Québec is burning. And even though I live well to the south of the border, in the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains, I can smell the smoke on my doorstep. “Smell” is far too mild a word, in fact. The acrid haze now drifting down on a fitful breeze is strong enough to make my eyes water and my lungs burn. But this is nothing compared to the burning farther north, as flames consume tens of thousands of acres of boreal forest and doom many of the wild creatures who call those woodlands home, condemning them to horrific deaths.

Most—but not all—of the Qébec fires are attributed to lightning strikes, record heat, and high winds. Call these acts of God, if you will. But the fact remains that acts of man cause many wildfires. Fortunately, observing a few simple rules can prevent such tragedies. I’ve outlined those rules elsewhere, and I won’t repeat them here, but I’d urge caution on all backcountry travelers, at all times. Why bother, you ask? “If you doubt the necessity of following such irritating rules to the letter,” Colin Fletcher once wrote, “make yourself go and see the corpse of a recently burned forest.” Exactly.

That’s not the whole story, though. Perhaps the most important rule is this: Often it’s best to forego a campfire altogether. Just say no, in other words. It’s a small sacrifice, and the rewards are great. Today, only Québec is burning. But what of tomorrow?

 
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Ponchos aren’t elegant, and they’re a nuisance (or worse) in high winds and big waves. But for day in, day out utility, versatility, and economy they’re mighty hard to beat. Having said that, I’ve a confession to make: I didn’t always appreciate them. When I first took to the woods and waters, I wanted only high-tech, high fashion raingear. If it was endorsed by a Himalayan climber, that was ideal. I wasn’t impressed by the fact that ponchos worked. They were too everyday, too down-home, too utilitarian, too simple. I wanted flash.

Then—you guessed it—my feelings did a 180. My epiphany came when I was working as a geologist. I tramped for miles cross-country in whatever weather the gods decided to throw my way. I also hauled a rucksack full of sample bags and field gear. My job required a lot of note-taking, not to mention photography and sketching. Moreover, the work had to be completed on schedule, and each day brought a new challenge. Swamps with standing water deeper than my wellies were high. Scree slopes that threatened to avalanche with every step I took. Hawthorn thickets that tore clothes and lacerated skin. Not to mention rain. Always rain. Yet though I carried a surplus German military poncho in my rucksack, I never used it — until the day an icy November deluge caught me halfway across a seemingly endless plowed field. This was no drizzle. The rain pelted down with tropical intensity, but no tree or shrub offered shelter. That’s when I remembered the poncho in my pack. I had the rucksack off in seconds. Out came the poncho. Then I shouldered the rucksack again and pulled the poncho over my head. From that moment on I was a convert. The rain continued to bucket down, but I stayed dry from the top of my head to the top of my wellies. My pack and log book stayed dry, too. And that was just the beginning of my enlightenment. In time, I came to understand that ponchos are the Swiss army knives of clothing Read more…

 
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Climbers have been using carabiners for a long time, but in recent decades paddlers have discovered them, as well. No surprise there. Carabiners are great for making connections, both on the water and off. They hold things together, in other words, and they help you lift, lower, and haul. They’re handy time‑savers, too. With a carabiner, you can attach a line to a boat — or a lanyard to your pack — with just a quick click. If there’s already a loop in the line, there’s no need to fuss with knots or hitches. And you can release the line as quickly as you attached it. Carabiners can also be used, alone or with pulleys, to rig improvised tackles like the Z‑drag, and these “force multipliers” are essential tools in salvage and rescue operations. Carabiners even make lashing boats for storage or transport easier.

But I’m getting ahead of my story. Let’s begin at the beginning. Just what are carabiners, anyway? Easy. They’re snap hooks. (The word comes from the German Karabinerhaken, or “carbine‑hook,” the snap‑swivel that secures a sling to a carbine. You’ll also see it spelled “karabiner,” frequently abbreviated “krab.”) Be careful, though: Not all snap hooks are carabiners. Don’t confuse novelty carabiners and light‑duty snap hooks with the real thing. You’ve seen these little guys on key fobs, on water bottles, and in dozens — maybe hundreds — of other applications. They’re fine, in their place, but when you really need to make heavy‑duty connections, baby ‘biners will let you down. Hard. That’s no fun, is it? So for serious work, when lives or vital gear are at stake, you need the real deal. Big jobs call for the big boys, hardware that can shoulder the load and take the strain without letting go.

Carabiners fit the bill. And every paddler should carry a few, just in case. That’s a given. But are you sure you know what to do with them, now that you have them? Or how to care for them? No? Then keep reading. First, though, a few words on what this article isn’t: It isn’t a primer on river rescue, nor is it a substitute for hands‑on instruction. If you’re lucky, you’ll find at least one good book on rescue and salvage techniques in your local library. (I can recommend the Whitewater Rescue Manual by Charles Walbridge and Wayne A. Sundmacher.) Read it. Then put in a little time under the watchful eye of someone who’s had a few years’ experience pulling boats and boaters out of troubled waters.

OK. I’ve offloaded my cargo of Good Advice. It’s time we got down to the business of the day—’biner basics… Read more…

 
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