Cyclists, hikers, and paddlers are always at the mercy of the elements, and that’s true even in summer. When the sun shines and the wind takes a rare break, we’re on easy street. When the atmosphere is in turmoil, however, outdoors trekkers pay the price. Sometimes dense fog leaves us wondering where we are. At other times we’re chilled to the bone by a cold rain. Or we feel the wind’s invisible fist pounding relentlessly against our chests as we struggle to make headway. Often we can tough it out. But at other times it makes sense to take the easy option. Day trips can simply be cut short. On overnights, you can linger in camp, sheltering under a tarp or tent, while drinking and eating your fill and catching up on your sleep, snug and safe in the warmth of your cozy bag. Yet there are times (and places) when even the easy option isn’t enough, times when the weather’s so ugly that you’re betting your life…Read more…

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Beware the bear! Contributing Photographer Tony Jancek was walking in the southern Adirondacks when he caught sight of this gun-totin’ caretaker:

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Picture the scene: The midsummer sun warms a sand beach on a river whose waters carve a channel through Québec all the way to James Bay. A faded yellow Old Town Tripper wallows in the shallows, weighed down with enough gear for a month in the bush. Four large, bright‑orange dry bags bulging with food and gear are lashed to the thwarts, along with a single, dark‑green Cordura rucksack that rattles every time a wavelet smacks against the gunwale. (It holds the cook kit and camp stove.) More gear is distributed around the boat’s odd corners — painters, paddles, bailers and sponges, throw bag…

Now lift your gaze from the water’s edge. A man and a woman are quartering the beach, scanning the sand for any items that might have been dropped or overlooked. Occasionally one of them casts a worried glance toward the northern horizon, where black storm clouds are rapidly massing, fitfully illuminated by jagged tendrils of lightning. A few minutes later, as they push the big canoe off and the current grabs the bow, a freshening breeze carries the sound of distant thunder.

Fast‑forward to the last hour before dark, after a long day spent battling a relentless headwind and lashing rain. At least the gale brought a blessing in its wake: It grounded all the biting flies. But the Old Woman has now sloped off to bed, and the mosquitoes are back, mounting attacks in force. Meanwhile, the two exhausted paddlers stumble about in a tiny clearing, oblivious to the bloodthirsty horde, thinking only of rigging their tarp and tent, setting out the ingredients for a quick meal, and changing into warm, dry clothes. Both of them are longing to slide into their sleeping bags. That’s the plan, at any rate. Yet there’s a snag. The tarp isn’t where they thought it was. There are four identical orange dry bags. Which one holds the tarp? That’s the Big Question, and there’s no easy answer. As a lingering drizzle dampens the two paddlers’ spirits even further, the mosquitoes enjoy an unhurried meal.

Happily, the next day dawns clear. There’s not a cloud in the sky. So the paddlers hurry to drape their sodden garments over hastily strung lines. Then they set about the task of sorting through their gear. They’re determined that they’ll never repeat the mistakes of the last 24 hours. From now on out they’ll have a place for everything, and everything will be in its place. In short, they’ve both signed on to The Organization Manifesto…Read more…

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