Away from road noise
A couple of weeks ago I went backpacking at Point Reyes National Seashore. This wasn't the first time I'd been to Pt. Reyes, but the last time was 15 years ago (this is, you might imagine, a common theme: back in 2001 my employer sent me to San Francisco many times and I became as familiar with the city as you can when you experience it in 4-hour chunks of borrowed time). However, my memories are appropriately vague. I do know that we went to the Arch Rock portion, which was quite remarkable. And fortunate, as that particular section is permanently closed. Er. GONE.. SO I was very luck to experience it while it existed. Erosion: it happens.
I selected Pt. Reyes mainly because it wasn't a very long drive, I knew that it was pretty and not insanely difficult, and most importantly I could reserve a camping spot. Weekend spots go quick.
In addition to being the first time I've gone camping since coming to CA, it was also my first time backpacking solo. Plus going to an unfamiliar location - of course this will go without a hitch!
The first issue happened before I was even packed. I was showing Joanna something with my pack, I don't even recall what, and the zipper shuttle just came right off. On inspection, the stitching holding the end of the zipper together, and to the rest of the pack, had come undone. Now, this is an overall minor thing which is fixable by someone of modest sewing skill, and it was only the zipper for the topmost pocket; important but not crucial.
However, I thought about it and realized a few things. See, I use my backpacking for what is apparently called rucking. This is a thing I landed upon independently, but should be relatively obvious. I started going on long walks for health. But, well, there are only so many hours in the day, and while going on a daily 7-mile hike might have significant health benefits I just don't have 2-3 hours to devote to that kind of thing. And walking only does so much, you know? Problem is, I hate jogging. Just don't go there. So I'm not going to go faster, and I'm not going to go longer, how else can I ramp it up? As the accused witch said, "More weight." I started with putting water bottles in a bookbag I had. After a while I realized I was probably destroying the bag, and there were probably some health concerns with carrying 40 lbs or so in a poorly-designed bookbag. So I went to REI and bought a proper backpack. That was not easy; I'm pretty old school and I wanted an external frame backpack. REI had ONE such pack. Not one line of external-frame packs, I mean they literally only had one pack, an Alpine brand Zion that had been languishing in the stockroom for gods know how long. They sold it to me for pretty cheap, and thus I had my pack. It was... a pack. Actually kind of uncomfortable in a way I kept meaning to fix and never did. Over the last few years I used it for fitness, slowly increasing weight (then going for a couple months at a time without using it, so having to work it up again). Planning for this backpacking trip I'd been aggressively upping the weight, and had pretty well reached the pack's limits. Plus, did I mention it was awfully uncomfortable?
I figured that REI has a great return policy (they do!) and that I could justify replacing an item that I use on average twice a week. I couldn't find the receipt (argh! I saw it maybe a month ago, I know I didn't throw it away!) but since I purchased it through my ex's REI membership (we're on reasonably good terms, she gets rewards for my purchases, I don't have to deal with spam) they could look it up, confirm purchase cost, and give me store credit.
I promptly went to the backpacking section and had someone help me select a backpack. I explained my use case and, well, we ended up picking a trekking pack normally used by people who are planning to be on the trail for months. The associate was shocked by the weight I was carrying. Is everyone in the Bay Area insanely skinny? I told her I was carrying about 70 lbs, and she told me I shouldn't carry more than a third of my weight. She was completely floored when I explained that meant I ought to have a backpack which can hold 80 lbs. Yeah, she thought I weighed less than 200.
Anyway, we settled on an Osprey Aether 70. I was generally impressed with a Gregory pack, but the belts simply could not adjust comfortably for me; they just weren't made for someone with my build. The Osprey is a sweet pack, though I'm not sure how confident I am about the durability of the frame yet, and it has a hydration system pocket but I don't have a hydration system (they just look so silly to me). It has fewer pockets than I'm used to (see also: Old School). One neat little innovation is that the top flap and pocket actually comes all the way off, so you can use it for day hikes after making camp. It's supposed to be a fanny pack, but is enormous, so I just adjusted the strap long and used it as a shoulder bag. The Gregory pack had the same idea, but with shoulder straps for a light backpack. Like I said, I liked the Gregory pack, it just didn't work for me. There have been a lot of innovations in backpacks, especially in helping reduce points that cause pain on the wearer. The Osprey is vastly more comfortable than the Alpine pack. Of course, this comes at a price - the full refund on the Alpine Zion covered... roughly 1/3 the cost of the Osprey. So, yeah... that was expensive.
