Some time back (OK, a looong time back), I wrote a piece for Paddling.net that I subtitled “The Virtues of Simplicity.” It concluded with a ringing call to arms, in which I argued that, since “self‑reliance and simplicity lie at the heart of what we [paddlers] do,” we should “heed the warning implicit in the note, ‘Batteries not included.’” The unstated implication, of course, was that we’d all be better off if we left most of our electronic gadgets at home. Good advice, that. Or so I thought at the time. But times change, and change comes increasingly fast. Today, it’s almost impossible to imagine any right‑thinking paddler heading out to the backcountry without a small arsenal of electronic aides: cell phone, GPS, e‑book reader, personal locator beacon…

And I’m no exception. Which is why I figured it was high time to revisit another topic from the past — water disinfection. Here, too, change has come fast. A for‑instance: In my most recent foray into the subject, a column optimistically titled “Water Purification Brought Up to Date,” I pooh‑poohed the idea that portable ultramicrofiltration (0.02 μm) systems would soon become available. But now, only five years on, they’re … well, not commonplace, exactly … but widely advertised. It’s true that field reports are mixed, with some users complaining that flow rates are dishearteningly slow. Still, the technology to filter even the smallest pathogens from water has indeed left the laboratory and ventured out into the backcountry.

Me? I’m not likely to embrace this particular advance any time soon. You can put my hesitancy down to impatience, if you like. Or simple laziness. In my experience, filters are fiddly things, and I blanch at the prospect of maintaining an ultramicrofilter in the field. I do use a gravity‑feed microfilter for bulk‑treating water in camp, but even this comparatively coarse (0.2 μm) filter requires a certain amount of coddling. Which is just one manifestation of a larger problem…Read more…

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Sleep that knits up the ravell’d sleeve of care,
The death of each day’s life, sore labour’s bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature’s second course,
Chief nourisher in life’s feast…

    — William Shakespeare, Macbeth

When I wrote about my new air mattress, I wrote from the heart. Having spent too many days suffering the aftereffects of hours of fitful slumber, I knew the importance of a good night’s sleep. And I also knew I wasn’t alone. So I wasn’t surprised by the number of letters I got around the column. But when a second column inspired by the initial wave of correspondence resulted in a similar outpouring of mail, I was surprised. I shouldn’t have been, of course. I’ll bet there isn’t a single cyclotourist, backpacker, or paddler who can’t remember at least one trip that was soured when sleep in camp didn’t come easily. The upshot? There are almost as many solutions to the problem as there are sleepless paddlers. Which is why I’m returning to the subject one more time.

And I’ve had a lot of help, which is a very good thing. Though I’ve been knocking around in the backcountry going on half a century now, and Farwell has been at it even longer, we’ve tested just a few of the entries in the camping sleepstakes. But In the Same Boat‘s readers helped me fill in the gaps in our knowledge, and the folks whose words appear below have generously allowed me to use excerpts from their letters. So without further ado, here’s the last word on backcountry bedding — for now at any rate!…Read more…

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I’ve always felt at home in the night. The wild world doesn’t lapse into suspended animation when we slip into our sleeping bags at day’s end. The hours of darkness are a busy time in the backcountry. Sit quietly at the water’s edge in the proper season and chances are good that you’ll hear — and sometimes see — frogs, ducks, and geese aplenty, not to mention beavers and muskrats, all of them going about their business, undisturbed by any clumsy, meddlesome primates with delusions of grandeur. If your hearing is good, you may even discern the subtle clicking of a bat’s sonar as he swoops over your head to snatch up mosquitos, the same mosquitos that were drawn to you by the prospect of a blood meal. It’s the ultimate gotcha moment.

Bottom line? The night is a happening place. And listening in on the comings and goings of nocturnal wildlife is one of the great pleasures of camping. When I can, I find my way around in the dark without any artificial light, hoping to disturb my wild neighbors as little as possible by my presence. But when the time comes for me to turn back toward camp for the evening rituals of toothbrushing, tidying up, and hitting the sack, I want something to light up the night…Read more…

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