complex entrances with vertical, diagonal, or curved zippers that make getting in and out easier and allow you to sit up with the bag partly undone are worth considering only if you intend to bivouac regularly, since these features add weight and cost. Many models have bug netting behind the zippers so you don’t have to close the bag fully against biting insects. Hooped bivies keep the fabric off your face, but I find them claustrophobic because there’s so little room. I spent a night in one once, and that was enough. I prefer simple bags, which I close fully only in heavy rain, so my face is out in the air most of the time. If you need more space, a good nonclaustrophobic option is to combine a small tarp with a bivy bag. This isn’t as stable as a bivy bag with integral poles, but the setup can allow you room to cook under cover and doesn’t shut you into a tiny, dark space. Some people use a bivy bag under a full-sized tarp to protect their sleeping bags against any rain that might blow in.
Bivouac bags are light and convenient for places where pitching a tent might be difficult, such as in the lee of a boulder or under a spreading tree. However, while a good bivy bag will keep out rain and wind, you have to cook outside whatever the weather or the biting insects. Unless the night is calm, dry, and insect-free, I prefer to sleep in a tent or under a tarp and cook, eat, read, write, and contemplate the world in comfort. This doesn’t mean I never carry or use a bivy bag; there are situations, even when tent camping, when one comes in handy.
My first bivy bag was a 19-ounce Gore-Tex model with a horizontal zippered entrance covered by a flap. It once kept me and my down sleeping bag dry during several hours of heavy rain. That was many, many years ago, and that bag long ago started to leak. Because I don’t carry a bivy bag much anymore—I just sleep out in my sleeping bag and move into a shelter if the weather changes—I replaced it with a lighter-weight waterproof-breathable coated Pertex nylon bag, the Rab Survival Zone, which weighs just 8.5 ounces (though the current catalog weight is 12 ounces). The fabric is very thin and probably not that durable, but since I mostly carry it in winter as an emergency item and have slept in it on maybe a dozen occasions in eight years, it’ll last me a long while. I’ve also tried bags made from Tegraltex, ToddTex, and Sympatex. They all work much the same.
Even on calm, dry nights, condensation can be a problem with bivy bags. I once tested a bivy bag high on a bare mountainside on a clear and starry summer night. There was just a slight breeze, which I avoided by sleeping in a small hollow. By dawn, a thick, damp mist covered the ground. The outside of my bivy bag was wet, and there was a lot of condensation inside and on the outside of my sleeping bag. Turning the bivy bag inside out and draping it over a boulder along with the sleeping bag soon cleared the moisture as the mist faded and the sun rose. On colder nights I’ve awakened to find a layer of ice inside the bivy bag. Even if it doesn’t seem damp, it’s advisable to air your sleeping bag as soon as possible after a night in a bivy bag to get rid of any moisture it may have absorbed. Condensation is a reason for using bivy bags only on short trips or in mostly fine weather. It’s hard to keep your sleeping bag dry if the weather is damp for several days.
In winter I usually carry a bivy bag as a backup shelter and sometimes use it inside my tent or a snow shelter for extra warmth and to protect against dripping condensation. A bivy bag adds several degrees to the range of a sleeping bag.
Outdoor Research, Bibler, Exped, and Integral Designs all offer a range of bags in waterproof-breathable fabrics. I especially like the look of the Bibler Winter Bivy, made of EPIC and weighing just 9 ounces. Although not fully waterproof, this would be fine for use in tents and snow shelters and outside for dew and drizzle. Oware also makes an EPIC bivy bag, which has a silnylon base and weighs 10.5 ounces without bug netting and 12 ounces with it. Oware makes Gore-Tex bivy bags too, and there are many design options so you can customize your bag.
The most interesting bivy bag I’ve come across is the Hilleberg Bivanorak. This 18-ounce bag is made from waterproof-breathable coated ripstop nylon and has sleeves and a hood so you can keep your arms and head protected when you sit up in it. There’s a drawcord at the foot too, so you can open it up, stick your legs out, and wear it as a rain jacket. The Bivanorak is very roomy and will fit over a medium-size pack. The material does flap a little and breathability isn’t that good when walking. I wouldn’t want to walk far in it, but as an emergency item it’s excellent. I have used it at rest stops in stormy weather and enjoyed the extra protection. As a bivy bag it’s very roomy, easily big enough for a full-length mat and a bulky sleeping bag. However the fabric is quite thin and it’s awkward to sit up with a mat inside, which negates one of the advantages of the design, so I prefer to keep the mat outside. I haven’t used it in prolonged or heavy rain but the drawcord closures at the cuffs and foot and the hood opening mean it can’t be 100 percent waterproof, though I wouldn’t expect much leakage. The hood and sleeves can be tucked under the bag but the foot will always be exposed to the weather.
Carrying an emergency shelter on day hikes and side trips away from camp is a good
idea, especially in winter or when you’re going above timberline. An expensive waterproof-breathable bivy bag is unnecessary for this purpose, however, as well as a little heavy. Nonbreathable plastic and foil bags, sometimes called survival bags, are fine for emergency use. They’re inexpensive and take up little room in the pack. The comfort isn’t great—I once slept out in a plastic bivy bag and got extremely damp—but if you ever need one, you’ll be grateful. For emergency shelter in summer I usually carry an MPI Space Brand Emergency Bag, made from polyester foil with an aluminum reflective surface. It weighs 2.5 ounces and measures 3 by 7 feet when unfolded. This is a very thin bag that will keep off the wind and rain but won’t provide much warmth by itself. The MPI Extreme Pro-Tech Bag has a sealed corrugated pattern of the same fabric that traps air and is meant to be much warmer. There are elastic fibers in the construction that allow the bag to hug the body, cutting out dead air space. It weighs 12 ounces. An alternative is a plastic survival bag like one from Coghlan’s that weighs 9 ounces. I’ve often carried one of these on day hikes.
The Hilleberg Bivanorak, a bivy bag that becomes a rain jacket.
TARPS
Tarps almost disappeared as backcountry shelters during the last third of the twentieth century as hikers turned to the seductive attractions of curving flexible poles and smooth, taut nylon tents. In the previous edition I wrote that “constructing your own shelter from sheets of plastic or nylon and cord is something hardly any backpacker does these days.” Since then there’s been a big and somewhat astonishing resurgence in the popularity of tarps because of both the ultralight revolution and the use of trekking poles, which make good tarp supports, although most backpackers still use tents.
Chris Townsend Page 27