Gearing Up
Posted by Anne
I’m back. I just returned from a 2-week trip to Chile…I ate, I hiked, and I took a break from cyberspace. (It felt pretty good.) And as I suspected, a 2-week trip to a continent I’d never visited left me with no shortage of writing material. Today, I could write about cultural differences (several), Chilean cuisine (lots of meat and unfortunate instant coffee), or the kindness of the Chilean people (vast). But there was one moment of the trip that keeps drifting back to my consciousness—a tiny moment, but isn’t it the tiny moments that sometimes make the biggest impression? This moment involves….gear.
The scene around us as we prepared to embark on the trek...
You see, a large chunk of our vacation involved a “trek” in the Southern Patagonia mountains. We hiked in one of Chile’s national parks for 5 days, hiking to a new lodge/hostel (refugio) each night. Many people do this trek, and they have one thing in common. Lots and lots of GEAR. Over the course of the trek, I can’t tell you how many thousands of dollars worth of outdoor paraphernalia we encountered. North Face. Mountain Hardware. REI. Lowe Alpine. In other words, lots of Gore-Tex, and lots of $$$$. I became an expert at identifying how long someone had been hiking, whether they were camping or not, whether they were American or European…all according to their gear. Until, on the 3rd day of trekking, I saw a man I couldn’t place.
He passed us on the trail going the opposite direction. We exchanged the usual “hola,” and kept walking. But this man was different. He was probably in his late 50’s or 60’s, with a thick head of graying hair. His beard was full and scraggly, and his eyes bright. He wore actual cotton trousers—not the ultralight, breathable, synthetic, quick-drying trekking pants I’d seen on (literally) every other hiker. His shoes looked sturdy, but probably cost about a third as much as my super-duper snazzy new hiking boots. And the finishing touch…his outerwear. This was no synthetic North Face layer…no Lowe Alpine rain jacket. He wore a faded, cozy, corduroy blazer. He carried a tiny, pitiful-looking backpack that couldn’t have held much more than a water bottle and a toothbrush. He looked like he’d stepped out of another hike, and another era.
In short, this man was very short on gear. My first reaction was concern. How on EARTH will this man survive if it rains and he doesn’t have an appropriately quick-drying baselayer? Does he have an adequate supply of snacks? But honestly, when I think back on that trek, I can probably say that man probably had everything he needed. The trail was incredibly well-marked. The water from the streams was drinkable. If you can hike a good 7 miles, there is always food to be found at the next lodge. There are people everywhere, ready to lend helping hands or supply you with blissful chunks of chocolate. You don’t need much. But we, as a culture, love our gear. And I am no exception.
The start of the trail. Almost all you need.
I wonder about this need for gear. We love having it, whether it’s gear for our children (the essential stroller), for our kitchens (electronic solutions for everything), or for our hobbies (where to begin?). We love acquiring the gadgets, the outfits, and the accessories that allow us to feel safe. To feel prepared. We love knowing that we’ve bought everything that can keep us comfortable. But might we overdo it just a tad? When does gear become, simply, stuff? When do we let go? When do we stop buying and start believing in our ability to improvise, or even share with others?
I wonder about my need for gear. And I think I’ll probably always be someone who over-buys, and over-prepares. But I will remember that lone hiker on that dusty Patagonian trail. I’d like to remind myself that sometimes all we need is a well-marked trail, and a community around us.
What is our obsession with having all the stuff we need? How about you? Are you a junkie for GEAR…not just outdoor gear, but any kind of gear? Or are you content to keep your possessions more simple?
January 14th, 2010 at 8:11 am
Anne, I love this post, mainly because I did that hike almost exactly a year ago, and I can remember lots of characters like the one you described. I remember a family of four hiking with two young kids, with very little gear between them, and I thought it was just marvelous. Maikael is very anti-gear — just the essentials — so over the years I’ve learned to pair down. And I’m the better for it. After traveling around the world for eight months, I learned to shed a lot of gear — and a lot of FEAR — in the process. You’re right: the two go hand-in-hand. That pre-hike talk you went to at Erratic Rock? What I loved most about it was Rustyn’s insistence that we bring much less gear than we think we need. I’ll never forget him talking about “the Gore-tex” dance that people do, or the useless pack covers that you see flying off people packs in the fierce Patagonian wind (the cheap-o Ziplocks that keep your good dry INSIDE your pack work much better anyway). I definitely think we’re a culture of too much stuff in general…and a lot of that comes down to fear. Plain and simple.
January 14th, 2010 at 9:36 am
Im not a hiker but I am a gear junkie in the sense that I tend to over pack when I travel with my family. Not so much for myself as I have gotten very good at rolling and cramming the minimal necessities in a carry on bag (Ive had airlines lose too much of my stuff). I also tend to bring my laptop EVERYWHERE which is definitely along the lines of the fear factor that Elizabeth mentions. Less gear is better – I know that in my heart. Just need my head to buy in.
January 14th, 2010 at 9:37 am
I am not a girzzly mountain woman. But I spent a few years of my life wearing more Vasque and Marmott than J. Crew or Banana Republic. And so I feel entitled to say that, within the outdoorsy set, gear is a status marker. Gear is the outdoorsman’s Kate Spade purse, Bliss facial, or iPhone.
Now this isn’t to say that the gear is purchased exclusively for status purposes. Most of it does get used. But as Elizabeth indicates, many people opt for the expensive, visible, and branded Gore-tex fly sheet, when an invisible, and cheap Ziplock would actually work better.
I’m not innocent here either. But for a subculture that prides itself quite a bit on not being materialistic, I think gear is their guilty pleasure, as handbags are mine…
January 14th, 2010 at 10:53 am
Anne, I absolutely agree with everything you say. On the W circuit, we saw all the gear that you described, and we were guilty of too much as well. In my case, I think gear=fear, and my discomfort with the ambiguity of the situation. I work to shed these layers, but it’s an on-going process. I will never forget a day hike at Rincon de la Vieja, a volcano in Costa Rica, and my friend Tim and I were decked out in our expensive jackets, synthetic pants, and heavy packs to cover every eventuality. As we climbed, three Costa Ricans were coming down the mountain. The girl among them looked glamorous in skin-tight jeans and T-shirt and between them they carried a one cooler, the type you’d take to a picnic. I’ve always chuckled to myself about this, but maybe it’s a Latin American thing?
January 14th, 2010 at 11:53 am
So glad that you had a great time and made it home safe and sound! We had an interesting experience like this in Missouri. We were asked to go bike riding on the Katy Trail with some friends and showed up in regular shorts and t-shirts and our bikes. Nothing else (not even helmets). The friends showed up head to toe in matching Spandex outfits, with every biking gadget imaginable. We still cannot understand why something as simple as bike riding on a flat, populated trail could require so much expensive, matching equipment. I think it is because people in the U.S. have 1.) too much money and 2.) too much time to spend money.
January 14th, 2010 at 11:55 am
Agreed, Andrea, on those two points! Too much time and money.
January 14th, 2010 at 12:46 pm
I love that, Maikael…”gear = fear”. It’s so hard to know when you’re overdoing it sometimes, because like Gale said…usually the gear gets used to some extent. But perhaps it wasn’t always ESSENTIAL. Andrea–I love that story. Especially since the Katy Trail is the flattest trail in the history of bike trails. I can totally picture it.
January 14th, 2010 at 2:29 pm
My fiance spent two months in South America last fall. In Peru he saw a t-shirt making fun of this very thing. He blogged about it here:
http://revthom-sabbaticalblog.blogspot.com/2009/09/souvenir.html
January 14th, 2010 at 2:56 pm
Welcome Home! There is an old Smothers Song (a take off on “The Street of Laredo) that goes:
I can see by your outfit that you are a cowboy.
You can see by my outfit that I’m a cowboy too.
You can see by our outfits that we are both cowboys.
If you buy an outfit, you can be a cowboy too.
I think we all want a sense of belonging, and Maikael is probaly right, the less we really belong, the greater the lengths we go to to convince ourselves and others that we do. That’s why I kind of like my gear that is fairly worn out, because it doesn’t get worn out without use. (Except, of course, for prefaded jeans!)
January 14th, 2010 at 6:08 pm
Love those lyrics…never knew the Smothers spoke such truth!
January 15th, 2010 at 9:20 am
I hiked a lot in my youth – meaning pre-kids so prior to 1984. Things were different then. Hiking boots weighed quite a bit. I remember buying my first pair of Vibram soled boots in 1980. I remember getting a pack with an internal frame which no one else had. Then, I decided that every new thing was not necessary and I can hike without all the newest and neatest gizmos.