The long walk
Here, he describes the kit that helped him to cope with the changing
conditions on the 3,500-kilometre trek.
A freak blizzard had trapped us in a hostel for two days. Almost a metre of snow covered the ground. But now, Andy Laub, my hiking partner, and I were ducking under branches laden with snow as we set off for a 20-kilometre uphill trek to our shelter. It wasn’t ideal hiking, and it explained why so few people complete the entirety of the 3,500-kilometre Appalachian Trail. We post-holed along at half our usual speed, and tired almost twice as quickly, with fingertips and toes going numb from the cold. The going was difficult and treacherous, but when we made it to the shelter, set up camp, and pulled out the cheesecake we had carried from town, the arduous journey made Andy’s 22nd birthday all the sweeter.
Hike your own hike
The Appalachian Trail attracts a community of outdoor enthusiasts, including more than 6,000 volunteers who maintain the route in 14 states on the USA’s east coast. The people who hike the trail’s entirety are known as thru-hikers. Shortly after starting a solo trek, I met Andy, with whom I eventually completed the trail. We started as strangers and soon became good friends. The trail is a place where alter egos are born. Everyone adopts a ‘trail name’; real names are never known. We became known as the Dusty Camel.
Andy and I set off in February, before the main hiker season began, so we thankfully missed the packed campsites and overcrowded hiker hostels. What we learned from the communities along the trail, and from other early-season walkers, was to ‘hike your own hike’. We experienced temperatures of –23°C in Georgia, three weeks of rain in Virginia, and sweat-evaporating heat in New York.
It’s easy to get lost in the relaxation and freedom that the trail offers. However, it’s just as easy to find yourself in a potentially dangerous situation. Rock climber and businessman Yvon Chouinard once said: ‘It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.’ Your gear may make the difference in a survival situation.
To prepare for a journey more than twice the length of Britain, I had to choose my equipment wisely. My family said I hiked the trail for the gear. They were only half-joking. I spent months researching how to maximise my comfort and minimise the weight of my pack.
Andy took the opposite approach. If his family had some form of what he needed, he was taking it, regardless of how old, heavy or impractical it was. He spent far less money on his equipment than me. However, he had to replace nearly every item on the trail. By contrast, I replaced very little.
I bought my gear from companies that build products specifically for activities such as thru-hiking. They want feedback and opinions, and will do what they can if and when their products fail. Equipment from these smaller manufacturers is usually a bit more expensive than regular gear, but, as I found out, doesn’t cost anything to replace if something breaks. You get what you pay for, after all.
Back issues
When everything you own is on your back, you’re keen to avoid unnecessary weight. Following the theory that ‘if it’s in your pack in camp, you don’t need it’, anything that wasn’t removed from my rucksack at the end of the day – other than a first-aid kit and phone charger – was considered to be dead weight.
Starting with the pack, comfortable straps are essential. When hiking up to 40 kilometres a day, padded straps reduce wear on your body. Thin straps tend to leave your skin bruised and raw: not a fun combination when you’re living in the woods for four months. Burly buckles, thick stitching and airflow are things to look for. The pack I used rested on the top and bottom of my back, leaving the middle part open with ample room for sweat to escape.
River crossings, weeks of rain and waterlogged terrain were normal on the trail. We got soaked through, but we couldn’t risk getting our spare clothing and gear wet. To keep the contents dry, everything in our rucksacks was packed in lightweight, waterproof stuff sacks. Sleeping bags, clothing, food and tent goodies all had their separate bags. Waterproofed items are pretty much smell-proof too, which discouraged animals from sniffing around our provisions.
Some people hike the Appalachian Trail without tents, but I needed a portable home. Our spacious, three-person mountaineering tent was well worth the weight penalty. The single-walled construction made it easier to manage than a two-walled model, and condensation was never an issue thanks to the multiple doors and vents.
This spacious shelter was the key to our success on the trail. It gave us enough room to move around, play cards and stretch out. I eventually carried a blow-up pillow so I could sleep soundly through the night. While this accessory weighed 310 grams, waking up without a sore neck justified the weight.
Square meals
The first thing you miss on a four-month journey through the woods is food. When you’re burning up to 7,000 calories a day but can only carry 2,000 calories’ worth of food, you begin to crave things such as fast food that you wouldn’t necessarily want to eat in the city. Every day we starved a little more.
Every four to seven days, we were able to get off the trail, go into town, gorge ourselves, and resupply our food sacks. Everything had to be lightweight, dense in calories, and – oh, yes – edible. We loved dehydrated meals, but they were too expensive to buy regularly, and we realised that their serving size was based on a 2,000-calorie diet.
