Story Break
Lessons From The Lady.
Runtsauger on retro.
I backpack. I am an expert. My name is Dolores Runtsauger.
The good things haven’t changed. All the trails worth hiking — I’ve hiked them. All the gear worth using — I’ve used it. All the people worth knowing — I know them. I’ve been there and back, so no need to try anything for yourself, just ask me. I know all the answers.
So, this new light stuff? Does that make sense? I know what works, and my gear is heavy enough to keep my feet on the ground. That’s where they belong. It never changes. My gear makes it possible. Some of it is 30 years old and not even dented. You can’t beat that with a tire iron.
I teach backpacking because I’m experienced. I teach what backpacking is, how it works, everything. And you know? When people come to learn from me, they do. I explain everything. I talk and people listen, and that’s how we get along.
So when I lead trips we never have problems because people follow my rules. You don’t listen, you go try new things, then you are breaking the rules. It makes a mess and we all get headaches. I don’t like that. So I stop everything, right there, and we have a meeting. We make adjustments. We regain our balance by getting back to my rules and then things work fine again.
I am the keeper of these rules.
Rules are good. Rules keep us in line. I like lines. I sit in the evening sometimes, in the dining room by the window, with a glass of wine and a ruler and a sheet of paper, and I draw lines. I listen to music. It soothes me while I draw. I draw straight lines on clean, crisp white sheets paper. I like clean white paper. I like straight lines. I like straight lines on white paper. Straight, clean lines are perfectly organized. Just so, like me.
I sit and draw for hours, sometimes. I relax that way, and it clears my mind. It’s soothing no matter what. I save my lines in binders, in a bookcase. No one touches them.
If I’m leading a group and something comes up, I think about my lines. I think about my binders, full of clean straight lines, and right then my thinking clears. If I stay inside my lines then things work fine. I think about sitting in the evening with my glass of wine, listening to the sharp point of my pencil cut straight across sheet after sheet to the inevitable end of each line. I draw lines and admire them, and when I have a problem I think of these lines, and immediately I know what to do.
What I do is pick the right solution, a tried and true one. One that works because it has to, from point A to point B. A solution that is always inevitable. And then we are back on track. Life stays simple and clear as long as I listen to the lines, and as long as people are reasonable and listen to me.
Reasonable is what people are if they do what I tell them to.
When backpacking was new it found me, and I learned it. I learned it before it was a sport. Way before professionals came along. Before record books. Do you remember that? Before people went out to set backpacking records and others went out to break those same records to prove something? No one saw that coming.
Every so often you’d hear about someone walking around the world for some reason or other, but even that hardly ever happened back then. No elapsed times were published. There were no score cards. No one cared. Once upon a time, before backpacking, people went camping. They went camping to sit and rest. To get away from life. No one went backpacking then. No one walked anywhere, ever, for fun, not even on vacation.
For camping you filled the car with your kids and your stuff and drove to a place. And when you got there you pulled out a canvas tent and a camp stove, and a lemonade cooler, and fried chicken, and that was it. You stayed put, at a picnic table. You stayed put and rested. The kids ran around but the adults never budged. Never left the picnic table. The kids jumped up and down and ran here and there and made noise until they could barely move any more, but they were only kids. Kids do that. Not adults. Adults rest. Adults know the value of staying with what works. The adults all rested. Rest was good and it was enough fun. End of story.
Evening was time for a campfire and marshmallows. The warm flames waved at us happily, and we talked in their light. It was comfortable. When a log popped we saw sparks jump up and go off into the night. Way off into the dark. They vanished into the silent dark night and went out. That’s what happens when you leave the center, when you set off on your own with some new idea. It always goes off into space and dies alone.
After a while we went to sleep on our cots in the tent and by morning the fire was out. This was good. This was life.
Then backpacking came along. Life changed.
The world became adventurous and even a little dangerous. It became bold. Almost scary. We felt like those campfire sparks, leaving the bright safe warmth of the fire and leaping into the dark unknown. If you tried it what would happen? Would there be an accident? We didn’t know. We tried it anyway, because we were young. If you went out would you come back? We wondered about this but we went anyway. But there were already rules.
They got it right at the beginning I think, the people who invented backpacking and the backpacking rules.
By the time we heard about backpacking it had all been worked out, so right away we had the rules. We were safe. Follow the rules and that was it. Simple. It worked. Backpacking was new to us, maybe, but it already had history. They had been working on it for a long time. So there were already rules that worked, that were approved. Rules that had been decided on. Finished. Polished. A long time before we came along. And the rules haven’t changed since, either. Not really.
I tell my classes to watch me and do what I do. What I do works for me so I know it works for everyone, because if it works, it works. There is no arguing with that. I don’t allow arguing.
First, you have to commit to studying and taking classes. You prepare yourself. Books — you read them, and learn from the experts. I wish more books came with mail-in tests, so you could get certified. It’s hard to find real books, like that, from the real experts. I should write one. Certificates are great confidence builders. They prove that you know things, in case anyone gets uppity. Anyway, even without tests I recommend these:
- Iron Men of the Wilderness, by Long John Packer
- Backpacking, the Nuts and Bolts for Real Men, by Harley “Hair Chest” Hefty
- The story of a Real Man’s Real Backpacking Woman, by Janet “Biceps” Hefty
- Strength Training One Step at a Time, Backpacker Edition, by Janet and Harley Hefty
- The Complete Plodder, by Dieter de Wilde
- Five Miles a Day: You can too, by Grit Trudge
After reading a few good books, you sign up for classes or workshops, as many as you can. Learn about gear, the tools of the trade, about the right attitude. Look for factory reps so you can get the inside scoop directly from them — who knows more than they do?
Develop a good relationship with your local store. Trust your retailers. They’re a godsend and the staff is trained to help you. Find your favorite staffer, grab on and don’t let go until you know everything. Who sells all day every day, year in, year out? They do. They will be glad to help you. They know it all: What sells. What people want. What’s right. Remember, if something is out there and you don’t see it in every store, there’s a reason for that. Go with what sells. Stay mainstream. Stay safe.
I’ll explain. Let’s do a short class right now.
First, you need a pack.
Packs have frames, metal frames, on the outside. The actual pack is a bag that hangs on that frame and then the frame hangs on you. You can’t break a frame like that, no matter how much you carry or how hard you try. This frame will outlive your grandchildren. This is the first thing you look for. Remember, all real backpacks have sturdy metal frames that last forever.
The pack to go with this frame (the pack bag) is cloth but it’s the kind of cloth that wears like iron. It even feels rough and scratchy like iron because it is rough and tough. That shows quality. The fabric is thick and stiff and strong and so it lasts forever. Like iron, but without the rust. It’s nylon pack cloth, a modern miracle that you can’t do without. It is thick and stiff and perfect. Shoot bullets until you run out or get tired of pulling the trigger, and you will never even dent a pack like this. It’s that good. Hang one of these pack bags on a frame of welded aluminum and you are set for life, or longer.
So get a big, strong pack. That way you have room for everything. You’ll need the room eventually so buy the biggest pack you can find right away. Get one big enough to park in — the reason is, you need so many things. Things take up space. Things are bulky. A big pack has room for things, and a sturdy frame keeps it all together. This is guaranteed.
Second, you need a tent. Modern tents are also nylon, much better than the old canvas ones. I’m within the rules by saying this because backpacking tents have always been nylon, and not canvas.
Your tent must have two walls or shells: the outer one is waterproof and the inner one is breathable, and has what is called a bathtub floor that wraps around under you. Even if you go alone, get a two person tent so you have lots of room. A small tent will weigh at least six pounds, about what your pack weighs. Note that real tents have these two walls for the same reason ships have two hulls, as a safety margin. One wall keeps out the rain and big animals and the other keeps out bugs, small animals, and drafts. While you walk, the effort of carrying a pack keeps you warm but after you stop you need protection, and that’s what a tent is for.
Tents run small for my taste, so I always recommend one size larger. One person needs a two person tent, two people need a four person tent, and so on. It’s heavier that way but roomier, and your pack is big enough to carry it all, so why not? Besides, a heavy tent stays where you put it.
