I’ve been on a hell of a pack journey; it has been challenging to say the least to find something that is light and carries a lot of weight well. If you’ve read through some of my other posts you’ll know that I used a large HMG Porter 4400 (46oz) pack for a while, but it destroyed my shoulders. Then switched to a Seek Outside Divide 4500 which I still have and love but is heavy at 57oz. I began using a medium 32oz HMG SW 3400 modified with loadlifters for most of my three-season trips, but it still wasn’t quite cutting it. I tried the Seek Outside Flight One (38oz) briefly but I bought the wrong size (22”) and did not like the hip belt. My next pack was the Hanchor Marl (40oz) which I still have and like, but which may become obsolete with the introduction of the SWD Big Wild 70.
Gear Reviews
I made this video to explain why I’ve made some of the choices I’ve made as I keep on trying new backpacks.
Links to Other Writing
Then my attention turned to the pack I was wearing. I was 11 miles into the first day of testing the YAR Gear Mountain Drifter 38 Liter pack and needed to pay attention to whether or not it was working. Suddenly aware I hadn’t spent all that much time thinking about it during those first 11 miles, I promised myself I would try and pay better attention from then on out. I hadn’t noticed undue pressure on my shoulders, hips, or back. All I really did remember from the last 11 miles were the large volcanic stones in the trail, prickly pear, agave, alligator juniper, piñon, yuccas, and countless birds. I remember the looming blue triangle of the Mazatzal Mountains dusted lightly in snow creeping slowly closer to me like one of the pyramids of Giza chained to a winch and cranked heavily across the ground. Is that how they were built? With that thought came a flood of associations. “When the great – pyramids – dragged themselves out to this spot – sickness sank into the little one’s heart,” I sang loudly, remembering the beautiful and dark Jason Molina song.
Links to Other Writing
“The road seen, then not seen,” begins the poem “Santiago” by David Whyte.
The road seen, then not seen, I think, walking down Woodenshoe Canyon in Bear’s Ears National Monument in late November. The red trail below my feet leads into piñon and juniper and turns and disappears within them. The path seen, then not seen. It dips into a willowy wash and is nearly gone, only seen where snake grass is occasionally matted down by past feet. The road seen, then not seen.
Superior Wilderness Designs Big Wild