What we ate came down to three factors: how much it cost, how much it weighed and whether it could be produced with boiling water. Every breakfast and dinner lived inside its own zip-lock freezer bag. These food bags – which we assembled in town before returning to the trail – made it easy to cook, eat and clean up.
Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, trail mix, brown sugar and a scoop of peanut butter: a dense breakfast that prepared us for the day. Lunch was anything we could stash in our pockets: bars, candy and jars of peanut butter. Dinner was a box of stuffing with cranberries and chicken, couscous with tuna, or instant mashed potatoes with bacon bits. None of the meals cost more than £2.50 and they were all filling and tasty.
In order to obtain safe drinking water, we tested four purification devices and soon learned that the best method was also the lightest. Some purifying equipment broke, froze or took too much effort to use. In the end, we found that purification drops were the most reliable option. If you’re in an area where the water isn’t clear, a little sieve [or a Millbank Bag – Equipment Ed.] will strain out any pulp the water may have. Or you can do as we did and just get used to it. Our packs never weighed more than 15 kilograms, including a day of water and five days of food.
Spandex strides
When it comes to clothing, long-distance hikers are never going to win any fashion awards. Two bearded men walking around in spandex leggings is quite a sight. Yet spandex delayed the onset of fatigue in our legs by helping to keep our muscles tight. The material also dried quickly and drew sweat away from the skin.
We carried three sets of clothing: cold weather, warm weather and camp wear. While our clothes may have become smelly after some time, we were happy that our packs lacked the weight of additional garments. We never carried more than a kilogram of spare clothing in our packs. And after a while, we didn’t notice any body odours.
Before I left home, the thought of going on a hike without a rain jacket seemed like insanity. We soon realised that getting wet – from rain or sweat – was inevitable. Eventually, we ditched our rain gear and replaced it with lighter, windproof and much more breathable shell jackets. We were prepared for the colder weather with our windproof shells, lightweight down-filled duvet jackets, and synthetic base layers. Merino-wool thermals served as our camp attire. The natural fibre was comfortable in varying temperatures, and the odour-resisting nature of merino didn’t hurt.
The most important piece of kit was on our feet. We found that the less a boot flexed, the longer the distance our feet could walk before they began to ache. Although waterproof uppers kept our feet on the warmer side of comfortable, merino-wool socks wicked away excess moisture and kept our skin dry.
I replaced my boots four times on the Appalachian Trail, twice because of faulty design. With 800 kilometres to go, I got the pair that I finished the trail in. I still wear them today.
Stretch your legs
The Appalachian Trail is rightly viewed as one of the world’s premier long-distance trails. But it has plenty of competition. The USA is home to a number of other long-distance routes, including the Pacific Crest Trail (4,200 kilometres) and the Continental Divide Trail (5,000 kilometres). The network of European walking routes continues to expand: the E1 will eventually begin at Norway’s Nordkapp and terminate in Sicily; the E2 is scheduled to shift its current starting point from Stranraer to Galway, creating a 4,850-kilometre trail to Nice.
Other trails are under construction. Te Araroa (The Long Pathway) is a 3,000-kilometre route in New Zealand that is due to open this year. The Great Himalaya Trail will stretch 4,500 kilometres from Pakistan to Tibet. When the Sendero de Chile (Chilean Path) is completed, it will stretch for 9,700 kilometres from Arica to Cape Horn.
But if you really want to stretch your legs, start training for the Trans Canada Trail: a 22,000-kilometre route that will link the Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic oceans. More than 16,500 kilometres of this multi-use trail have already been completed.
Paul Deegan
Ten of the best
Walking all 3,500 kilometres of the Appalachian Trail gave Ian plenty of time to contemplate the relative merits of his kit – and to put said kit to the test under a wide range of tough conditions. With the weather running the gamut from snow and sub-zero temperatures to sapping heat and humidity, he had to be prepared for everything – a fact reflected in this selection of his essential gear
Don’t forget…
…to pack one or two home comforts to help keep you sane on the trail. I hiked the Appalachian Trail with a small backpacker guitar that weighed less than a kilogram
Ian Mangiardi is an outdoorsman, emergency medical technician and chef. At the conclusion of the Appalachian Trail, he formed the Dusty Camel, a non-profit organisation that helps to protect the lands in which he finds adventure. Ian is currently hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. www.thedustycamel.org
July 2011
A freak blizzard had trapped us in a hostel for two days. Almost a metre of snow covered the ground. But now, Andy Laub, my hiking partner, and I were ducking under branches laden with snow as we set off for a 20-kilometre uphill trek to our shelter. It wasn’t ideal hiking, and it explained why so few people complete the entirety of the 3,500-kilometre Appalachian Trail. We post-holed along at half our usual speed, and tired almost twice as quickly, with fingertips and toes going numb from the cold. The going was difficult and treacherous, but when we made it to the shelter, set up camp, and pulled out the cheesecake we had carried from town, the arduous journey made Andy’s 22nd birthday all the sweeter.
Hike your own hike
The Appalachian Trail attracts a community of outdoor enthusiasts, including more than 6,000 volunteers who maintain the route in 14 states on the USA’s east coast. The people who hike the trail’s entirety are known as thru-hikers. Shortly after starting a solo trek, I met Andy, with whom I eventually completed the trail. We started as strangers and soon became good friends. The trail is a place where alter egos are born. Everyone adopts a ‘trail name’; real names are never known. We became known as the Dusty Camel.
Andy and I set off in February, before the main hiker season began, so we thankfully missed the packed campsites and overcrowded hiker hostels. What we learned from the communities along the trail, and from other early-season walkers, was to ‘hike your own hike’. We experienced temperatures of –23°C in Georgia, three weeks of rain in Virginia, and sweat-evaporating heat in New York.
It’s easy to get lost in the relaxation and freedom that the trail offers. However, it’s just as easy to find yourself in a potentially dangerous situation. Rock climber and businessman Yvon Chouinard once said: ‘It’s not an adventure until something goes wrong.’ Your gear may make the difference in a survival situation.
To prepare for a journey more than twice the length of Britain, I had to choose my equipment wisely. My family said I hiked the trail for the gear. They were only half-joking. I spent months researching how to maximise my comfort and minimise the weight of my pack.
Andy took the opposite approach. If his family had some form of what he needed, he was taking it, regardless of how old, heavy or impractical it was. He spent far less money on his equipment than me. However, he had to replace nearly every item on the trail. By contrast, I replaced very little.
I bought my gear from companies that build products specifically for activities such as thru-hiking. They want feedback and opinions, and will do what they can if and when their products fail. Equipment from these smaller manufacturers is usually a bit more expensive than regular gear, but, as I found out, doesn’t cost anything to replace if something breaks. You get what you pay for, after all.
Back issues
When everything you own is on your back, you’re keen to avoid unnecessary weight. Following the theory that ‘if it’s in your pack in camp, you don’t need it’, anything that wasn’t removed from my rucksack at the end of the day – other than a first-aid kit and phone charger – was considered to be dead weight.
Starting with the pack, comfortable straps are essential. When hiking up to 40 kilometres a day, padded straps reduce wear on your body. Thin straps tend to leave your skin bruised and raw: not a fun combination when you’re living in the woods for four months. Burly buckles, thick stitching and airflow are things to look for. The pack I used rested on the top and bottom of my back, leaving the middle part open with ample room for sweat to escape.
River crossings, weeks of rain and waterlogged terrain were normal on the trail. We got soaked through, but we couldn’t risk getting our spare clothing and gear wet. To keep the contents dry, everything in our rucksacks was packed in lightweight, waterproof stuff sacks. Sleeping bags, clothing, food and tent goodies all had their separate bags. Waterproofed items are pretty much smell-proof too, which discouraged animals from sniffing around our provisions.
Some people hike the Appalachian Trail without tents, but I needed a portable home. Our spacious, three-person mountaineering tent was well worth the weight penalty. The single-walled construction made it easier to manage than a two-walled model, and condensation was never an issue thanks to the multiple doors and vents.
This spacious shelter was the key to our success on the trail. It gave us enough room to move around, play cards and stretch out. I eventually carried a blow-up pillow so I could sleep soundly through the night. While this accessory weighed 310 grams, waking up without a sore neck justified the weight.
Square meals
The first thing you miss on a four-month journey through the woods is food. When you’re burning up to 7,000 calories a day but can only carry 2,000 calories’ worth of food, you begin to crave things such as fast food that you wouldn’t necessarily want to eat in the city. Every day we starved a little more.
Every four to seven days, we were able to get off the trail, go into town, gorge ourselves, and resupply our food sacks. Everything had to be lightweight, dense in calories, and – oh, yes – edible. We loved dehydrated meals, but they were too expensive to buy regularly, and we realised that their serving size was based on a 2,000-calorie diet.
