The
weather turned on us faster than a jilted lover. Just a mile from
the trailhead, our blue-sky day turned into a cloud-spitting
contest, with fog so thick you could hide London in the Indian
Heaven Wilderness where we were headed. But such are the vagaries of
hiking in the Great Northwest in autumn, where precipitation is a
constant threat, temperatures are mercurial, and your gear had
better be the best money can buy.
At
least, that's what I thought at the time. Then came Fog Man, an
apparition that floated out of the clouds and, as if by divine
intervention, made me question my need for "good"
backpacking gear and apparel.
Okay,
so he was just a knobby-kneed, grubby hiker who looked like he'd
been out on this section of the Pacific Crest Trail a day too long.
Besides dirt, his trail appearance included loosely laced, brown
"hiking" shoes (I'm sure that's what the box said), blue
jeans, a yellow rubber slicker torn at one cuff, a faded bandanna
around his neck, and a gray, wool skullcap. And one more thing: an
ear-to-ear smile, despite the lousy conditions.
"Hello!"
he said way too cheerfully as he eyed our high-tech, expensive
equipage. "Where're you headed?" We told him, then
listened as he filled the damp air with all manner of merry
adjectives, almost falling over himself describing his three-day
trip to the same neck of the Washington woods we intended to visit.
He was so excited that I barely caught a word he said. Of course, I
wasn't paying close attention. I was checking out his gear. The thin
shoulder straps on his external frame pack sliced into his shoulders
and there was no hipbelt to ease the burden, which appeared to be
considerable. Lashed to the bottom of the frame with gray rope was a
large black garbage bag containing his sleeping bag (I could see the
plaid, flannel lining through a rip in the plastic). Various items
hung from the pack-a cook pot, a canteen, a pair of dirty cotton
tube socks.
"I'd
have stayed longer, but the weather's turning ugly," he said,
looking up at the dripping Douglas fir. "Hope you folks stay
dry!" he said as he turned and plodded toward the trailhead, an
obvious spring in his step.
We
didn't. The rain intensified, as did the wind, and the temperature
continued to drop. By the time we set up camp, the conditions were
so bad that we could barely rig a cooking tarp. We dove into the
tents, soaked to the soul, and tried to sleep our way through the
storm. While lying there, I thought about who was the wiser: me with
all my cutting-edge, pricey, and saturated gear or Fog Man, with his
no-name equipment and the good sense to head home when things looked
bad?
There
was only one way to find out. I would go to Wal-Mart and outfit
myself head to toe in budget gear.
If
someone were to walk out of the Pacific and, as their first matter
of business on dry land, ask, "Where can I get some reasonably
priced camping gear?" chances are many answers would start with
"W." In the United States, only the Golden Arches are more
common than Wal-Mart.
Within
each store you'll find sprawling hunting, fishing, and camping
departments. Or as the Wal-Martians would probably tell you,
everything for the complete outdoorsperson. In fact, according to
National Sporting Goods Association statistics, a large portion of
the people who don't shop at places like L.L. Bean, EMS, and REI
purchase their camping gear at a local Wal-Mart.
So,
like the masses, I decided to do the same, to see just what kind of
gear these folks are carrying into the woods. And more important,
whether it held some mysterious answer to all the smiles I've seen
on so many faces.
One
February morning, armed with a trusty credit card, I walked into my
nearby Eugene, Oregon, Wal-Mart, determined to walk out with
everything I'd need for a weekend hiking trip along the Oregon
coast. Like the giddy winners of an all-expense-paid shopping spree,
Northwest Editor John Harlin and I spent 3 hours and $520 at the
store. Some choices were easy, others required much debate. For
example, we could have gone with a $100 tent instead of our $37 one.
But for $100, we could go to a specialty shop and find better
shelter. And we were on an all-out bargain hunt, so we routinely
chose products that fell in the middle or low end of the price
spectrum.
What
follows is a rundown of our Wal-Mart-equipped trip, plus all the
major categories of gear purchased there. For three days and two
nights we wandered through the Oregon Dunes National Recreation
Area. The hiking was easy and the weather a mixture of sun, rain,
and wind. In short, perfect testing weather. The first night was
relatively mild with a smattering of rain and a gentle ocean breeze.
Our Wal-Mart gear checked out A-Okay.
Day
two saw warm sunshine and gorgeous coastal views. Again, our
Wal-Mart gear worked fine. There were even moments that my
assignment-to concentrate on gear-slipped my mind as we played in
the sand and listened to waves pound the beach. That second night,
the rain rolled in, steady as the ocean tides. This is when our gear
started to show its limitations.
