| Northland College Outdoor Education Home Outdoor Education Pre-2009 Outdoor Education Faculty Paul's Professional Page |
 |
|
From a Ryan Brady Photo
Please visit our new Web site: http://northlandcollegeoutdoored.wordpress.com/ The Evolution of Modern Camping Skills, Attitudes, and Techniques Paul Van Horn Since the “golden age of woodcraft”, in the early part of the twentieth century, the classic image of the skilled, knowledgeable outdoorsman has changed dramatically. Although the wilderness remains the stage, the classics of then and now would find themselves somewhat lost in the company of the other. For a variety of reasons, the equipment, skills, attitudes and knowledge held by the average outdoor enthusiast has changed. Focusing on the transition period of the 1950s and 60s, this paper will explore these changes by examining the evolution of camping techniques, gear, and attitudes from the 1930s, to the present. From the late 1800s, through the first half of the 20th century, camping in North America was epitomized by the practices of the skilled woodsmen. Authors such as Horace Kephart, Warren Miller, and Ernest Thomas Seton presented an extensive body of skills and knowledge that allowed the camper, with a small backpack of carefully chosen gear, to live for extended periods in the wild. Drawing on the skills of the frontiersman and his teacher, the American Indian, as well as the innovations and equipment of their own day, these deans of early camping taught the reader how to use knives, axes and saws, how to build shelters, how to construct equipment, how to track, hunt, fish, and a multitude of other skills. These skills, and many others, constitute the body of knowledge known as “woodcraft”. Woodcraft remained the base of idealized skills for campers into the 1950s and 60s. It was during this period, however, that the equipment and techniques used by campers began to change. Synthetic materials, “hands-off” camping techniques, and other changes marked the transition of recreational camping into a pursuit that was, in many ways, very different from the camping of prior years. Some of these changes have been good and necessary, but others have served to reduce camping from the status of an art, to that of merely another activity: One that demands little in the way of genuine, hard-won knowledge. To begin my study of this evolution, I’ll examine changes in the equipment of the average backpacker. Perhaps the most obvious change in the world of camping has been in the equipment. A complete set of camping equipment has evolved from one of relatively simple gear, some of it homemade, or salvaged from the closet, to a kit consisting of expensive, specialized, complex, manufactured gear. While the basic contents of a typical overnight camping gear list really hasn’t changed much, the construction, complexity, and use of each item has. Appendix A shows two gear lists (edited for ease of comparison). The first gear list was compiled from Horace Kephardt’s book Woodcraft (1923). The second, from Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills (1992). A brief study of these gear lists shows little difference in the amount or general purpose of the equipment. Each contains clothing, shelter, food and implements for its preparation, a tool kit, and various other items for personal comfort, hygiene, and other purposes. There are, however, three primary differences between the two kits, especially in the areas of shelter and cooking. The first is that the materials used in the construction of the gear-especially clothing and shelter- is different. In 1923, the primary materials used in the construction of outdoor clothing and shelter consisted of natural fibers such as leather, cotton, silk, fur and wool. In use for thousands of years of human history, these materials continued to serve the outdoorsman admirably. Although some synthetics had already made their debut, petroleum-based materials such as nylon, polyester, and the various plastics used in the clothing of 1992 were still decades away from common use. Many of these materials were invented, refined, or both during World War II, nylon, plastics and synthetic rubber being the most notable examples. In the camping literature, synthetics begin to make their appearance during the 1950s and 60s as campers used Nylon U.S. Navy liferaft sails as shelters (Manning, 1972). R.C. Rethmel (1964) lists many items of gear constructed using nylon, polyurethane foam, synthetic rubber, Dacron, and other synthetic materials. By the time Manning’s book was published (1972), synthetics received common mention in most areas of equipment. Natural fibers continued to be recommended as alternatives to synthetics, but nylon and its cousins dominated the materials for shelters, raingear, and packs. This switch to synthetics mirrors an overall societal trend. Children’s toys from the early 1950s, for instance made extensive use of wood and metal. By the 1970s, though, plastic was the dominant material. Second, the overall design complexity of the gear was greater in the 1992 list. Harvey Manning (1972, p. 62) acknowledged this change: “The new is not necessarily better than the old, but invariably is more complicated.” From packs to parkas, the number of seams, zippers, pockets, and adjustments is far greater in modern gear. Backpacks provide a good example of this evolution from simple to complex. Two packs provide good illustration: The Duluth #2 packsack, and the Lowe Contour IV. 90 years, 4 pounds apart, and at opposite ends of the complexity scale, The Duluth and Lowe packs are representative of their respective eras, and the beginning and present state of backpacking . Through the 1950s, camping literature often touted the Duluth Packsack as one of the accepted methods for carrying gear. This packsack, weighing in at 2 1/2 pounds resembles a pillowcase, with one side left longer to make a top flap. Shoulder straps and a headstrap are sewn, and riveted on as carrying devices. The number of structural seams or connections (seams critical to the integrity of the pack) in this pack is 8, which includes the strap connections. It has three basic adjustments (closing flap, shoulder, and headstraps). by contrast, a modern Lowe Alpine Contour IV pack, purchased in 1996 weighs 6 1/2 pounds, has 22 connections, and has 7 adjustments! This pack is constructed entirely of synthetic nylons, foams, and plastics, whereas the Duluth pack is constructed of cotton canvas and leather, held together with thread, copper rivets, and steel buckles. In addition, the Duluth pack relies on design (flat, wide profile keeps weight close to back) for comfort, while the Lowe uses numerous adjustments, and large amounts of foam padding for comfort. The Duluth pack continued to be highly recommended into the 1950s (Henderson, 1950; Rutstrum, 1958). In the late 1960s, though, packsacks attached to aluminum (instead of the traditional wooden) frames became popular, and by the 1970s, the Duluth, and its cousins the tumpline and packbasket received favorable mention only in specialized literature, such as northwoods canoeing guides. The final evolution of the pack came with the popularization of the internal frame pack, which utilizes aluminum or synthetic stays that are sewn into the back of the pack, eliminating the awkward external frame. Interestingly, the latest trend in backpacks is toward “ultralight” gear. These packs use lightweight materials, and eliminate many of the adjustments, pockets, straps and buckles found in the Lowe pack, marking at least a partial return to the simplicity of earlier eras. Another example of complexity is the gas stove that is in such common use today. My Mountain Safety Research (MSR) Whisperlite, for example, uses white gas as its fuel. Gasoline is extracted (most likely in some far-away place like Iraq, or Alaska), refined, packaged, and shipped thousands of miles... a rather complex system of providing fuel for the evening meal! The stove itself has 11 parts, the fuel pump has 11, and the overall system is highly sensitive to dirty fuel, leaking gaskets, or other problems. Contrast this with a small, well-built campfire. This millennia-old method of cooking uses local fuel resources, and needs only a simple implement, such as flint and steel to light it. Admittedly, matches, which are composed of many different chemical compounds are not simple in their manufacture, but the skill required to use a match under all conditions is considerable. The gas stove has its roots in outdoor pursuits in places that lacked natural fuel sources, such as polar exploration and mountaineering. Ernest Shackleton, for example relied upon a Primus stove for warmth and cooking on his Antarctic explorations. Stoves came into common use for recreational camping in the early 1970s. Manning (1972, p. 29) may have heralded this change when he said “The backpacker stove has become an indispensable part of the hiker’s outfit because that prime symbol of the wilderness home, the wood fire, is obsolescent...” (Manning did, however discuss cooking on wood fires at length, and seemed to reminisce several times about the “inevitable” demise of the fire). From the 1920s, to the present, this increasing complexity has resulted in gear that does one job well, but lacks versatility, is heavy, at times unreliable, and costly. The third major difference is that the amount of skill and knowledge required to use the gear is arguably greater for the list from 1923. With a modern gear kit, a comfortable camp can literally be set up in a parking lot. Free-standing tents, self-inflating mattresses, gas cook stoves, and freeze-dried food drastically reduce the camper’s reliance on locally available natural resources for comfort. For a mountaineer trapped on a windswept ridge, such independence may very well prove to be a lifesaver. But transferring that same status to a lush, wooded area eliminates the opportunity to learn how to provide for basic needs using, to one degree or another, locally available resources. Carrying mountaineering technology in all camping situations creates a situation where the user’s knowledge is completely tied to the technological device (i.e. a stove). If that device fails, the camper has limited options for coping with the situation. If a stove clogs, or runs out of fuel, knowledge of how to build and use a fire would allow the campers to continue to cook their meals. Some of the emerging dogma of the 1970s, however even recommended eliminating such knowledge altogether. In their 1979 book Backwoods Ethics (1979, p. 75-78), Laura and Guy Waterman , in an attempt to reduce fire scars in heavily trafficked eastern recreation areas, offer a severely misguided bit of advice on firemaking skills in which they support this idea: “ Why is fire-building of so little use in emergencies? 1. If getting warm is essential, starting a fire will be little help. An outdoor fire is an extremely inefficient heat source, even for the one side of you that gets any warmth. Great quantities of fuel are required to produce a negligible amount of BTUS’s. 2. The modern backpacker usually carries a good sleeping bag, and he’s much better off inside that bag than out. Inside, the considerable heat his own body generates is retained. 3. If the backpacker gets a fire going, he should then get into his bag anyway. Once inside, how can he tend a fire effectively? 