With a tent you need stakes and guy lines, and a sheet of plastic underneath, to protect the floor. On the inside you have room to stretch your legs and lay out your pack and all your things. If you have a big pack then you need more room, which means a bigger tent and so on. Don’t be cheap. It is all for your own good, believe me. Bigger is always better.
Inside that tent goes your third essential, a hefty sleeping bag. Better to be warm, to be safe, than to be sad and sorry.
Down is best for sleeping bags, everyone agrees on that, but play it safe and go with synthetic. If you get wet, synthetic fill is a safer bet. This is a known fact, but synthetic fill is also not as warm as down, so you need more of it, which means more weight and bulk. Luckily you are already prepared for that if you’ve been following my advice. A five pound bag will keep you toasty and provide extra fill to soak up water if you get rain on it, so more is always better here too. And if you set a synthetic bag on fire, don’t worry — not only won’t it catch but you won’t have that awful smell of burning feathers either.
Along with that sleeping bag you need a little more insulation, to go under you. Your goal is a soft bed that insulates you below as well as above, so don’t scrimp here. The best sleeping mattresses are inflatable but also have insulation inside. Get one of these from the start. Two inches thick is good. More is better if you can find it. It’s cushy. You’ll be glad you brought a nice, thick mattress. A mattress like this will add another couple of pounds, maybe more if you get one that’s full length, but for only a little more weight you get to stretch out. After all, you got a big enough tent, right? See how it all works out?
Fourth, you need a stove. Everyone’s using canisters these days. Go ahead, it won’t hurt, as I have approved them, though I still use a white gas stove with two burners. Canister stoves are reliable. They always work. They are steel, and they’re durable. You can pound nails with them. Get one with a built-in lighter. One cup, one pot, and one spoon are all you need to go with the stove, unless you have company over. Aluminum will work for pots, and titanium will work, but stainless steel never lets you down, ever. That’s how I started and I’m still doing fine. Steel is what they use in battleships, not aluminum, not titanium, so that should give you a hint. If you pay attention to the reason for things you never get into trouble. It’s simple, really, like a straight line from A to B.
Whatever style of water bottle you go with, buy two. They come in hard plastic, aluminum, or steel. All of them work. All together, with your stove, pots and all, you have about four pounds. Throw in a water filter and add two more pounds. Hardly anything.
That ends our basic class. There is a lot more to it than that, but we don’t have time for it here. We can get back to it later, but right now I want to talk about an idea of mine. It’s my own contribution to the science of backpacking, and I’m really excited about it, especially as it stays totally within the official rules as far as I can tell. There could be a business opportunity here, for the right partner, so let me know if you’d like to get in on the ground floor.
Here is the basic idea — a pack is something like a suitcase, right?
When you really think it through you realize that a good pack needs the convenience and durability of a suitcase, but with outdoor characteristics. This is where I’m going. After all, travelers the world over have relied on suitcases forever, so why should backpackers not get that same benefit? Backpacking is also traveling.
So I had Loron make me a PackCase™. Yes, I already have a trademark. Loron is my husband and chief technical adviser. He’s an engineer, and together we’re experimenting, trying to get back to basics. As you might expect, he’s good with his hands, so he bolted a large suitcase onto a pack frame and I tried it. Sure enough it worked fine, though we’re only at the proof of concept stage. I am totally sure it will work. It has to, because it is the logical next step in backpacking, which is going backwards to get closer to fundamentals, but for now it’s my pet project. We’re working through it, patent pending, already trademarked, as noted. And my new trail name is “Luggy Lena”, in case you were wondering, after my new Luggable Luggage Pack.
A regular pack is great but face it — it’s a bag. Not mine. Not anymore.
A suitcase is hard-sided, so what does that get you? Natural rain repellency, for one thing. And it has a lock. I like that feature, I really like it. Not to mention the solid brass hinges. Fold your clothes nicely, strap them in, and you still have plenty of room for spare shoes, for toiletries, for everything, even a bathrobe, all kept crisp, neatly pressed, and in place.
Get to camp, set your pack down, and open it like any other suitcase. Everything is still right where you put it, completely organized, just the way you want it to be. You might wonder why doesn’t someone make this? Oops — I’m doing it!
