Notwithstanding the mild winter, ice has formed on a nearby beaver pond, and I’m itching to strap on my Yaktrax and head out to see what I can see. After all, this is the only time of the year when I can walk on water.

But I’m forcing myself to wait. Why? Because the ice isn’t safe. It takes more than a couple of days of sub-freezing temperatures to make the “frost bridge” firm enough for two-legged travelers to tread without falling through. And I don’t fancy a cold-water swim, no matter how bracing it might be.

So I’m biding my time till General Winter has consolidated his gains. And while I’m waiting, I’m reviewing some earlier articles on winter travel. Maybe you’ll find them useful, too. I hope so.

• • “Getting a Grip—Yaktrax Traction Devices”
• • “Getting a Grip on Cross-Country Poles: They’re Not Just for Skiing”
• • “If the Shoe Fits: Tips For First-Time Snow Walkers”
• • “Weathering Winter in Style—Snowshoeing Ups and Downs“

   

• • “On Thin Ice: Is It Safe?”
• • “On Thin Ice: Stepping Out—Keeping the Odds on Your Side”
• • “On Thin Ice: Breaking Through and Moving On—Self-Rescue and More”

Send a Comment

I suppose that tying shoelaces will soon be numbered among the lost arts, like determining latitude by noon sight and driving while looking at the road. Once upon a time, learning to tie your own shoes was a watershed event in children’s lives, almost on a par with learning to walk. But no longer. Now Velcro rules. Soon, only a tiny minority of quirky enthusiasts — the sort of people the Brits call “anoraks” — will bother to learn how to join two cords together with a slip‑knot bow. Of course, that day hasn’t arrived. Yet.

It’s getting closer, though. As I realized not long ago when a new tarp came with a package of fishhook‑like plastic gadgets bearing the impressive name “Nite Ize Figure 9″ — the latest in a long line of clever devices intended to do away with the need to tie a tautline hitch. Unlike many of their predecessors, however, these Nite Ize work. So another relic of ancient woodcraft bites the dust. Before long, only gorillas will bother to master even the most rudimentary knots. (Yes, our muscular cousins apparently do tie knots, though they have an unfortunate predilection for grannies.)

Anyway, here’s what Nite Ize Figure 9s look like:

As you can see, they’re not without a certain Bauhaus elegance. But I wasn’t about to be swayed by subtle aesthetic considerations. Instead, I consigned the Nite Ize to a dark corner of the storage bin reserved for interesting‑but‑useless items, the same bin that formerly held the jar of Marmite I somehow talked myself into buying. As it happened, I later relented and gave the Marmite a second chance. The Nite Ize, however, looked certain to remain in the bin forever, ignored and ultimately forgotten. Then, about a month ago, I saw them advertised in a flier from a dealer in military surplus and survival gear. The copywriters had pulled out all the stops, too. “Never tie a knot again,” proclaimed the ad. And just to make sure you’d got the point, they reiterated, “Eliminates the hassle of tying, adjusting and untying knots.” The Mad Men were determined to leave nothing to the reader’s imagination.

I was suitably impressed. Not with the product, you understand. While it was obvious that the Nite Ize were a workable substitute for the tautline hitch, they certainly didn’t eliminate the need for campers to know other knots. In fact, the picture that accompanied the fulsome ad copy made this clear, since it showed a tent guyline secured to a pull‑out with — you guessed it — a couple of half hitches. (It’s not the best knot for the job, perhaps, but the half hitch is definitely a knot.) No, what did impress me was the copywriter’s choice of words. Was “tying, adjusting and untying knots” really a “hassle”? I’d never found that to be the case.

Still, it hasn’t escaped my attention that quite a lot of folks find paddling a canoe to be a hassle, too. (This isn’t true of anyone reading this, I know, but…) So maybe I’m just behind the times. Then again, the explanation for my intransigence may lie elsewhere. I know I enjoy the feeling of independence that comes from mastering a simple physical skill, especially when that skill has practical applications. Like paddling a canoe, for instance. Or tying a knot. And I don’t think I’m alone in this, a hopeful notion that was confirmed recently when a regular reader suggested I write a column about my favorite knots… Read more…

Send a Comment

Somebody (I think it was the late Colin Fletcher) once lamented that one of the few downsides to backcountry travel was the scarcity of upholstered seats. And if a former Royal Marine like Fletcher, inured to wartime hardships and privation, thought this lack of home comforts worthy of note, what about the rest of us, who are accustomed to a much softer life? Well, speaking for myself, I spend too much time sitting as it is. But when I have to sit — and it’s hard to paddle a canoe or ride a bike while standing — I miss having a comfortable seat. Of course, one person’s idea of comfort is likely to differ from another’s. When my uncle saw the impossibly narrow (and implacably adamantine) saddle on Farwell’s “amphibious” bike, he prodded it gingerly, then observed that if he were ever forced to sit on “that thing” he’d have to have it surgically removed. So it’s obvious that notions of comfort vary wildly.

Still, there’s no denying that wood‑framed cane seats and granite rocks aren’t conducive to comfort. Not over the long haul, at any rate. And as I’ve just said, I spend a lot of time sitting down, both at work and at play. Moreover, I don’t share Farwell’s taste for the hard life, at least not in fundamental matters. I like my seats to be well upholstered. In short, I find myself keeping company with the spirits of Nessmuk and Colin Fletcher. I go to the woods to smooth it, not to rough it.

This mindset is reflected in my choice of bedding, among other things. And for quite some time I’d followed Fletcher’s lead in using my sleeping pad, suitably folded and trussed, as a lounge chair while in camp. But this was hard on the pad, and it didn’t lend itself to short lunch stops, let alone brief breathers along the portage trail. I needed something handier. And after a little looking around, I found it… Read more…

Send a Comment