As someone in the process of changing my camping regime from the luxury of 4wd Colorado mountain trout-fishing excursions to more minimal Suffolk bushcraft minor-backpack adventures, I'm struck by the number of YouTube videos, forum discussions and blog recommendations that connect very minimal gear with the notion that you needn't plan your adventure because you are prepared for anything. And while that may be true for the more advanced and experienced Jeremiah Johnson types, it has certainly not been my experience or even the subject of my fantastical musings. Minimal gear requires careful planning, and must often lead to a mismatch between actual outdoor conditions, enjoying the outdoors and our ability to deal with it. Consider the various "five C" recommendations which suggest that cutting tools, cordage, cover, and a few other alphabetical suggestions can somehow substitute for common sense. Where's the first aid kit? Where's the bum wipe, spare shorts, socks, sleeping mat, and ground cloth that allows our bedrolls and sleeping bags to remain dry, and in fact, our enjoyment to flourish? Nowhere, I say. So the challenge for me is not how much gear to remove and which skills to learn, but instead to plan a trip and pack accordingly, with nothing extra or missing, but still be functional if the Bad Thing happens, which of course, has never happened to me precisely because I plan and pack accordingly.
During this newfound love of bushcraft-style camping, my first outing a few weeks ago found my enormous and outrageously functional, highly recommended yellow North Face duffel packed to its limit and weighing a small ton, much more than I would have preferred, but I knew beforehand that I wouldn't have to lug it very far, if at all. I packed and packed and re-packed, making sure that I had enough cord to put up my tarp; that my food was matched with both my mess kit and the number of meals, snacks and coffee I would actually have time to consume; that I didn't necessarily bring gear that I knew might be carried by others in the group (like a saw or bigger axe); and that if it rained hard that I would have the ability to dry-myself (micro-fibre towel) and change into something fresh. I anticipated, and prepared for the varying and still-bizarre British weather conditions with a rain-jacket, a thick fleece, a base layer that I wore the entire time, and a flannel shirt for the daytime. I was perfectly prepared, and enjoyed my weekend. I enjoyed it very much, thank you. I didn't pull out my SAK or headlamp once; never had to make char cloth in my tobacco tin; and was very happy to have brought that little glass bottle of whisky instead of the much larger bottle I had considered bringing. And now, as I try to whittle down the amount of gear I'm bringing and watching YouTube videos and thinking and reading and musing over gear that "I now must have," I've spent the last week re-packing and re-thinking a much smaller rucksack, a painstakingly restored surplus Italian Alpini Rucksack that I fell head over heels for while watching alonewolverine1984's YouTube video detailing her 5-day load-out. She's able to build a four bedroom condominium with a Mora, Laplander and Wetterling hatchet, and enjoys doing so, but as far as I can tell she has no need to change her underpants, which doesn't sound like a nice week in the woods to me. But still, I bought one of those packs and began culling my gear.
I've removed much of my redundant, extra-super emergency gear, like the second groundcloth to go between my the bottom of my bivy and the admittedly muddy ground. Instead I packed one. I've removed a great deal of my firestarting kit, because I had enough tinder, fatwood, Vasoline cotton balls and spare ferro rods to set myself on fire if a cigarette ash planned a hasty escape. I only used half my cooking fuel, and have rethought the relationship between my menu and mess kit. I've cut down on the amount of cordage (though it weighs very little) because paracord is cheap, knots are easy, and using up the long length I now carry only gives me the excuse to grab more of it after it's been cut up into smaller lengths, in far more interesting colours. I still must find room for a lightweight plate and cup (don't get me started on how I view the functionality of a single-wall coffee cup) and have managed to pack my little Italian rucksack to the brim, and saved a great deal of weight. I'm ready for the trip I have planned, which includes going with others whose primary kit is a perfect backup to my primary kit. Having friends along is the best emergency gear you can pack.
It's critical to note that I am not suggesting that planning and gear can substitute for skills. Education is the single most important thing to bring, and I've often responded to the "what's the one thing you would bring to a deserted island" question with "an encyclopedia," but my camping enjoyment comes not only from actually being in the woods, but to imagining and planning being in the woods. I certainly spend far more time thinking reading and considering it then being outside. But modernity doesn't always permit long and frequent camping trips; my world is far too complicated for that, so I get to pack and repack and consider and read and enjoy doing so. My next two-day adventure in Suffolk will be packed into my little rucksack, with a Czech Army bedroll and thick fleece strapped underneath it. I don't recommend my approach to everyone, but it works for me. That's not quite accurate; it might work for me.
This little diatribe began as I was considering purchasing more stuff, specifically a single-walled cup (ridiculous) and/or a Kuplika set (very cool), and a Laplander saw (I bought one), some stormproof matches (wow!), a new wool shirt (impossible to find at a decent price), and a host of other stuff that I simply don't need. Frankly, I love that part of the camping process, the consideration part, because thinking about it is almost like actually being outdoors, so I figured that I'd write about it and put it up here. I love camping, and have so for decades, and find this shift to bushcraft similar to when I transitioned to flyfishing after a lifetime of Bass and saltwater fishing. This bushcraft stuff is fun, and I have every intention of getting better at it. Perhaps I'll become some kind of Jack London / Jack Kerouac mashup (I still stashed a pencil and notepad in my rucksack); perhaps I'll get caught in a torrential downpour and go back to my extra-tough over-packed duffel; perhaps I'll become an outdoor chef and make BBQ ribs over a fire like my friend Jimmy used to do when we camped on the bank of the Platte River and stalked huge trout like fiends. He would paint sauce over those ribs for hours while messing with the coals and telling us all to "stay away from [his] fire!" I miss those ribs. But more than likely I'll continue to enjoy this forum and all its attendant opinions and go out every month in Suffolk with a cool group of guys and chop wood and make dinner and sip whisky and argue savagely about the value of GB axes. Maybe I'll start lying about fish too. That's a damn fine weekend.
