Double-layer tunnel tent with poles on the outside—the exoskeleton design. Hilleberg Nallo 2.
Timberline camp with tarp pitched as a tapered ridge and two tapered tunnel tents.
Morning after a night of snow. Tunnel and geodesic dome tents.
Single-hoop solo tent, the Hilleberg Akto—my favorite solo tent.
The simplest models that can be called real tents weigh from 3 pounds upward for double-skin (or double-wall) models and 2.25 pounds for single-skin ones. The latter can be as light as minitents, but being made from nonbreathable fabrics they’re much more prone to condensation, as I found when I tried the GoLite Den 2, a 3-pound, 9-ounce, two-pole model. The key to stability with tunnel tents is the distance between the poles. Large areas of material between the poles can flap and shake badly, so those with the poles close together are the most wind resistant. I used the 4.75-pound, two-pole silnylon Hilleberg Nallo 2 on a 1,300-mile Scandinavian mountains walk and found it very stable as long as I pitched the rear into the wind. Crosswinds shake tunnels, though, and one night the tent was thrashing about so much I got up about midnight and dashed out into the lashing rain to turn the tent 90 degrees into the wind. The difference was astonishing. Like all Hilleberg tents, the Nallo 2 pitches as a unit or fly first. It’s roomy enough for two and very spacious for one. I now use it on midwinter trips when more space is welcome on long dark nights and on trips where weight isn’t too significant.
The lightest tunnel tents, indeed the lightest tents for the size of any design, are made by Stephenson’s Warmlite. These are made of silnylon, and the weights are astounding—the smallest model, the single-skin 2X, weighs 2.3 pounds, yet it’s 60 inches wide at the front, 48 inches wide at the rear, 134 inches long, and 40 inches high at the apex, with an area of 42 square feet. There are inside stabilizer straps for use in high winds—Warmlite tents are said to be extremely storm resistant. The lightest double-skin model, the 2R, weighs 2.7 pounds. Both layers are made from silnylon, and they are permanently linked and pitched together.
There are several tunnel tents suitable for solo use, including the popular Sierra Designs Clip Flashlight at 3 pounds, 13 ounces. Larger tunnel tents often have three poles, sometimes of different sizes, with the largest placed in the middle to give more headroom. These are excellent for two or more people. I’ve had great success using large three- and four-person Hilleberg Keron three-pole tunnels (8 pounds, 9 ounces and 9 pounds, 11 ounces) for group snow camping.
MAKING CAMP AFTER DARK
One day toward the end of the Canadian Rockies walk, I picked a small lake on a watershed for a camp, only to find when I reached it a half hour or so before dark that the area around it was a quagmire surrounded by steep slopes. Circling the lake, I saw there was no place to camp, so I continued down into the forest, my headlamp picking out the trail ahead. For some time I descended a steep hillside where it would have been a waste of time to even look for a campsite. Eventually the trail, which was not marked on my map, reached the valley bottom, crossed a creek, and started up the other side. There was no flat ground, but there was water—the first since the lake—so I stopped and searched for a site. I found one between two fir trees. There was barely enough room for the tent, but the ground was flat enough for me to sleep comfortably. In the morning, my site looked as makeshift as you could imagine—the sort of place no one would dream of selecting in daylight—but it had served its purpose.
Tunnel tents are the most popular tents after domes. Backpacker’s 2004 Gear Guide lists twenty-one makers and sixty-three models.
Single-Hoop Tents
The problem with solo tents is that weight and size are related. Length has to remain constant, of course—one person needs the same space to stretch out as two—which means that width and height have to be reduced to cut the weight. In a slimmed-down version of a ridge, dome, or tunnel tent usually you can barely sit up. The solution is the single-hoop tent, a style that really works only for solo tents. As the name suggests, this design features one long, curved pole that may run across the tent or along its length. Single-hoop tents can be remarkably stable for their weight if the guying system is good.
My favorite tent is a single-hoop model, the Hilleberg Akto, that weighs 3 pounds, 7 ounces. I’ve been using this little tent since the early 1990s, and it’s stood up well to many nights of wild weather. Made from silnylon, it has a huge vestibule that stretches the length of one side, a protected vent above the door, and two lower vents at each end. A problem with single-hoop tents is that the fabric can be close to your face when you lie down, especially if you’re tall. Hilleberg has solved this with tiny corner poles permanently attached to the fly sheet that lift the ends of the tent a little.
PITCHES AND PITCHING: MINIMUM-IMPACT CAMPING
One of the pleasures of backpacking is sleeping in a different place every night. This can also be one of the horrors if you’re stumbling around in the rain looking for a campsite long after dark. In popular areas there are plenty of well-used sites. Take the time to look at such places and work out why they’ve been used so much, and you’ll soon learn what to look for when selecting a site.
