Outdoor opinion
From our columnist Mary-Ann
Acouple of years ago near Horton in Ribblesdale station, a lady stopped me on the pavement. She was dressed in outdoorsy kit of the highest spec. “Your rucksack is very large,” she frowned. “I know,” I said. I knew because I’d carried it over Ingleborough and Whernside and was, by this point, quite tired. “It really shouldn’t be so big,” she wagged her finger at me. Actually wagged. “Erm, well, it’s just I’m carrying a lot of stuff.”
I was, you see. The friend I was walking with had a bad hip so I was carrying our shared food and tent.
I was also carrying food for the dog, extra water, a sleeping bag, two Therma-Rests and a dog coat. It was warm now, but it had been raining. So I had waterproofs festooned over the top of my pack. Trail readers know, I’m sure, that when it comes to outdoor kit you
generally pay more for lightweight and compact. Sometimes a lot more. And when a waterproof jacket/camping mat/ sleeping bag is wafer-thin, it’s not always the most durable, even if it is the most breathable/thermally insulating per milligram/offers the best hydrostatic whizzbangery or whatever. So my hardearned pennies had thus far been spent on mid-price kit that lasted well but wasn’t the smallest or lightest.
This finger-wagging female obviously hadn’t considered this as she appraised my rucksack. “You know, I’m a DofE leader for my school. I tell the girls, ‘Don’t be like those other DofE groups, girls! Your packs should be less than fifteen kilos. Even for the Gold expedition.’” She looked at me, accusingly. “Probably half what you’re carrying.
Too many people
carry too many things. It makes you slower, and less efficient. It’s silly, really, they should know better.”
Now, I’m quite an easy-going person. But this woman was a horror. “Well,” I smiled slowly, “I’m carrying our tent. And all his food,” I pointed to the large dog by my knee. “It adds up, doesn’t it?” “Fifteen kilos!” she shrilled, “Fifteen!” “I don’t think I can afford backpacking equipment that’s as lightweight as that, you haughty moron. Now get out of my way.” I didn’t say the last nine words, but you’ll appreciate I really wanted to. For the next half hour I stomped and huffed and chewed over her words and moral condemnation. Was I carrying too much? What could I have left at home? The only things we’d not used were the first aid kit, spare gloves, hat and headtorch plus a vacuum-packed survival bag. Maybe we could do without those things; but, really, should we? If we’d bought dehydrated meals we’d be travelling lighter, sure, but porridge oats, raisins, noodles and chorizo didn’t seem a huge waste of space and weight. I’ve yet to ever manage to go backpacking with the dog with less than 20kg of stuff. If you know what I’m doing wrong, other than not spending enough money on fancy whizzbang kit, please let me know. Every time I shoulder a heavy rucksack, I see that haughty, frowny fool’s face. She’s still wagging her finger.
And I can’t help but laugh.
Mary-Ann Ochota is the author of Hidden Histories: A Spotter’s Guide to the British Landscape and a BMC Hillwalking Ambassador. When not presenting on radio and TV, she loves a mountain adventure.