My very first prototype was good, but I had Loron add another touch or two. He replaced the original suitcase with a custom hinged pack made of heavy gauge fiberglass that he made himself. Bless him and his workshop, he’s good with tools but he doesn’t hike. He stays down in the basement most of the time with his equipment and his bottle collection. He does a lot of nuts and bolts thinking there but I have the real creative streak, so this works really well for both of us.
The back side of my PackCase™ has two legs that I had Loron bolt on. They unfold and swing out to make the back of the pack a stepladder. Now I find a nice tree to camp under, and I park there. I unlimber my pack, and I have a built in ladder so I can get way up there to hang food and valuables overnight with no problems.
I also have (new!) racks on the sides of the pack, just small ones though, for air drying dishes after supper, and for hanging laundry when I do a little hand-washing. To go with this I designed a fold-out counter top with its own cutting board. This works extremely well for slicing vegetables, and is a comfortable stand-up height. With this setup it’s almost like I’m at home, except for cooking on a backpacking stove, and everything folds together again and locks tight when I pack up.
My tent unfurls from the top half of the suitcase (the lid locks open for safety) and envelops everything, including the pack. When I’m inside I’m cozy but still have access to everything in the pack, and can even stroll into the “kitchen” for a snack, or make a cup of herb tea anytime I want. And it has a night-light!
But this is still a little experimental of course. I wouldn’t expect you to really understand all of it, just yet, anyway. Better for you to stick with a traditional frame pack for now, until we go into production. But until then, remember what I said earlier and be sure to get a big pack. I can’t say this often enough.
A big pack is the most important single piece of equipment, your number one asset. The reason, once again, is that you need to take so many things. Specialized outdoor equipment (and clothing) takes up space. For example I always take a fresh change of underwear and socks for every day (essential) and that takes lots of room right there. Likewise for outer wear. Who wants to look the same every day? So you need at least two or three outfits. Just this much alone will fill up an ordinary pack, but not if you’ve shopped intelligently and gotten the biggest one you can find!
Besides regular clothing you need shoes to wear in camp, and it never hurts to have a pair of wading shoes for those pesky streams. Then there is rain apparel, wouldn’t you know? Jacket, waterproof pants, rain mitts, gaiters, a big hat, and a cover for the pack too. Plus maybe a second pair of (waterproof) boots.
We’ll leave out food for now. Food is a whole separate subject, but don’t forget your towel, washcloth, and soap, at a bare minimum. You might want to double check that you have enough shampoo, conditioner, and hand lotion to complement your toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, and mouthwash. Everyone says to take sample-sized bottles along but why? Why run out? Don’t skimp here! Take a big bottle of everything and you’ll always have plenty to share with others. After all, you aren’t going that far anyway.
Plan on shorter trips at first. A quarter mile, maybe, up to half a mile (if you’re exceptionally fit) is acceptable to start with, in good weather, and it always pays to be in reasonable shape. A mile is fine if you can go that far, but you’ll definitely have to work up to it. Don’t overdo it, and don’t even think about any real distance until you know you are ready. Keep in mind that a two mile trip will take you all day, so relax and enjoy it, once you are up to it, if ever.
Hike from the parking lot to the lake shore, plunk everything down, and camp. That’s it. Stay a night or two while you recover, then head back. Most people say this is more than adequate, and never move up to expeditions of two to three miles, and it’s true that you don’t get overextended with shorter trips — and almost never get lost — but if you want to go on a longer trip, ever, you can, when you are broken in and comfortable with your equipment, being outside, and so on. But keep in mind that there is never a really good reason to go overboard, or move into extreme situations where you are actually out of sight of pavement.
To work up to a basic level of fitness, try carrying a pack around in town. Try a park, for example. Give yourself a month or two while increasing your walking distance and weight up to a full load. Don’t be upset if you can’t stand up at first. Have a friend help you put on the pack and keep that friend near as a guide, and in case of emergencies.
You can do it! It takes time and perseverance but the body is amazingly adaptable, and in short while, like a season or two, you too will be able to backpack up to a mile, or even more if you dare!
And in remarkably short order, like another season or two after that, you may be able to go double that. It’s fun!
This is Dolores “Luggy Lena” Runtsauger signing off for now. Good hiking to you, and keep those hinges oiled!