There are both practical and aesthetic criteria for a good campsite. A site with a good view is wonderful, as long as it’s also comfortable. For a good night’s rest you want as flat a site as possible. Often, however, you must make do with a slight slope; most people then sleep with their heads uphill (if I don’t, I develop a headache and can’t sleep). Sometimes the slope can be so gentle that it’s unnoticeable—until you lie down and try to sleep. I like to check sites by lying down before I pitch the tent. That way I also find any sharp stones or pinecones my eyes have missed. Beware of camping in hollows in wet areas, however, since rain may collect there.
If it’s very windy, a sheltered spot makes for a more secure and less noisy camp, though I often head uphill and seek out a breeze if bugs are a problem. Cold air sinks, so valley bottoms are often the coldest spots. Where possible I like a site that will catch the early morning sun, making for a warm and cheerful start to the day, so I look for sites on east-facing slopes and on the west side of valleys.
Water nearby is useful, though in dry areas like deserts I often carry enough for the last few hours of a day and the next morning and have a dry camp. It’s best not to camp right next to water; you could damage the bank and you may deter wildlife that needs access to the water. In many national parks and wilderness areas, the regulations forbid camping within a few hundred feet of water or trails. Camping well away from water and trails is best.
In popular areas there are usually many regularly used campsites, so finding one isn’t difficult (finding one that you don’t have to share can be harder). When I’m in country where such sites are rare or nonexistent, each morning I generally work out where I’m likely to be that evening and use the map to select a possible area for a site. Usually I find a reasonable spot soon after I arrive. If an obvious one doesn’t present itself within minutes, I take off my pack and explore the area. If this doesn’t produce a spot I’m happy with, I shoulder the pack and move on. At times, especially when daylight hours are short, this can mean continuing into the night.
When a possible spot turns out to be unusable and I have to keep walking, sometimes tired and hungry, I remind myself that a site always turns up; it may just require a little imagination to make the most of what seems unsuitable terrain. Perfect pitches are wonderful, yet many of those I remember best are the ones, like that in the northern Rockies (see sidebar, opposite), that were snatched almost out of thin air.
The most important aspect of selecting a site is to minimize your impact and leave the wilderness fresh and untouched, both for itself and for the next hikers.
All sites, whether previously used or not, should be left unmarked, which means no trenching around tents, no cutting of turf, and no preparation of the tent site. Previously unused sites should always—always—be left with no sign that anyone has been there. Ca
mp on bare ground, forest duff, or dry vegetation such as grass that will be least damaged by your stay—which shouldn’t be longer than one night. Avoid damp ground and soft, easily crushed vegetation. If you’ll be staying more than one night on any site with vegetation, move your tent or tents each day to allow the plants to recover. Paths from tents to water, tent to tent, and tents to kitchen site are easily created if you’re not careful. You can reduce the number of trips by carrying a water container big enough to hold all the water you’ll need for overnight. Siting the kitchen so there is bare ground or rocks between it and the tents also cuts down the impact. Wear light footwear, not heavy boots, or go barefoot.
Tarp pitched in snow on a windy forested ridge.
A quality campsite (top) is sited away from water sources and critical vegetation, and shows that minimum-impact methods have been used. Not-so-good campsites (above) are those near overhanging dead tree limbs, in the middle of a field during a thunderstorm, in a canyon, next to water, on soft vegetation, and near avalanche threats.
Light fires only if you can do so without leaving any sign of them when you depart (see Chapter 7). If you use rocks to hold down tent stakes—rarely necessary, though often done, especially above timberline—return them to the streams or boulder fields where you got them; I’ve spent many hours dismantling rings of stones on regularly used sites. When you leave a wild site, make sure to obliterate all evidence that you’ve been there, fluffing up any flattened vegetation as a last chore.
Pitching camp on a forest site in spring.
Of course you’ll often camp on sites that have been used before. If possible, I pass by a site that looks as if it’s used only occasionally, perhaps stopping to further disguise the signs of its use. A well-used site, however, should be reused, because doing so limits the impact to one place in a given area. You should still try not to add to the damage, of course. Use bare patches for tents and an existing fire ring for a fire—if there are several, dismantling all but one is a good idea. Tidying up the site may encourage others to use it rather than make new ones. As with every site, leave nothing, and don’t alter the natural surroundings.
In some areas, particularly in the eastern United States, land managers have provided wooden tent platforms at many sites. Use them, since they are there to reduce impact. I first came across these in the White Mountains, New Hampshire. To stake tents down you need either very sharp, strong stakes that can be hammered into the planks or, preferably, long lengths of cord that can be attached to stake points, then run off the platforms and staked down or tied to trees. Freestanding tents would be ideal for tent platforms, but I had the Akto, which requires eight stakes. On the advice of a friend, I carried 50 feet of nylon parachute cord, and I used it all.
Safe Camping
Wilderness camping is generally safe as long as you have the right gear and the necessary skills. However, there are some external dangers that you need to consider.