But! I had a new backpack, and just enough time to get used to it before taking it backpacking. Which I proceeded to do. Then I pulled out my backpacking checklist (of course I have a checklist!) and packed it up. Then I weighed it. I was, um, disgusted. I opted to try an ultra-minimalist approach. I weighed that... better, but ugh. I didn't want to stack super-minimalist on top of all the other firsts. So I went through and just pared down my initial load. The result was more than I wanted but acceptable. More on that later.
Oh, I forgot to mention another first. I bought a backpacking stove. This may seem kind of odd, but I've never needed one in the past. I normally use a volcano stove with which I use either solid fuel tablets or twigs and such that I gather onsite. But Pt. Reyes, not unreasonably, has really strict rules about fires. I wasn't sure about the solid fuel tablets, I didn't want to find out at the last minute that I couldn't cook my food, and butane backpacking stoves are pretty cheap. This also resulted in me being present while an associate trained another one on backpacking stoves. Basically there are two types: butane and liquid fuel. Butane stoves are cheaper and cleaner to use, but aren't as flexible about what fuel you use and can have issues in extreme conditions; you also can't reliably tell just how much fuel you have in your canister. Liquid fuel stoves are more expensive, but the fuel is a bit cheaper and more flexible (e.g., if you're backpacking in Central Asia and the only fuel you can get is kerosene, no big deal), you can tell exactly how much you have (and easily top it off), and they work better in extreme conditions but are harder to use and you're vastly more likely to spill fuel on yourself. Apparently the Dragonfly Stove - a longtime darling of trekkers, and a stove I've had my eye on for a while - is no longer regularly carried in the store as it is painfully expensive. But that's okay. There are also now a number of systems to charge your cell phone with your stove. I'm all for having a working phone and other electronics like a GPS, but these systems seem kind of ridiculous and wasteful of fuel. I'd rather go with a solar cell (actually, I HAVE a solar charger; it's about the same size as a smartphone, takes about 7 days to get enough to charge a battery once, and is water and shock resistant. It also has a battery big enough to charge my phone twice over.)
Now, one big issue with butane stoves is that you can't tell how much fuel they have. And I had no sense for how long a canister would last. Therefore I bought a canister and proceeded to cook with it to get a feel. Most backpacking fare consists of adding boiling water to things, a task at which a butane stove excels. Everything else? Not so much. Oh well. Foolishly I did not buy TWO canisters, so I had to buy another one, along with backpacking food. I tried using instant eggs I had bought online, but I could not get them to come out decently with the backpacking stove - they really needed a skillet, and that was not going to happen while backpacking. I ended up settling on my usual fare of canned spread and crackers for lunch, instant potatoes with canned single-serving green beans and canned chicken for dinner, and then a trail pack for breakfast. I'd like to mix it up, but everything else I've tried has not worked so well. But, again, more on that later.
Realize, at this point I'm not even talking about being at the park!
So, yeah, getting there. I was really frustrated because I got up a bit later than I wanted, and then Joanna was anxious that I'd be gone all weekend so she kept having last-minute honey-dos, and I finally just had to tell her that no, the litter boxes could wait and no, I was not going to carry the garbage out while going out to the car seeing as I was carrying a heavy pack and would have to come back in to wash my hands if I took the trash out, and please let me get on the road okay?
The route to Pt. Reyes took me on CA-37. Never. Fucking. Again. I have to date driven on CA-37 four times. It's this narrow causeway through a wildlife refuge; one lane going each way with a concrete barrier between, a narrow shoulder, and then water and mud. And of those four times, every single time there has been an awful backup because of an accident. On the way out someone had managed to get a sports car facing the wrong way, having smashed in one side in what I'm sure was a high-adrenaline version of pinball. On the way back there was an enormous old Chevy Suburban on its side facing the wrong way (HOW??? HOW DO THEY DO THIS???). For that one I stopped and asked if anyone was hurt; the passenger explained that the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel, but nobody was hurt and sirens were incoming, so I headed out. But gods, never again am I taking 37 if I can help it.
The GPS kept taking me on weird little backroads, but it seems like it was okay and it worked, and driving through CA is this weird mix of enormous superhighways and rural roads between orchards and fields, like the highway engineers didn't think anyone would actually want to go the entire distance from one city to another. There's probably a reason. I doubt there's a good reason. Anyhow, this was okay until I got to Pt. Reyes Station, the town right by the park. At that point the GPS had me take a left and then "turn onto the gravel road".