I
didn't pull any punches in reviewing this budget gear; I held it up
to the same standards consistent with all Backpacker field tests.
However, one thing kept rattling around in my head: All the
equipment, clothing, and food for two purchased at Wal-Mart cost us
less than a single tent from some companies. That's a weighty
thought to mull, and one that made me think I was on the road to
understanding Fog Man's sunny disposition.
Clothing
We
began our shopping spree in the clothing department as the smell of
hot, buttered popcorn wafted across the store. "Our winter
selection is depleted," explained one cheerful Wal-Mart
employee as she helped us search through the men's and women's
departments for anything warm and synthetic. Apparently, we were a
month or two late to partake of wool sweaters, pile, and blaze
orange synthetic-filled hunting vests. John was lucky, though. He
found a midweight acrylic sweater with a zip neck and a long,
butt-warming cut. He layered it over a crewneck sweatshirt made of a
polyester/cotton blend. (Note: We usually avoid all things cotton,
especially when rain threatens, because it dries so slowly. But in
this case, we had no choice. It was cotton or nothing.) I found a
sweatsuit (pullover and pants) made of a nappy polyester material
that resembled lightweight pile. The cost was $16, and because it
was women's size XL, the suit hung on me like the skin of an old
elephant (I'm normally a women's medium).
Except
for the annoying little pocket of manly fabric and the bulky fly
seams, my men's polypro-and-wool long johns bottoms were perfect.
But my long johns top was a waffle-knit, crew neck with 25 percent
cotton content. It was a men's medium, but sized to fit a beanpole,
with a torso that stretched below my crotch and sleeves that
extended a few inches beyond my hands. At least the fuzzy interior
was soft next to my skin.
Over
my longies went a pair of lined nylon windpants like the type my
father might wear on a rainy day on the golf course. They weren't
waterproof, but they did repel light rain and cut the wind. They
even almost fit! My jacket was strange-a yellow rubber slicker with
a thin layer of quilted insulation. It had a hood, snaps up the
front, and two patch pockets. I didn't like the stiffness of the
rubber, the gapping between snaps, or the baggy cuffs that invited
water up my sleeves. It generally kept rain out, but it was as
breathable as a plastic shower curtain. I had to be careful not to
walk too fast, otherwise I'd break out in a body-soaking sweat.
Bottom
line:
Size-wise, you'll have a decent array of choices-if you're a 180- to
200-pound man. If you stand 5'5" and have a few curves, though,
be ready to sacrifice. The lesson for women and smaller people: Shop
early, shop often, and hope for the best because stock varies from
season to season and store to store.
Boots
I'll
admit to some pessimism here because at first blush, I was convinced
my Gary Mt. Everest boots ($22.76, 2 pounds 10 ounces) would be
blister breeders and have me limping down the trail within the first
mile. But as it turned out, they weren't bad boots. In fact, the
supple leather, padded ankle collar, fully gussetted tongue, and
knobby treads worked pretty darn well for casual trail hiking with a
light pack. The problem was that the pair I finally settled on was a
tad too big (a men's size 7 instead of my normal women's size 7).
After trying on 12 pairs of boots ranging from yellow construction
footwear to women's size 5 fabric/leather jobs, they were the best
fit I could find. Again, bad timing, according to another friendly
Wal-Mart salesperson. Still, after a day and a half of mellow dune
walking, I wound up with only a small blister on my left
heel-nothing a little moleskin couldn't fix, and not half as bad as
I had anticipated.
John's
feet stayed warm, dry, and reasonably comfortable in his all-leather
Coleman Pike Waterproof boots ($34.76, 3 pounds 2 ounces). They
seemed fairly well made, and his feet suffered no blisters despite
zero break-in time. "However, the fit doesn't match my
low-volume foot," he said. "The boots are long-in-the-toe,
which creates an awkward crease-line over your toes. And the ankle
area offers little support."
Bottom
line:
The boots did their job, and if they fit your feet better than ours,
they'll probably suffice for light-duty backpacking. Personally, I'd
be hesitant about taking them on a lengthy backpacking trip.
Cooking Gear
When
we first pulled the Century Trail Scout ($15.96) propane stove out
of its box (everything is boxed at Wal-Mart), we were astounded at
its heft and girth. The burner is 61/2 by 61/2 inches wide, the
plastic base is almost 8 inches in diameter, and the propane tank is
8 inches tall. Assembled, it weighs a mighty 2 pounds 7 ounces. I've
seen backyard barbecues that were more diminutive than this thing.
But if you don't mind the size, it does everything a pack stove is
supposed to do. It fired up reliably on chilly, wet mornings, it
boiled water in a snap, and it quietly simmered our "diablo
sauce" without scorching.
The
Texsport Cookset ($9.96) is one of the best bargains we found.
There's a 1.9-liter pot with a bail handle, and a 61/2-inch fry pan
with plastic-coated swing handles. Both have copper bottoms for even
heat distribution and rounded edges for easy cleaning. The set
weighs only 1 pound and comes with a storage sack. Our meals cooked
well, cleanup was relatively easy, and our single gripe was that a
piece of the plastic coating on one of the swing handles chipped
almost immediately.
Bottom
line:
If you don't mind the size, the stove is a good buy. The light
inexpensive cookset is a great buy. Period.
Tents
At
about 2 a.m. on our third and final morning, something woke me up.
Maybe it was thirst. Maybe it was a shiver. Maybe it was a sixth
sense that told me rain had been falling for 5 straight hours and
our tent had sprung a leak. I sat up and grabbed the foot of my
sleeping bag. Sopping wet. I looked around for something to remedy
the situation, like a Maytag dryer, then dropped the sodden foot
section. It made a little splashing noise when it hit the floor.
By
3:30 a.m. a mote encircled our bags. I watched in amazement as water
literally flowed through the untaped floor seams and recalled the
description on the Ozark Trail Backpacking Dome tent ($36.96, 7
pounds) box: The "revolutionary" UV-Tex 5 tent fabric is a
"nonstretch, treated fabric that ensures maximum water
protection and provides dryness superior to ordinary nylon
tents." The box also claimed that "taped seams help
against rain leakage." There wasn't a taped seam in sight.
After a few hours of rain, everything inside was soaked-books, map,
spare clothes, sleeping pads, most of our bags. I spent the
remainder of the night sitting upright in the center of my pad, with
the damp (as opposed to sopping wet) part of my bag clutched around
me.
Besides
the leaking, the side walls are made from a nonbreathable material
that promotes condensation buildup (read: more water to cope with).
The fiberglass poles are loosely shock-corded, which makes pitching
the tent a two-person affair-one to push, one to pull-because the
pole sections come apart and catch on the sleeves. Like all
fiberglass poles, these aren't meant for high wind or heavy snow.
On
the plus side, the tent is roomy enough for two people, two dogs,
and gear. And who knows, maybe if we had seam-sealed the whole thing
meticulously-the instructions don't recommend it-the tent might not
have leaked so badly.
Bottom
line:
The Ozark Trail Backpacking Dome will do if you camp only where it
sprinkles. Otherwise, spring for a mini weatherband radio, too, so
you can find out when big rain is coming and hightail it outta
there.
Sleeping Bags
When
shopping, we quickly passed over the rectangular bags (too bulky)
and those that had any cotton content (too cold when wet), and
zeroed in on the Ozark Trail Glacier Bay 25°F bags. Filled with
Hollofil, these mummy bags each weighed 4 pounds and cost $39.96,
making them the single most expensive items we bought. The nylon
taffeta shells and linings are similar to those on a $200
bag-durable and water-repellent. But the best testimonial came from
John: "In the wee hours of the morning, the puddle in the tent
rose high enough to soak through the foot of my bag. I merely lifted
the dripping section onto a pile of wet raingear and went back to
sleep. The Hollofil polyester insulation kept me warm even when
soaked."
Me,
I'm more of a wimp than John. My bag seemed like a giant sponge that
rainy night, and although I did everything possible to convince
myself that a wet synthetic bag is nothing more than a slight
inconvenience, I was a cold, unhappy camper. I cannot, however,
blame the sleeping bag. I'm a perpetually cold sleeper, and I most
likely would have felt the same in a $250 bag. The culprit was the
tent.
Bottom
line:
Our bags weren't bad performers for the price, and will probably do
fine overall if the temps don't go too low and you can keep the bags
dry.
Packs
During
our shopping spree, I asked a salesperson to direct us to the
backpacks. She led us to a small display of children's book bags
adorned with Barney and Luke Skywalker.
"No,
I mean big backpacks. Like the kind you use for backpacking."
"Oh,
we don't get those in stock till summertime," she replied.
We
were disappointed, to say the least. Luckily, we found some cheap
internal frame packs at an army surplus store next door. As of press
time (late April), my local Wal-Mart still had no backpacks in
stock-plenty of the book bags, a few children's external frames, but
nothing for an adult.
Bottom
line:
Again, shop early and remember that seasons affect what's on the
shelves.
