I'm a Scottish guy who's been living in Stockholm, Sweden for about 18 months. I spent my childhood in the North East of Scotland climbing trees, crossing fields and exploring the myriad of backroads that take strange angled turns around the borders of each and every farm. Summers were spent camping in or around Glen Clova, Loch Muick or upper Deeside. Winters skiing on what can only be described as sheet ice at Glenshee or the Lecht. When I grew up (if that's even happened yet?) I moved to the
Granite City to read law. Luckily for me, this is a city which is ideally situated on the coast within striking distance of the foothills of the Cairngorm mountains. In fact on one occasion I simply wandered out of my front door one morning, followed the old railway line as it snaked up royal Deeside and made camp in sight of
Clachnaben that evening.
The problem was that as an impoverished student, I hadn't the resources to buy new backpacking gear, so I made do with what I could beg, borrow or pay next-to-steal prices in army surplus stores or second hand shops. On my feet were a pair of old hiking boots. I wore jeans and a cotton T-shirt since I hadn't yet read any books on survival (though for warmth I carried a big woolen jumper courtesy of her Majesty's armed forces). I had an old aluminium frame rucksack whose make now escapes me (though I recall a bear on the logo), a dome tent with fibreglass poles as well as a mummy style sleeping bag from 1995 BCE (before comfort existed). All topped off with a shocking pink roll-up foam pad tied precariously to the top of my pack as if to announce to the world that I was off to spend the night outdoors. I had neither the sense nor the will to weigh my pack in those days, but considering that the rest of my kit consisted of an army surplus mess tin and hexi burner, and since I hadn't yet thought of dehydrated food, potatoes, carrots and onions for wilderness stew, it must have been considerable. I balk at the thought of it now, but somehow I carried on, and I have only happy memories of these adventures.
Almost 5 years back I started working, and due to this financial stimulus package I actually suceeded in getting up into the mountains more often. Back then I tended to pair up with my brother who had better stuff than I, and this gave me a window on what proper mountain gear looked like. It was this envy of things that my brother carried that looked shiny and new, rather than a desire to increase my comfort in any tangible way which drove my next swathe of purchases, almost all of which were big name brands bought in outdoor shops at discount. A
North Face tent which is still going strong today but weighs over 3kg, a rucksack weighing around 3kg, and a
Nanok synthetic sleeping bag, again still going strong but weighing in at over 2kg. I did however buy an MSR Pocket Rocket and Titan Kettle, mostly to impress my brother who'd ascribed a value to anything titanium much akin to gold.
Later I decided that enough was enough. I wanted to summit with my full kit instead of trudging along muddy, miserable trails like everyone else. But I didn't want to do this at the expense of comfort or safety. I'd started reading about lightweight gear in TGO magazine, a series of articles entitled "Lighten Up" as well as a number of gear reviews which for the first time detailed weight as well as price. I'd read of ultralighters in the States forgoing a shelter altogether and thought, if they did that in the Cairngorms, they'd die of hypothermia, but I took notice of the gear reviews of both Cameron McNeish and Chris Townsend. Both of them lived in or around the Scottish mountains, and were far more experienced in the kinds of weather that I'd come to expect than I. If they said that gear had stood the test, that meant it stood the
Scotland test.
I bought an
ultralight down bag, a
torso length sleeping pad using my rucksack as insulation for my legs and made the transition to trail runners. I summited Ben Macdhui in the April snow wearing TNF Hedgehogs much to the dismay of serious mountaineers in crampons. It had gotten easier, but I was still missing something. I'd cut out things I didn't need; why carry a cutlery set when all you need is a spoon? I'd even drilled holes in my toothbrush handle. But why chase grams here and there when your tent weighs a couple of kilos?
I've recently been introduced to the
Nordic Lightpacking group of bloggers, which has introduced me to a wealth of information on manufacturers like Gossamer Gear, and eroded some of the misconceptions that I had about a ultralight gear being unsuited to the Northern European climate. (Chris Townsend himself tends to use a
Hilleberg Akto in the Cairngorms even if he uses a tarp in North America). I've just finished reading Vandra Fjäderlätt by
Jörgen Johansson (in Swedish I'm pleased to say), and I can both see the enormous potential to cut weight, and why my drilling of toothbrush handles has been somewhat pointless. The basic principle is this, your main items tent/shelter, sleeping bag and rucksack are almost always the heaviest items in your pack. If you cut the weight of these items down, you'll cut down your pack weight considerably, and then you can focus on cracking grams elsewhere.
I'd say that I'm fairly happy with the weight of my sleeping gear (Cumulus+TAR=900g), and I'm still debating whether to buy a
GoLite Pinnacle or a
Gossamer Gear G4. However the heaviest thing in my pack is always my tent; if I should be deliberating anything it's that. A
Terra Nova Laser Competition weighs 930g, but a tarp could meet all my needs for less than 300g. That said I'll be particularly vulnerable to mosquitoes, something I'll meet a lot of on the Kungsleden this summer. The advantage of course is that a tarp affords a greater closeness to one's surroundings, which is meant to be the point when of going outdoors. This has lead me to the what Shakespeare would have asked had he considered ultralight backpacking. To tarp or not to tarp?
package! For me! It must be Christmas or something. I'm not particularly used to getting anything in the mail, thankfully even the bills tend to come adressed to my wife, but a fairly large sized parcel dropped through the letterbox this morning, with my name on it! I was actually reasoning whether I should wait until Christmas morning in case it contained an unwrapped gidft, when I noticed the postmark of the sender - Svenska Fjällklubben!