During this newfound love of bushcraft-style camping, my first outing a few weeks ago found my enormous and outrageously functional, highly recommended yellow North Face duffel packed to its limit and weighing a small ton, much more than I would have preferred, but I knew beforehand that I wouldn't have to lug it very far, if at all. I packed and packed and re-packed, making sure that I had enough cord to put up my tarp; that my food was matched with both my mess kit and the number of meals, snacks and coffee I would actually have time to consume; that I didn't necessarily bring gear that I knew might be carried by others in the group (like a saw or bigger axe); and that if it rained hard that I would have the ability to dry-myself (micro-fibre towel) and change into something fresh. I anticipated, and prepared for the varying and still-bizarre British weather conditions with a rain-jacket, a thick fleece, a base layer that I wore the entire time, and a flannel shirt for the daytime. I was perfectly prepared, and enjoyed my weekend. I enjoyed it very much, thank you. I didn't pull out my SAK or headlamp once; never had to make char cloth in my tobacco tin; and was very happy to have brought that little glass bottle of whisky instead of the much larger bottle I had considered bringing. And now, as I try to whittle down the amount of gear I'm bringing and watching YouTube videos and thinking and reading and musing over gear that "I now must have," I've spent the last week re-packing and re-thinking a much smaller rucksack, a painstakingly restored surplus Italian Alpini Rucksack that I fell head over heels for while watching alonewolverine1984's YouTube video detailing her 5-day load-out. She's able to build a four bedroom condominium with a Mora, Laplander and Wetterling hatchet, and enjoys doing so, but as far as I can tell she has no need to change her underpants, which doesn't sound like a nice week in the woods to me. But still, I bought one of those packs and began culling my gear.
I've removed much of my redundant, extra-super emergency gear, like the second groundcloth to go between my the bottom of my bivy and the admittedly muddy ground. Instead I packed one. I've removed a great deal of my firestarting kit, because I had enough tinder, fatwood, Vasoline cotton balls and spare ferro rods to set myself on fire if a cigarette ash planned a hasty escape. I only used half my cooking fuel, and have rethought the relationship between my menu and mess kit. I've cut down on the amount of cordage (though it weighs very little) because paracord is cheap, knots are easy, and using up the long length I now carry only gives me the excuse to grab more of it after it's been cut up into smaller lengths, in far more interesting colours. I still must find room for a lightweight plate and cup (don't get me started on how I view the functionality of a single-wall coffee cup) and have managed to pack my little Italian rucksack to the brim, and saved a great deal of weight. I'm ready for the trip I have planned, which includes going with others whose primary kit is a perfect backup to my primary kit. Having friends along is the best emergency gear you can pack.
It's critical to note that I am not suggesting that planning and gear can substitute for skills. Education is the single most important thing to bring, and I've often responded to the "what's the one thing you would bring to a deserted island" question with "an encyclopedia," but my camping enjoyment comes not only from actually being in the woods, but to imagining and planning being in the woods. I certainly spend far more time thinking reading and considering it then being outside. But modernity doesn't always permit long and frequent camping trips; my world is far too complicated for that, so I get to pack and repack and consider and read and enjoy doing so. My next two-day adventure in Suffolk will be packed into my little rucksack, with a Czech Army bedroll and thick fleece strapped underneath it. I don't recommend my approach to everyone, but it works for me. That's not quite accurate; it might work for me.
This little diatribe began as I was considering purchasing more stuff, specifically a single-walled cup (ridiculous) and/or a Kuplika set (very cool), and a Laplander saw (I bought one), some stormproof matches (wow!), a new wool shirt (impossible to find at a decent price), and a host of other stuff that I simply don't need. Frankly, I love that part of the camping process, the consideration part, because thinking about it is almost like actually being outdoors, so I figured that I'd write about it and put it up here. I love camping, and have so for decades, and find this shift to bushcraft similar to when I transitioned to flyfishing after a lifetime of Bass and saltwater fishing. This bushcraft stuff is fun, and I have every intention of getting better at it. Perhaps I'll become some kind of Jack London / Jack Kerouac mashup (I still stashed a pencil and notepad in my rucksack); perhaps I'll get caught in a torrential downpour and go back to my extra-tough over-packed duffel; perhaps I'll become an outdoor chef and make BBQ ribs over a fire like my friend Jimmy used to do when we camped on the bank of the Platte River and stalked huge trout like fiends. He would paint sauce over those ribs for hours while messing with the coals and telling us all to "stay away from [his] fire!" I miss those ribs. But more than likely I'll continue to enjoy this forum and all its attendant opinions and go out every month in Suffolk with a cool group of guys and chop wood and make dinner and sip whisky and argue savagely about the value of GB axes. Maybe I'll start lying about fish too. That's a damn fine weekend.
Last edited:
