Gear Girl

I have a confession to make.

I am a complete gear girl.  Complete.  And I got it bad, enough so there ought to be a support group for people like me.  Because when I fall off the wagon, I fall hard.

Let me explain.

A couple of weeks ago, I was in the market for a new sleeping bag with the idea of going out for a day here, a night there.  Sleeping in the backyard just because, or maybe stealing a friend’s pass to this very nice camp out on Lake Michigan and hanging for a night of peace and quiet.  Nothing heavy, but I wanted to be out long enough where my much-older, much heavier-weight sleeping bag was just so unappealing.  (And forget about packing it for any distance.  Blah.)

I’ll also be straight-up in saying that summer is NOT my favorite time to hang in the woods.  Hot, humid, mosquitoes, noseeums, biting flies . . . blah.  Hiking isn’t bad so long as you drown yourself in DEET, and you always know when it’s time to apply more because after two hours?  There’s that little whine just off to your left . . .  I swear, there was one year where the hubby and I hiked this pretty remote inland valley and lake area and the mosquitoes were so thick they came in clouds.  First year I was ever glad I’d bought that silly mosquito net.

So, sleeping out in summer is not something I routinely do unless I’m in a REALLY nice tent–and since the hubby just isn’t into that anymore, I usually have to borrow my friend’s much bigger, much bulkier dome and it’s simply not worth the effort.

Anyway.  I needed a new bag for this coming weekend, but here’s the thing.  I’m as dangerous in places like Gander Mountain and Erehwon as I am in a bookstore.  If there’s one theory of the universe to which I subscribe it’s this: a girl can never have too many books or survival knives.  Or too much gear.  And that pair of convertible pants looks pretty darned good, don’tcha think?

So I gave myself a budget and stern talking-to.  Just the sleeping bag.  Synthetic, not down despite the fact that the fill for a down bag means a much more comfortable night.  I mean, we weren’t talking DAYS on the trail and in survival shelters.  And, okay, a sleeping pad to replace my ratty AF-issue pad from a bazillion years ago.  As for the rest . . . blinders, girl, blinders, and you most definitely do NOT need another knife.

Three guesses how long that lasted.

Bags have advanced since I was in the market for a new one.  Back in the dark ages and for people who weren’t climbing, you know, Everest, it was sort of one-size fits all. (And, yes, that’s how long ago I bought my first, trusty bag that has lasted lo’ these many years.)  But NOW.  Wow.  They have bags fitted for women.  A total shock there.  Before I knew it, I was fretting about things like color, if you can believe it.  Like . . . oh, gosh, do I take the baby blue Marmot there or the jade green?  (I ended up with green, which I justified by telling myself that, well, it was on sale.  Rationalization is a wonderful thing.)  I debated about the pads, too–inflatable! in different colors! like purple! my favorite!

Honestly.

I almost got away, too.  But what I hadn’t counted on were . . . the packs.

OMG.

Now, I have several packs: a few fanny packs of various vintages; several day packs; a couple around-town packs, and my HUGE, black bug-out bag.  Yes, I could have emptied the bug-out bag and used that, but that sucker is ginormous and, you know, frameless.  So it would be uncomfortable, even for a short-ish hike, don’tcha know.  So, of course, I needed a new pack, right?

You can guess the rest.

I spent some time trying on packs, which have also advanced (something I knew since I have an uber-comfortable Sherpani daypack they don’t make anymore for whatever reason–so I treasure that pack).  For example, the Al2 frames are now completely enclosed.  (In my misspent youth and YA-hood, everything was external.  You know, those big honker Al2 frames that made it look like you were headed to the moon.)  Of course, all these new packs were so comfortable and came in frames specifically designed for women AND in so many COLORS and SIZES . . .

I did resist, guys.  I really did.  Even though I found this pack that really spoke to me: a lovely Gregory Deva 60l, just purrfect for an overnight or weekend jaunt.  I tried it on.  I swooned.  But I walked away.  I really did.

Really.

Okay, okay, you got me.  I walked away because all they had in the store was a medium frame, and I’m a small.  Still.  It’s the principle of the thing, don’t you think?

Heartsore, I trudged to the front with ONLY a bag and pad (inflatable, natch, and in such a nice shade of green)–and made the mistake of detouring through the gadget aisles.  (And, okay, uncle, yes, I DID look at the knives.  I know you’ll be relieved that there wasn’t a nice fixed blade in the bunch and I’m in the market for a Mora.  Or maybe a K-Bar.  I just can’t decide and for now, my Ken Onion is fine for my purposes.  Maybe.  I’m not sure . . . )

Now, if there’s one thing I just GOT to have in the morning, it’s that first cup of coffee.  I’d pretty resigned myself to instant because my only press is metal and just too bulky.  Even with the new pack, I just couldn’t justify bringing it along.  Take up too much room with too little return.

Except . . . I discovered JetBoil.

O.  M.  G.

I will spare you my dropped-jaw, awe-factor.   But whoever invented that sucker was a genius.

I did walk away, though, same as I had for that Gregory pack.  My resolve lasted a good twenty-four, forty-eight hours, too.  Then I broke down and found the Gregory on sale AND in my size.  It arrived yesterday and I’ve already half-packed it and there’s SO MUCH ROOM!

Surely . . . plenty of room for a JetBoil, don’t you think?  If I can find one on sale?

Right?

I know.  Maybe I ought to lie down and wait for that to go away . . .

And speaking of which, crap, don’t I need a nice, new inflatable camp pillow?  That folds to the size of my fist?

But . . . of course.

Oh, the horror, the horror.