In forests, dead trees and branches can fall on your tent; it’s always wise to look up when selecting a site and not camp under dead limbs. If there are dead trees nearby, I like to be sure they’re leaning away from the tent. Trees don’t fall only in storms, either—the only time I’ve seen a tree come down was on a calm day. I heard a loud crack and looked up to see a large pine topple over and crash to the ground.
Lightning is a hazard at certain times of the year. Camping out in the middle of a large open area or above timberline isn’t advisable during summer thunderstorms; you don’t want to be the highest object around. On one two-week trip in the Colorado Rockies there were thunderstorms every evening, often lasting well into the night, and on several occasions I reluctantly passed up scenic timberline campsites and descended into the security of the forest. When a deafening crack of thunder right overhead woke me up and the flashes of lightning lit up the tent, I was glad to be deep in the trees.
Big storms can cause a different and potentially serious problem in desert areas: flash floods. Heavy rainfall in mountains far away can cause walls of water to roar down desert canyons, sweeping away everything in their path. If there are signs of distant storms, I’d be very careful about camping in narrow canyons or at the bottom of drainages that are regularly swept by floods. In many desert areas, summer brings storms that sometimes make camping in any canyon bottom hazardous. I’ve never seen a flash flood, though I’ve seen the destruction these floods can cause. There is a dramatic and sobering description of a flash flood in George Steck’s Grand Canyon Loop Hikes II that is well worth reading if you’re going backpacking in desert canyons. Steck narrowly escaped when his camp was overwhelmed by floodwater. He lost his tarp, groundsheet, pad, sleeping bag, boots, spare clothing, eating utensils, and walking stick, though he found many items downstream the next day. This book, with its companion, Grand Canyon Loop Hikes I (now combined in one volume, Hiking Grand Canyon Loops), is entertaining and informative and recommended reading for anyone venturing off the main trails in the Grand Canyon.
Camping on a tent platform in the White Mountains, New Hampshire. The Hilleberg Akto is not ideal for this! A freestanding tent would be better.
In mountain areas with permanent snowfields and glaciers, avalanches are a hazard. This isn’t usually much of a problem except in winter and spring, but some canyons may be swept by avalanches even in summer. Signs to watch for are treeless corridors below snowfields, bent and flattened vegetation, and large areas of willows and alder—the latter often called “slide alder” because it occurs so often in avalanche zones. These shrubs are flexible enough to survive repeated avalanches.
Making Camp
Compared with finding a site, setting up camp is easy. I don’t have a definite routine—it all depends on the time and the conditions. In cold or wet weather, when I’m tired or if darkness is imminent, I pitch my shelter as soon as I stop and chuck in the gear I’ll need overnight. I then fill my water bottles, crawl into the shelter, change into warm or dry clothes if necessary, set up the stove, and sort out my gear in comfort while the water boils for a hot drink. (This assumes I’m not in an area where bears could be a problem, of course.) By the time the water has boiled, I’m comfortable in my sleeping bag. The whole operation from unpacking the shelter to taking the first sip can be done in less than ten minutes, though I usually like to do it in a more leisurely fifteen or twenty. The key is knowing your shelter so well that you can pitch it even when you’re too tired to think. For greatest weather resistance and strength, pitch your shelter very taut and tighten guylines until you can play a tune on them. This also minimizes flapping and noise. Stakes should be at a 45-degree angle—sloping away from the tent—and pushed right into the ground. If you can’t get them all the way in, make sure that the stake loop is at ground level and not around the top of the stake, where it might lever the stake out of the ground if the wind gets up.
When there’s plenty of daylight and it’s warm and sunny, I may just sit and relax for half an hour before I do anything.
In some places and at certain times, though, setting up camp is not so easy. In rocky terrain where stakes won’t go in, you may have to attach loops to the staking points and tie them and the guylines to rocks to hold the tent down. I’ve done this only a few times, but then it’s been essential—it’s one reason I always carry a length of cord. In soft snow, tent stakes are nearly useless, but ice axes, crampons, skis, and ski poles can all be used to support the tent, through extra guylines tied to the stake points if necessary.
In snow, I first use skis or snowshoes to stamp out a hard platform; a snow shovel is also useful for this, especially for the final leveling of the site. If you use stakes, loop the guylines around them, then bury them lengthwise and pack the snow down on top. Once the temperature falls below zero, they’ll freeze in place. Come morning, you’ll probably need an ice ax to dig them out. You could use sticks instead of stakes. An alternative, which I’ve never tried, is to fill stuff sacks with snow, attach guylines to them, and bury
them. Don’t set small items down on the snow when making camp; they could easily get buried. If snow falls during the night, bang the roof of the tent occasionally to make any buildup slide off so the tent doesn’t get buried. Make sure there’s ventilation high up—open the top of the fly sheet door zipper if there isn’t a vent—in case snow seals the gap around the edge of the fly sheet. Brush off snow before getting into the tent, and leave any snow-encrusted garments in the vestibule.
Chris Townsend Page 31