Okay, yes, I did in fact specifically buy my SUV with instructions like "turn off the paved road. Go between the two trees and follow the dirt track" in mind, and there was totally a gravel road. But this seemed a wee bit off. I've never heard of a National Park of any flavor that isn't at least reached by a paved road, and there was kind of a sign marking the area as a church retreat. The GPS really wanted me to go through there, but I'm not entirely sure I won't burst into flames if I pass through the wrong kind of threshold, and I don't want to get in trouble for trespassing anyway. I ended up driving around until I found an actual sign for Pt. Reyes, and all was well.
So I was FINALLY at the park. Around noon, I think. I went in and managed to get a parking pass and collect my camping permit. And then hit the trail.
The first mile or so of the trail, from the visitors' center, was... really wimpy. I mean, here I am with this bigass trekking backpack which already looks kind of ridiculous for a weekend trip, and I'm on a 3m-wide flat, straight, paved trail, walking around people in wheelchairs and with strollers. I felt like a total putz. I'm all for having accessible spaces, but it just felt like I was clearly in the wrong place. After a while though it abruptly changed from absurdly easy to moderate. Thank the gods I've been using the elliptical in addition to rucking; it made the uphill so much easier.
The views were pretty decent, but not as good as I recall; I guess for that you really need to go by the shoreline. I was pretty well focused on getting to my camp and setting up before it got dark. In spite of the very mild weather, it *was* February and sunset comes early. I had reserved a spot at Glenn camp, which was about 1.5 hours in, so no big deal to get there. When I arrived, there were a couple of women having lunch at my site - they're very luxurious for hike-in campgrounds, with a grill and a table at each site, and each campground has a pit toilet and a water supply (though the water supply may not be potable; they have to test regularly). Not as private as I like, but no big deal. The most annoying part was the kids (cub scout group?) who were screaming about how there were bugs in the toilet shelter.
After my own lunch, I set up my tent I rolled out my sleep gear, then grabbed that nifty top-flap bag I mentioned before and put in a few things, and heading down the trail to the Wildcat camp.
Unlike Glenn, wildcat is right on the ocean. I was amazed by how far away I could hear the surf. Next time, I'll definitely get a spot at Wildcat instead of Glenn. No trees, though, which precludes using a hammock.
I made it back to my camp just as darkness began to fall. One thing I regretted not bringing was my headlamp. I had multiple OTHER flashlights - I have a flashlight in my mini folding multitool, and the two reflectors I put on my pack have built-in flashlights, but having a light strapped to your head is super convenient, especially when cooking. A headlamp would have definitely been worth it. I ran into another problem, one which I had anticipated but is still a point of pain: cleanup. The dinner I had called for heating water in a pot, then mixing in the instant potatoes and other ingredients. It's not fancy, but it's warm and filling. Actually a bit too filling as the smallest serving of mashed potatoes is still too damned big. More importantly, even though I ate out of the pot, well, there's still the pot to clean. Which I accomplished, but that was annoying. Definitely an argument for just the trail meals from REI; I don't do this often enough for the cost to matter and not having dishes would be worth it.
After dinner I hit the second biggest problem for this trip: boredom. I had gone backpacking alone in February, and brought nothing to do. I tried walking down the trails a bit with my flashlight, but rapidly realized that was a Bad Idea and went back to camp. I didn't have anyone to talk to, nothing to do, and while the stars were (initially) majestic that doesn't hold my interest for long. I ended up going to bed at 8 pm just because I had nothing else to do.
And then I hit my biggest problem. I woke up around 1 am and I was COLD. I don't get cold, but... although the day had been in the mid-60s, at night it was in the mid-40s. My sleeping bag was only rated to 50 degrees. I had a spare blanket with me, AND had brought one of those aluminized emergency blankets (I have never actually used one, though - I really ought to, for familiarity) and that should have been fine, except... well, the sleeping bag I had brought, I'd only ever used in the summer. What I had never noticed is that it's actually too narrow for my shoulders! I couldn't zip it fully closed! Thus ensued me putting on every item of clothing I had brought, wrapping the blanket around my upper body, and finally getting back to a somewhat unpleasant sleep. Live and learn. And get a better bag!