4. If hot food or drink is his greatest need, it is much more efficient to use his cookstove. 5. If he is above treeline, firebuilding is a useless art because there will be insufficient burnable material at hand. 6. Most emergencies in which fire is alleged to be needed occur in winter. If you start a fire on a 6-foot snow cover, you’ll soon have a pit several feet deep with the fire at the bottom, where it will furnish no heat but plenty of smoke. It’s not easy to cook anything way down there either. 7. If a backpacker has the energy, tools, and daylight to amass many large logs to construct a fire platform on the snow, he should probably use his time and energy instead to do something of more lasting benefit-like walking out.” They go on to say “So why burn down the woods practicing fires that aren’t really needed, won’t keep you warm, and are out of step with today’s environmental concerns? Read up on how to build an emergency fire, because you just might need to, just as you might need to perform an emergency tracheotomy.” Ironically, Guy Waterman (1979) later recounts a story in which he and his son had to beat a hasty retreat from the mountains after their gear became wet in a severe storm. They endured an epic hike in deep snow, drove into the nearest town to the Laundromat, dried their gear in the electric dryers, then drove back to resume their backpacking trip. From the description of this trip, it certainly sounded like the very skills he sought to eliminate from common knowledge might have allowed them to remain in the bush. If their car had not been accessible, knowledge of fires might very well have saved their lives! Certainly their arguments about above-treeline camping and winter camping have merit, but overall, their advice on fires, (riddled with misinformation) sends the message that complete dependence on imported technology offers a superior substitute to solid, life-saving skills, and is the answer to the problems facing overused lands. Many people do not carry their gear-dependence to such extremes, but this example illustrates the decreasing skill asked of modern gear users. By contrast, the traditional camper of 1923, carrying only cooking pots and food, needed to have solid skills in firebuilding and management, wood selection, axe and saw use, and a multitude of other skills. The Watermans (1979, p. 74) do acknowledge the role of skill in fire use: “It must be conceded that a good woodsman knows how to have his fire and leave the site without a trace”, but they (and many others, including some public land managers) are unwilling to trust the majority of forest users to develop such skill and sense of responsibility. The result is that few campers today really understand the complexities and nuances of using fire well. Closely tied to the gear in use at the time, other techniques for camping have also changed. The essential rhythms of camp life-travelling from site to site, selecting a campsite, cooking meals, and enjoying the scenery and companionship inherent in the experience-have stayed the same. What has changed are the methods for accomplishing the daily tasks of outdoor living. As mentioned above, today there is a far greater reliance on the gear and technology one carries than on the skill of the user. In some situations, it is possible, for instance, to navigate to one’s campsite without paying much attention to the landscape by using a GPS. Camp may be set up virtually anywhere, thanks to the self-inflating mattress, sleeping bag, and four-season tent one carries. Dinner can be cooked anywhere as well, as the fire is no longer needed to accomplish the task. Traditional gear allowed comfort and safety only if the user had the proper skills, and could use the equipment in harmony with the environment. Luis Henderson (1950, p. 5) commented on this: “Seasoned woodsmen get along with much less equipment than the ‘tenderfoot’, not because they are a superior breed or essentially tougher, but because they have learned to adapt themselves to their surroundings and to make the most of whatever may be offered in the way of material at hand.” He goes on to say “The more knowledge we have the more pleasure we derive. Combine with woodcraft a working knowledge of naturelore, and you will have achieved the ultimate in keen enjoyment of an journey off the beaten path.” (1950, p. 6) Clearly, skill and knowledge were at the forefront of Henderson’s thinking in 1950. Modern gear, on the other hand allows, to a much higher degree, comfort and safety despite the knowledge of the user, and the resources available in the environment. Skill and technique have been reduced in the overall equation. Manning (1972, p. 61) completely missed this skill/equipment balance in the introduction to the chapters on gear in his book:
“In the olden days of
30-odd years ago it was easy to buy equipment for hiking and
