Jordan's Dad

I joined the US Navy in 1978, right out of High School. I did boot camp at NTC San Diego (where my twin uncle had boot camp), then Basic Electricity and Electronics school (also in San Diego), and then Electronics Technician Class 'A' school in Great Lakes, Illinois. One of my classmates in ET ‘A’ school was a guy from Montana named Steve Hudecek, who would become my best friend.

Steve and I had ET ‘A’ school together, and we would have had Navy Nuclear Power school together as well, but I got to Orlando early and got bumped up one class. We still did virtually everything together except for class work; neither of us smoked or drank and we were both pretty smart so we didn’t have any mandatory study hours. We wound up with a considerable amount of free time, and we used some of it to walk around Orlando. We walked 5 miles one way to hit the re-release of Star Wars (with the very first Empire Strikes Back trailer), and we walked 10 miles one way to see the opening of Star Trek: The Motion Picture. We both got sent to Nuclear Power Prototype training at the Idaho National Engineering Laboratory near Idaho Falls, and we walked a lot there too.

We spent six months stationed in Idaho, and Steve’s hometown was Livingston, Montana which was only about 250 miles away. Steve and I were at different facilities (he was at the Enterprise plant, A1W, while I was at the Nautilus plant, S1W) but we were on the same shift so our time off matched up. The way things worked at that place and time, we did five days of day shifts and then had one day off, five days of evening shifts and then had two days off, then five days of midnight shifts followed by five days off. Wash, rinse, repeat. On our 5-offs, Steve and I would go up to Livingston and stay with his parents. It is quite the beautiful area, and we did a bit of hiking in the Pine Creek Wilderness; we even scrambled up beside Pine Creek Falls one afternoon with no gear whatsoever, not so much as a day pack and a snack. I had done a bit of hiking during my short time in the Boy Scouts, but I think I truly caught the hiking bug from Steve Hudecek and the incredible state of Montana.

There was a drugstore in Livingston that had an external-frame pack in the window. It had bent aluminum tubing for a frame, and a cheap hunter green nylon pack bag. I fell in love and bought that cheap-ass pack, and it carried my gear for my remaining four years as a Nuclear Reactor Operator on a Navy fast attack submarine. I bought that pack for the express purpose of walking cross-country from wherever I happened to get out back to my home town, and long after I got out and lost or gave away my sea bag and all my uniforms, I still had that frayed hunter green pack with the cheap aluminum frame.

In about 1990, I fell in love with another pack. This one was hanging on a wall of backpacks in The Pathfinder in Manhattan, Kansas. It was a gigantic external frame Kelty Tioga-R, grey and red, with a black frame, a mesh back band, adjustable straps and a molded hipbelt. I bought it. I used it. I daresay, I learned how to go backcountry camping with that monster of a pack (I don’t know what kind of pack Cheryl Strayed carried her 100 lbs of gear in on the PCT, but it might well have been my old Kelty. It could easily carry more than I could). I bought my gear based on that pack, and only many years later did I hear the advice, “don’t buy the pack first.”

In some ways, I was smart. I compared gear, I read books (I am forever endebted to Harvey Manning and “Backpacking: One Step at a Time” and Colin Fletcher and “The Complete Walker”) and reviews in Backpacker magazine, I pondered and bought top quality gear (buy cheap, buy twice), I tested all my gear and got proficient with it BEFORE I hit the trails. I just had way too much of it, so I had trouble finding the joy and freedom of hiking with Steve in grizzly country in blue jeans and t-shirts. Eventually, I started weighing things and making spreadsheets, cutting out stuff I never used, things that got in the way, dead weight like unneeded stuff sacks and forks and plates and candle lanterns and SLR cameras and… In the end, I became a lightweight backpacker because I had too. Don’t get me wrong here, I don’t consider myself a “gram weenie.” I don’t cut the handle off my toothbrush or any of that Jardinazi nonsense (I read Ray’s book, and I have considerable respect for the man, but I think some of his ideas are out in nutball territory), but I do try to keep from duplicating functionality in my gear, and I do try to make sure that I use everything in my pack except emergency gear on a close to daily basis.

I hesitated to jump on the internal frame bandwagon since I sweat like it’s my job, and I really thought that having the pack right up against my back would be excruciatingly uncomfortable. It turned out that I don’t sweat any more or any less no matter what, so since about 2000 or so I’ve used internal frames. The first was a HUGE blue Kelty, I don’t recall the model, and it was an unmitigated disaster. That was the pack that made me start thinking about changing my hiking/camping style toward seeking more comfort on the trail; after all, that is where I wind up spending most of my time. I camp to sleep, and as long as I’m not cold and/or wet I don’t need a lot of creature comforts on that end. By 2003, I had traded in my six-pound-and-change Kelty for a four pound Dana Mazama. In 2007 I flirted briefly with a Granite Gear pack, but it was simply not for me, and that Mazama has been my go-to pack for 12 years. It has been to Glacier (twice), Mammoth Cave National Park, the Ozark Trail, the Wind River Range, the Absaroka Range, and uncounted state parks. It has never leaked, never popped a stitch, and is big enough to hold my chosen gear without letting me go overboard. If Dana Gleason happens to be reading this, I owe you huge thanks for designing an awesome pack that never let me down.

But the times, they are a changin’. I’m going to hike the Appalachian Trail. I’m training, getting in good cardiovascular shape, toughening my feet, strengthening my body and losing weight. Losing weight on my body got me thinking and revisiting the old spreadsheets and looking into new gear. I could save two pounds by ditching my Big Agnes Storm King for a Hammock Gear Burrow 20 quilt, and save space in the pack to boot (that purchase is made, and that quilt had me sweating inside of 10 minutes. Seems to be a good product, but the trail will tell). I can save nearly another two pounds by trading in my old Trail Pro Regular Thermarest for a Neo-Air xTherm, and save more space and be warmer on the cold, cold ground (this one is ordered, but I haven’t pulled the trigger yet. Somebody chime in if you think it’s a mistake). Saving all this pack space means looking at smaller packs, and since The Pathfinder is heavy into Osprey packs these days, I started there. I stuffed all my old gear into an Exos 58 and it fit (and the hydration sleeve works better without bulging into my back like the old Dana), so when the quilt came in I had to try stuffing it all into an Exos 48… and it all fit. At less than two and a half pounds, I will save nearly another two pounds off the old Mazama, so I placed the order from my outfitter yesterday. If you’re keeping track and are interested in these things, this brings my big four (pack, shelter, bag and mattress) down to six pounds and ten ounces. Holy crap, maybe I AM a gram-weenie.