What we ate came down to three factors: how much it cost, how much it weighed and whether it could be produced with boiling water. Every breakfast and dinner lived inside its own zip-lock freezer bag. These food bags – which we assembled in town before returning to the trail – made it easy to cook, eat and clean up.
Breakfast consisted of oatmeal, trail mix, brown sugar and a scoop of peanut butter: a dense breakfast that prepared us for the day. Lunch was anything we could stash in our pockets: bars, candy and jars of peanut butter. Dinner was a box of stuffing with cranberries and chicken, couscous with tuna, or instant mashed potatoes with bacon bits. None of the meals cost more than £2.50 and they were all filling and tasty.
In order to obtain safe drinking water, we tested four purification devices and soon learned that the best method was also the lightest. Some purifying equipment broke, froze or took too much effort to use. In the end, we found that purification drops were the most reliable option. If you’re in an area where the water isn’t clear, a little sieve [or a Millbank Bag – Equipment Ed.] will strain out any pulp the water may have. Or you can do as we did and just get used to it. Our packs never weighed more than 15 kilograms, including a day of water and five days of food.
Spandex strides
When it comes to clothing, long-distance hikers are never going to win any fashion awards. Two bearded men walking around in spandex leggings is quite a sight. Yet spandex delayed the onset of fatigue in our legs by helping to keep our muscles tight. The material also dried quickly and drew sweat away from the skin.
We carried three sets of clothing: cold weather, warm weather and camp wear. While our clothes may have become smelly after some time, we were happy that our packs lacked the weight of additional garments. We never carried more than a kilogram of spare clothing in our packs. And after a while, we didn’t notice any body odours.
Before I left home, the thought of going on a hike without a rain jacket seemed like insanity. We soon realised that getting wet – from rain or sweat – was inevitable. Eventually, we ditched our rain gear and replaced it with lighter, windproof and much more breathable shell jackets. We were prepared for the colder weather with our windproof shells, lightweight down-filled duvet jackets, and synthetic base layers. Merino-wool thermals served as our camp attire. The natural fibre was comfortable in varying temperatures, and the odour-resisting nature of merino didn’t hurt.
The most important piece of kit was on our feet. We found that the less a boot flexed, the longer the distance our feet could walk before they began to ache. Although waterproof uppers kept our feet on the warmer side of comfortable, merino-wool socks wicked away excess moisture and kept our skin dry.
I replaced my boots four times on the Appalachian Trail, twice because of faulty design. With 800 kilometres to go, I got the pair that I finished the trail in. I still wear them today.
Stretch your legs
The Appalachian Trail is rightly viewed as one of the world’s premier long-distance trails. But it has plenty of competition. The USA is home to a number of other long-distance routes, including the Pacific Crest Trail (4,200 kilometres) and the Continental Divide Trail (5,000 kilometres). The network of European walking routes continues to expand: the E1 will eventually begin at Norway’s Nordkapp and terminate in Sicily; the E2 is scheduled to shift its current starting point from Stranraer to Galway, creating a 4,850-kilometre trail to Nice.
Other trails are under construction. Te Araroa (The Long Pathway) is a 3,000-kilometre route in New Zealand that is due to open this year. The Great Himalaya Trail will stretch 4,500 kilometres from Pakistan to Tibet. When the Sendero de Chile (Chilean Path) is completed, it will stretch for 9,700 kilometres from Arica to Cape Horn.
But if you really want to stretch your legs, start training for the Trans Canada Trail: a 22,000-kilometre route that will link the Atlantic, Pacific and Arctic oceans. More than 16,500 kilometres of this multi-use trail have already been completed.
Paul Deegan
Ten of the best
Walking all 3,500 kilometres of the Appalachian Trail gave Ian plenty of time to contemplate the relative merits of his kit – and to put said kit to the test under a wide range of tough conditions. With the weather running the gamut from snow and sub-zero temperatures to sapping heat and humidity, he had to be prepared for everything – a fact reflected in this selection of his essential gear
Start the slideshow (10 pictures)
Don’t forget…
…to pack one or two home comforts to help keep you sane on the trail. I hiked the Appalachian Trail with a small backpacker guitar that weighed less than a kilogram
Ian Mangiardi is an outdoorsman, emergency medical technician and chef. At the conclusion of the Appalachian Trail, he formed the Dusty Camel, a non-profit organisation that helps to protect the lands in which he finds adventure. Ian is currently hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. www.thedustycamel.org
July 2011
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