(I have since been to REI and Climb Any Mountain, and found that REI's bags are rated for much colder than I need, and CAM doesn't see fit to tell specs on bags. Also, CAM has external frame packs. Who knew? But I am definitely in the market for a medium-weight bag which is big enough for an adult male. I don't think I really need a "big and tall" bag, just one that's not designed for tiny people.)
Morning was uneventful. I had breakfast. I had coffee. The tent was damp - although it hadn't rained, apparently a great deal of moisture comes in off the ocean (Gosh! How could that ever happen?) but no big deal. On the way out, I met with this woman who is a large animal veterinarian in the East Bay; I kind of wish I had asked her name. She was the only large animal vet I have ever met who is not a frustrated would-be exotic vet (exotics like elephants and such are waaaay more interesting than horses and cattle, but you can't really make a living on that). We traded stories a bit. She's afraid of tigers; I'm more afraid of otters (yes, a tiger will eat you if it feels like it. An otter is so high-strung it will bite you Just Because. And don't get me started on large herbivores. Fuck large herbivores.) She mentioned how she didn't like the first bit of the trail. She kind of trailed off like she's said something bad. I filled in "Because it's boring as hell?" her response "Yes! You get it!" So it's not just me, at least.
From there the walk back was uneventful. The drive back was uneventful except the aforementioned crash on CA-37.
So my takeaways:
1) Get a better sleeping bag
2) Bring a headlamp
3) Fuck it, foil trail packs
4) Bring stuff to do after dark
So, I mentioned weight. I'm not a minimalist camper. This is partially because I leanred to camp with boy scouts, and I always went with my brother, who wasn't so much a minimalist camper, as kind of irresponsible. He always assumed I would overpack, and I tended to do so knowing that he would lean on me for a flashlight and spare socks and such. He got praised for knowing how to pack. I carried the stuff he'd need. I tend to assume I'll need spares, that stuff will get wet, etc. In other words, I overpack. Obviously you need SOME redundancy, but I don't need to pack like it's the end of the world.
When I first packed up my pack, it weight 40.35 lbs.
The minimalist pack came to 29.75 lbs.
A normal load pared down of extraneous things was 38.35 lbs.
And when I got home I weighed my pack at 30.10 lbs.
What's going on? What's the weight?
Well, let me start with the non-optional stuff:
Pack: 5.6 lbs.
Water: 10.15 lbs
Sleeping bag: 2.1 lbs
Fleece and shell: 2.66 lbs
I cannot fathom going without those things. So right at the start I have 20.51 lbs. I suppose I could reduce the water by carrying a filtration system, but I'm reluctant to do that both because those are not entirely cheap, and I wasn't sure if there'd be any water available. California is still undergoing a drought, after all. And I'm of the opinion that if I end my trip without at least one full liter of water, I have seriously fucked up.
Anyway.
The full pack included a sleeping pad (1.4 lbs), a tent and footprint (4.95 lbs), stove and fuel (0.9 lbs), pot and insulated cup (0.65 lbs) cord (0.45 lbs) (!), pepper spray (0.65 lbs), trekking poles (1.3 lbs), food of course (I didn't think to weigh it) as well as spare clothes and other sundries which I didn't weigh and which are trivial by themselves - things like the multitool and headlamp.
For the minimalist load, I took out the foam pad, the stove and fuel (replacing the stuff that needed hot water with energy bars and jerky; I figure it evens out except for taking out a pound on the stove), getting rid of the tent part of the tent - this is a thing REI recommends; "use just the canopy, poles, and footprint for an ultralight bivouac shelter" is I think what the instructions say, omitting the trekking poles and the pepper spray (hey, who cares about bears?), and the pot and insulated cup, as well as any extra clothing except socks.
And, you know, the minimalist thing would have worked. Except that trying to sleep with an inadequate sleeping bag AND an inadequate shelter would have been awful. And I like hot coffee and hot breakfast. And the last time I went camping without using a sleeping pad I needed surgery.
If I want to reduce what I'm carrying, I'll need to reconsider the shelter, get a better sleeping bag, and see about a filtration solution. I am not sure if going without a stove is a net gain at all, really - no stove, sure, but the uncooked food is heavier. I'm not sure about the trekking poles - they're distinctly non-trivial, and I didn't use them this time, but I have done substantial damage to my knees and feet, and some days I do need some assistance; it would be bad if one of those days were when I was ten miles from the nearest road. Maybe I could use the trekking poles in concert with an ultralight tarp for a shelter? Not sure if I'm comfortable with that; I do like being protected from bugs and most small animals.
