Outdoor Gear Failures and Mishaps
JEFF GARMIRE
The road from beginner to expert is not smooth. It is wrought with adversity and trials. The process is full of mistakes and learning. From my first steps with a 55 pound external frame backpack to my final steps in setting the speed record on the Long Trail in Vermont I have experienced quite a number of gear mishaps and blunders. It is not the moments of a perfectly constructed tent that create the strongest memories, but the mornings where fresh coffee is immediately spilled on the snow. Here are a few stories of my best gear blunders.
1. My first Pack: I started my long distance hiking career on the Pacific Crest Trail with 55-pounds in an external frame backpack. It was straight from my parents attic, and with no knowledge of the 2,650 miles I was intent on hiking, I chose the outdated piece of gear to carry all of my possessions. The burly pack made it 690 miles before the frame snapped. Only ten miles from entering the remote Sierra Nevada Mountains I felt something digging into my side. I immediately took the backpack off and saw the heavy duty frame snapped clean in half. Already on a tight budget, I feared this could cut short my hike. I awkwardly lugged the pack patched together with duct tape ten miles to Kennedy Meadows and reassessed my options. When I arrived at the end of the desert a group of more experienced hikers determined the pack was broken and unmendable. A search for a new backpack began.
Before determining how to carry my gear, I received full shakedown, eliminating many pounds of unnecessary gear. When my load was more manageable I found an old pack in a used gear-box. Despite looking a little rough, another hike and I sewed it up with a needle and floss. I loaded it up with all my gear and found it usable to traverse the Sierra Nevada Mountains. After two days of deep snow and rugged terrain, the pack began to struggle, with floss fraying at the seems. The hip belt ripped out of the pack and led to back spasms. But I had more floss and once again sewed it back together. As the miles added up, the repairs were more common. But I salvaged the well worn backpack and extended its life 200 miles through the most difficult section of the Pacific Crest Trail. Finally at Mammoth Lakes, I got a more suitable backpack to finish out the last 2,000 miles of my first long distance hike.
2. Tent Burning: The mosquitoes were awful. My pace had increased to an uncomfortable speed just to avoid the buzzing critters. The horrible insects were the only thing on my mind. While hiking I would continually slap my arms and legs, scoring kill shots left and right. The views of Oregon were not enough to put my mind at ease. Each evening I dove into my hastily constructed tent and zipped it up frantically, locking out my nemesis. As the days went on with no break in the clouds of mosquitoes, I started cooking inside the shelter—quite contrary to what the experts recommend.
One night, with a new can of fuel, I lit the stove and a flame shot right through the roof of the tent. My shelter was breached. The mosquitoes poured in as I quickly turned off the stove. A cacophony of buzzes rang through my ears and I quickly tried to stifle their advances. First I pressed my rain jacket against the hole. But the slowing of their advances was only temporary. After a deep breath I flung open the zippered door and lunged at my poles. While covered in thousands of mosquitos, I closed the gap with duct tape. But the damage was done, both on the tent and my pristine skin. The tent would carry the scar with it for the next two months of the trail and I sported too many mosquito bites to count for the next hundred miles.
3. Blowing Glove: It was 2015 and I was in the middle of my attempt to climb all of the 14,000 foot peaks in Colorado. Today’s challenge was summiting the trifecta of Mt. Missouri, Mt. Oxford and Mt. Belford. It was a windy, cold morning and I had camped right at treeline to bag the summits before the bad weather came in. With only the bare minimum in a small backpack for a night in the alpine, every item in my pack was valued. I ran up Mt. Missouri and made my way down a class 5 scramble to Elkhead Pass in heavy wind. The wind chill was so cold on my hands nausea threatened. I turned my back to the gusts and reached into my pack for gloves. I put one on but then a huge gust enveloped my position and blew my second glove high up into the air. Daintily it waved and fluttered before another gust caught it and any hope of retrieval vanished when the glove shot over the cliff I stood on. It was gone for good. My hand was turning white and I was already clad in every layer. The only way to combat the chill now was to run. So, I ran the rest of the day with the exposed digits tucked in my armpit.
4. Swan Lake Glasses: On long distance hikes I wear glasses. Largely out of concern for the sanitary risk that comes from attempting to maintain contact lenses on trail. But despite glasses eliminating a lot of risk, they come with concerns of their own...
I was hiking through northeastern Washington and it was hot. Each day the temperature flirted with historical highs. Water was scarce and the only thing I craved. It had been days of fighting through overgrowth and a heat that destroyed my motivation. But suddenly I turned a corner and was face to face with Swan Lake. The water looked pristine. It called to me and I would not ignore the opportunity. Quickly stripping naked, I hobbled down to the water’s edge and dove in. I slid through the water as if in slow motion, feeling the refreshing lake cooling my overheated body. But then I surface. I came out of the water and everything was blurry. Thinking my optics were simply streaked with water, I reached up to my face to find it bare. The glasses were gone. I blindly looked all around in the waist deep water but couldn't see well enough to make out shapes on the bottom. Trying to memorize the spot I lost them, I walked back to my pack and put on my prescription sunglasses. They were too dark to see the bottom of the water. I began dragging my feet around, feeling for any foreign objects in the lake. Concern turned to panic and anxiety quickly blossomed. How would I see? I painstakingly went over the spot of the disappearance for an hour, full of nerves and frantic searching. On the verge of giving up, my toes brushed the plastic frames. Immediately reaching down to my wrinkled toes, I found the glasses four feet under the surface. I could hike on!
5. Spoonless: I reached in my pack for a spoon and came up with nothing. The utensil I depended on for snacks, lunch, and dinner had vanished somewhere around Glacier Peak. Going back and looking for it was out of the question. Luckily, hiking provides plenty of time to think and I began mulling over options. At first I tried to use my fingers, but after dipping them in Nutella, I was soon a mess. I needed a spoon. 100 miles from the end of the Pacific Crest Trail, nothing fancy was required, so I sat down on Suiattle pass and opened my bag. I found a tent stake, pulled out a plastic lid to a Pringles can and cut it roughly into a circle. Then with duct tape I attached the circle of plastic to the tent stake. A quick dip in the nutella and the contraption held. I now had a soon for my final four days on the trail!
One of the best parts about being self sufficient and backpacking in nature is the flexibility, creativity and reliance on the gear that is in your pack. It is a lifestyle that lends itself to making numerous decisions to combat every external force that works against you, from mosquitos to weather. Overcoming these challenges makes it one of the most rewarding adventures and goals to accomplish.