So, I learned stuff. Definitely going again. After I get a better sleeping bag.
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I selected Pt. Reyes mainly because it wasn't a very long drive, I knew that it was pretty and not insanely difficult, and most importantly I could reserve a camping spot. Weekend spots go quick.
In addition to being the first time I've gone camping since coming to CA, it was also my first time backpacking solo. Plus going to an unfamiliar location - of course this will go without a hitch!
The first issue happened before I was even packed. I was showing Joanna something with my pack, I don't even recall what, and the zipper shuttle just came right off. On inspection, the stitching holding the end of the zipper together, and to the rest of the pack, had come undone. Now, this is an overall minor thing which is fixable by someone of modest sewing skill, and it was only the zipper for the topmost pocket; important but not crucial.
However, I thought about it and realized a few things. See, I use my backpacking for what is apparently called rucking. This is a thing I landed upon independently, but should be relatively obvious. I started going on long walks for health. But, well, there are only so many hours in the day, and while going on a daily 7-mile hike might have significant health benefits I just don't have 2-3 hours to devote to that kind of thing. And walking only does so much, you know? Problem is, I hate jogging. Just don't go there. So I'm not going to go faster, and I'm not going to go longer, how else can I ramp it up? As the accused witch said, "More weight." I started with putting water bottles in a bookbag I had. After a while I realized I was probably destroying the bag, and there were probably some health concerns with carrying 40 lbs or so in a poorly-designed bookbag. So I went to REI and bought a proper backpack. That was not easy; I'm pretty old school and I wanted an external frame backpack. REI had ONE such pack. Not one line of external-frame packs, I mean they literally only had one pack, an Alpine brand Zion that had been languishing in the stockroom for gods know how long. They sold it to me for pretty cheap, and thus I had my pack. It was... a pack. Actually kind of uncomfortable in a way I kept meaning to fix and never did. Over the last few years I used it for fitness, slowly increasing weight (then going for a couple months at a time without using it, so having to work it up again). Planning for this backpacking trip I'd been aggressively upping the weight, and had pretty well reached the pack's limits. Plus, did I mention it was awfully uncomfortable?
I figured that REI has a great return policy (they do!) and that I could justify replacing an item that I use on average twice a week. I couldn't find the receipt (argh! I saw it maybe a month ago, I know I didn't throw it away!) but since I purchased it through my ex's REI membership (we're on reasonably good terms, she gets rewards for my purchases, I don't have to deal with spam) they could look it up, confirm purchase cost, and give me store credit.
I promptly went to the backpacking section and had someone help me select a backpack. I explained my use case and, well, we ended up picking a trekking pack normally used by people who are planning to be on the trail for months. The associate was shocked by the weight I was carrying. Is everyone in the Bay Area insanely skinny? I told her I was carrying about 70 lbs, and she told me I shouldn't carry more than a third of my weight. She was completely floored when I explained that meant I ought to have a backpack which can hold 80 lbs. Yeah, she thought I weighed less than 200.
Anyway, we settled on an Osprey Aether 70. I was generally impressed with a Gregory pack, but the belts simply could not adjust comfortably for me; they just weren't made for someone with my build. The Osprey is a sweet pack, though I'm not sure how confident I am about the durability of the frame yet, and it has a hydration system pocket but I don't have a hydration system (they just look so silly to me). It has fewer pockets than I'm used to (see also: Old School). One neat little innovation is that the top flap and pocket actually comes all the way off, so you can use it for day hikes after making camp. It's supposed to be a fanny pack, but is enormous, so I just adjusted the strap long and used it as a shoulder bag. The Gregory pack had the same idea, but with shoulder straps for a light backpack. Like I said, I liked the Gregory pack, it just didn't work for me. There have been a lot of innovations in backpacks, especially in helping reduce points that cause pain on the wearer. The Osprey is vastly more comfortable than the Alpine pack. Of course, this comes at a price - the full refund on the Alpine Zion covered... roughly 1/3 the cost of the Osprey. So, yeah... that was expensive.
But! I had a new backpack, and just enough time to get used to it before taking it backpacking. Which I proceeded to do. Then I pulled out my backpacking checklist (of course I have a checklist!) and packed it up. Then I weighed it. I was, um, disgusted. I opted to try an ultra-minimalist approach. I weighed that... better, but ugh. I didn't want to stack super-minimalist on top of all the other firsts. So I went through and just pared down my initial load. The result was more than I wanted but acceptable. More on that later.
Oh, I forgot to mention another first. I bought a backpacking stove. This may seem kind of odd, but I've never needed one in the past. I normally use a volcano stove with which I use either solid fuel tablets or twigs and such that I gather onsite. But Pt. Reyes, not unreasonably, has really strict rules about fires. I wasn't sure about the solid fuel tablets, I didn't want to find out at the last minute that I couldn't cook my food, and butane backpacking stoves are pretty cheap. This also resulted in me being present while an associate trained another one on backpacking stoves. Basically there are two types: butane and liquid fuel. Butane stoves are cheaper and cleaner to use, but aren't as flexible about what fuel you use and can have issues in extreme conditions; you also can't reliably tell just how much fuel you have in your canister. Liquid fuel stoves are more expensive, but the fuel is a bit cheaper and more flexible (e.g., if you're backpacking in Central Asia and the only fuel you can get is kerosene, no big deal), you can tell exactly how much you have (and easily top it off), and they work better in extreme conditions but are harder to use and you're vastly more likely to spill fuel on yourself. Apparently the Dragonfly Stove - a longtime darling of trekkers, and a stove I've had my eye on for a while - is no longer regularly carried in the store as it is painfully expensive. But that's okay. There are also now a number of systems to charge your cell phone with your stove. I'm all for having a working phone and other electronics like a GPS, but these systems seem kind of ridiculous and wasteful of fuel. I'd rather go with a solar cell (actually, I HAVE a solar charger; it's about the same size as a smartphone, takes about 7 days to get enough to charge a battery once, and is water and shock resistant. It also has a battery big enough to charge my phone twice over.)
Now, one big issue with butane stoves is that you can't tell how much fuel they have. And I had no sense for how long a canister would last. Therefore I bought a canister and proceeded to cook with it to get a feel. Most backpacking fare consists of adding boiling water to things, a task at which a butane stove excels. Everything else? Not so much. Oh well. Foolishly I did not buy TWO canisters, so I had to buy another one, along with backpacking food. I tried using instant eggs I had bought online, but I could not get them to come out decently with the backpacking stove - they really needed a skillet, and that was not going to happen while backpacking. I ended up settling on my usual fare of canned spread and crackers for lunch, instant potatoes with canned single-serving green beans and canned chicken for dinner, and then a trail pack for breakfast. I'd like to mix it up, but everything else I've tried has not worked so well. But, again, more on that later.
Realize, at this point I'm not even talking about being at the park!
So, yeah, getting there. I was really frustrated because I got up a bit later than I wanted, and then Joanna was anxious that I'd be gone all weekend so she kept having last-minute honey-dos, and I finally just had to tell her that no, the litter boxes could wait and no, I was not going to carry the garbage out while going out to the car seeing as I was carrying a heavy pack and would have to come back in to wash my hands if I took the trash out, and please let me get on the road okay?
The route to Pt. Reyes took me on CA-37. Never. Fucking. Again. I have to date driven on CA-37 four times. It's this narrow causeway through a wildlife refuge; one lane going each way with a concrete barrier between, a narrow shoulder, and then water and mud. And of those four times, every single time there has been an awful backup because of an accident. On the way out someone had managed to get a sports car facing the wrong way, having smashed in one side in what I'm sure was a high-adrenaline version of pinball. On the way back there was an enormous old Chevy Suburban on its side facing the wrong way (HOW??? HOW DO THEY DO THIS???). For that one I stopped and asked if anyone was hurt; the passenger explained that the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel, but nobody was hurt and sirens were incoming, so I headed out. But gods, never again am I taking 37 if I can help it.
The GPS kept taking me on weird little backroads, but it seems like it was okay and it worked, and driving through CA is this weird mix of enormous superhighways and rural roads between orchards and fields, like the highway engineers didn't think anyone would actually want to go the entire distance from one city to another. There's probably a reason. I doubt there's a good reason. Anyhow, this was okay until I got to Pt. Reyes Station, the town right by the park. At that point the GPS had me take a left and then "turn onto the gravel road".
Okay, yes, I did in fact specifically buy my SUV with instructions like "turn off the paved road. Go between the two trees and follow the dirt track" in mind, and there was totally a gravel road. But this seemed a wee bit off. I've never heard of a National Park of any flavor that isn't at least reached by a paved road, and there was kind of a sign marking the area as a church retreat. The GPS really wanted me to go through there, but I'm not entirely sure I won't burst into flames if I pass through the wrong kind of threshold, and I don't want to get in trouble for trespassing anyway. I ended up driving around until I found an actual sign for Pt. Reyes, and all was well.
So I was FINALLY at the park. Around noon, I think. I went in and managed to get a parking pass and collect my camping permit. And then hit the trail.
The first mile or so of the trail, from the visitors' center, was... really wimpy. I mean, here I am with this bigass trekking backpack which already looks kind of ridiculous for a weekend trip, and I'm on a 3m-wide flat, straight, paved trail, walking around people in wheelchairs and with strollers. I felt like a total putz. I'm all for having accessible spaces, but it just felt like I was clearly in the wrong place. After a while though it abruptly changed from absurdly easy to moderate. Thank the gods I've been using the elliptical in addition to rucking; it made the uphill so much easier.
The views were pretty decent, but not as good as I recall; I guess for that you really need to go by the shoreline. I was pretty well focused on getting to my camp and setting up before it got dark. In spite of the very mild weather, it *was* February and sunset comes early. I had reserved a spot at Glenn camp, which was about 1.5 hours in, so no big deal to get there. When I arrived, there were a couple of women having lunch at my site - they're very luxurious for hike-in campgrounds, with a grill and a table at each site, and each campground has a pit toilet and a water supply (though the water supply may not be potable; they have to test regularly). Not as private as I like, but no big deal. The most annoying part was the kids (cub scout group?) who were screaming about how there were bugs in the toilet shelter.
After my own lunch, I set up my tent I rolled out my sleep gear, then grabbed that nifty top-flap bag I mentioned before and put in a few things, and heading down the trail to the Wildcat camp.
Unlike Glenn, wildcat is right on the ocean. I was amazed by how far away I could hear the surf. Next time, I'll definitely get a spot at Wildcat instead of Glenn. No trees, though, which precludes using a hammock.
I made it back to my camp just as darkness began to fall. One thing I regretted not bringing was my headlamp. I had multiple OTHER flashlights - I have a flashlight in my mini folding multitool, and the two reflectors I put on my pack have built-in flashlights, but having a light strapped to your head is super convenient, especially when cooking. A headlamp would have definitely been worth it. I ran into another problem, one which I had anticipated but is still a point of pain: cleanup. The dinner I had called for heating water in a pot, then mixing in the instant potatoes and other ingredients. It's not fancy, but it's warm and filling. Actually a bit too filling as the smallest serving of mashed potatoes is still too damned big. More importantly, even though I ate out of the pot, well, there's still the pot to clean. Which I accomplished, but that was annoying. Definitely an argument for just the trail meals from REI; I don't do this often enough for the cost to matter and not having dishes would be worth it.
After dinner I hit the second biggest problem for this trip: boredom. I had gone backpacking alone in February, and brought nothing to do. I tried walking down the trails a bit with my flashlight, but rapidly realized that was a Bad Idea and went back to camp. I didn't have anyone to talk to, nothing to do, and while the stars were (initially) majestic that doesn't hold my interest for long. I ended up going to bed at 8 pm just because I had nothing else to do.
And then I hit my biggest problem. I woke up around 1 am and I was COLD. I don't get cold, but... although the day had been in the mid-60s, at night it was in the mid-40s. My sleeping bag was only rated to 50 degrees. I had a spare blanket with me, AND had brought one of those aluminized emergency blankets (I have never actually used one, though - I really ought to, for familiarity) and that should have been fine, except... well, the sleeping bag I had brought, I'd only ever used in the summer. What I had never noticed is that it's actually too narrow for my shoulders! I couldn't zip it fully closed! Thus ensued me putting on every item of clothing I had brought, wrapping the blanket around my upper body, and finally getting back to a somewhat unpleasant sleep. Live and learn. And get a better bag!
(I have since been to REI and Climb Any Mountain, and found that REI's bags are rated for much colder than I need, and CAM doesn't see fit to tell specs on bags. Also, CAM has external frame packs. Who knew? But I am definitely in the market for a medium-weight bag which is big enough for an adult male. I don't think I really need a "big and tall" bag, just one that's not designed for tiny people.)
Morning was uneventful. I had breakfast. I had coffee. The tent was damp - although it hadn't rained, apparently a great deal of moisture comes in off the ocean (Gosh! How could that ever happen?) but no big deal. On the way out, I met with this woman who is a large animal veterinarian in the East Bay; I kind of wish I had asked her name. She was the only large animal vet I have ever met who is not a frustrated would-be exotic vet (exotics like elephants and such are waaaay more interesting than horses and cattle, but you can't really make a living on that). We traded stories a bit. She's afraid of tigers; I'm more afraid of otters (yes, a tiger will eat you if it feels like it. An otter is so high-strung it will bite you Just Because. And don't get me started on large herbivores. Fuck large herbivores.) She mentioned how she didn't like the first bit of the trail. She kind of trailed off like she's said something bad. I filled in "Because it's boring as hell?" her response "Yes! You get it!" So it's not just me, at least.
From there the walk back was uneventful. The drive back was uneventful except the aforementioned crash on CA-37.
So my takeaways:
1) Get a better sleeping bag
2) Bring a headlamp
3) Fuck it, foil trail packs
4) Bring stuff to do after dark
So, I mentioned weight. I'm not a minimalist camper. This is partially because I leanred to camp with boy scouts, and I always went with my brother, who wasn't so much a minimalist camper, as kind of irresponsible. He always assumed I would overpack, and I tended to do so knowing that he would lean on me for a flashlight and spare socks and such. He got praised for knowing how to pack. I carried the stuff he'd need. I tend to assume I'll need spares, that stuff will get wet, etc. In other words, I overpack. Obviously you need SOME redundancy, but I don't need to pack like it's the end of the world.
When I first packed up my pack, it weight 40.35 lbs.
The minimalist pack came to 29.75 lbs.
A normal load pared down of extraneous things was 38.35 lbs.
And when I got home I weighed my pack at 30.10 lbs.
What's going on? What's the weight?
Well, let me start with the non-optional stuff:
Pack: 5.6 lbs.
Water: 10.15 lbs
Sleeping bag: 2.1 lbs
Fleece and shell: 2.66 lbs
I cannot fathom going without those things. So right at the start I have 20.51 lbs. I suppose I could reduce the water by carrying a filtration system, but I'm reluctant to do that both because those are not entirely cheap, and I wasn't sure if there'd be any water available. California is still undergoing a drought, after all. And I'm of the opinion that if I end my trip without at least one full liter of water, I have seriously fucked up.
Anyway.
The full pack included a sleeping pad (1.4 lbs), a tent and footprint (4.95 lbs), stove and fuel (0.9 lbs), pot and insulated cup (0.65 lbs) cord (0.45 lbs) (!), pepper spray (0.65 lbs), trekking poles (1.3 lbs), food of course (I didn't think to weigh it) as well as spare clothes and other sundries which I didn't weigh and which are trivial by themselves - things like the multitool and headlamp.
For the minimalist load, I took out the foam pad, the stove and fuel (replacing the stuff that needed hot water with energy bars and jerky; I figure it evens out except for taking out a pound on the stove), getting rid of the tent part of the tent - this is a thing REI recommends; "use just the canopy, poles, and footprint for an ultralight bivouac shelter" is I think what the instructions say, omitting the trekking poles and the pepper spray (hey, who cares about bears?), and the pot and insulated cup, as well as any extra clothing except socks.
And, you know, the minimalist thing would have worked. Except that trying to sleep with an inadequate sleeping bag AND an inadequate shelter would have been awful. And I like hot coffee and hot breakfast. And the last time I went camping without using a sleeping pad I needed surgery.
If I want to reduce what I'm carrying, I'll need to reconsider the shelter, get a better sleeping bag, and see about a filtration solution. I am not sure if going without a stove is a net gain at all, really - no stove, sure, but the uncooked food is heavier. I'm not sure about the trekking poles - they're distinctly non-trivial, and I didn't use them this time, but I have done substantial damage to my knees and feet, and some days I do need some assistance; it would be bad if one of those days were when I was ten miles from the nearest road. Maybe I could use the trekking poles in concert with an ultralight tarp for a shelter? Not sure if I'm comfortable with that; I do like being protected from bugs and most small animals.
So, I learned stuff. Definitely going again. After I get a better sleeping bag.
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