backpacking-there was so little to choose The idea that old-time campers had not choice but to suffer for lack of modern gear is patently absurd. My most comfortable nights on the trail have been when I’ve been able to make a deep, soft bed of oak leaves or other debris, the best meals I’ve had have come from cast-iron Dutch ovens, not vacuum-sealed plastic envelopes, and the warmest I’ve slept has been in a lean-to next to a well-tended fire. The key point here is that each aspect of the experience was better than any provided by high tech gear. Proper technique made all the difference. Manning’s attitude is very common, however. The outdoor recreation public has been well indoctrinated in the idea that newer and more complex is somehow better. By the 1970s, woodcraft instruction had begun to disappear from much of the camping literature. Techniques for reducing local impact on the environment have changed as well. The well-publicized and funded Leave No Trace (LNT) movement formalized and put a high gloss on the idea of minimal impact camping. Before LNT, however campers were not running around destroying the woods. In the 1960s, for instance, some low impact camping ethics were in place. I posed a series of questions regarding the evolution of camping skills on one of Backpacker Magazine’s website chatrooms. In terms of environmental ethics, one camper said “Our version of Leave No Trace was built around the notion of “leave the camp the way you’d like to find it”. We burned out any steel cans and buried them. We burned all burnable trash. Sometimes washed “rinsed” our dishes in streams or ponds, but never with soap. We used an outhouse if one was available and did not crap near camp or water it there wasn’t. We made sure our fires were “dead out” and that a supply of dry firewood was left in the trail shelter (lean to) when we departed. By the end of the decade we were carrying out our trash that would not rust or otherwise decay away in reasonable time (glass or aluminum containers).” (Trailhead, 2002) In regards to fire, another respondent said “As time went on, we gave up our axe and saw and embraced the roaring little one-burner (white) gasoline stove. This probably was less an ethical than a practical shift, as dead and down wood was becoming increasingly scarce around campsites.(Trailhead, 2002). Backwoods ethics have roots far deeper than recreational camping, but have been present, in one form or another, since the beginning of recreational camping. So why have these changes occurred? Although some discussion of this question has already occurred, more depth is needed. I believe one of the most important factors behind the dramatic changes in gear and technique is the fact that outdoor recreation mirrors the rest of our culture. It, like so many aspects of western culture, has come to place a strong emphasis on comfort, convenience, “newness”, reliance on technology, reduced personal responsibility, and continued consumption of goods. The post-World War II economic boom led to tremendous increases in the availability of new consumer goods. Dramatic changes in technology have altered nearly every aspect of our society. The outdoor gear business is no different. As in so many areas of our culture, backpacking has become a huge consumer business. “New” materials and gear promise unheard-of levels of comfort, lightness, and convenience. As such, the gear receives more emphasis than refinement of technique, and campers have come to expect instant comfort, rather than comfort resulting from well-learned skill. Secondly, recreational campers have copied the gear and techniques of extreme outdoorsmen, such as mountain climbers. In an interview on National Public Radio (2002) Yvon Chouinard, founder of the Patagonia outdoor gear company described a hypothetical situation in which a businessman commutes through the city dressed in an expensive mountaineering parka. Someday, this man may lose weight, and climb Mt. Rainier. Part of what Patagonia sells, Chouinard said, is “Dreams”. Campers like to look the part, and wearing and using gear intended for a very specialized use is standard today. This is seen in many ways in our culture: The burly sport utility vehicle that never leaves the pavement; The fully-suspended mountain bike collecting dust in the garage; The snowshoe marks, mile after mile, on a completely hard-packed trail. These are all signs of people wanting to “look the part”, but not realizing that what they are doing (and the gear they are using) is not necessarily the best, or most appropriate for the situation. This appears to be a result of powerful marketing. Neophytes to the outdoors, walking into a gear shop, and saying “I’d like to get into snowshoeing... What do I need?” are unwittingly opening the doors to a barrage of misinformation from the sales person. The gear shop exists to make money, and if they can sell that unfortunate beginner all the “latest high-tech gear”, then they’ve accomplished their mission. The new snowshoer walks out ready for an assault on the Eiger in the dead of winter: Small, mountaineering-style snowshoes that won’t work off a hard-packed trail (too small); Adjustable avalanche-probe poles (What ever happened to refining one’s balance? No avalanche turf for miles around!); Gore-tex everything (they’ll wear it even when it’s sunny and sweat to death!); Global Positioning System (No skill required, just add batteries), and a pack full of other gear. While fine for its intended use, this type of gear tends to be heavier, more complex, and far more expensive than is needed by the average camper. But fashion becomes dogma in the world of outdoor fashion, and, for the time being, it is the standard of the industry. Third, there has been a dramatic shift away from the woodcraft techniques of earlier days simply due to perception (real or not), that it was necessary. Many areas of the country were literally being used to death. The backcountry was falling victim to both increasing numbers, and poor technique. Many campers, mimicking the pioneering-type techniques of years past created damage no self-respecting woodcrafter would have allowed. Carrying an axe does not make an axeman, and traditional gear, used poorly began created damage that led to a completely understandable backlash against the use of such gear. Unfortunately, little distinction was made between the skilled and the unskilled, rather all woodcrafters came to be seen as dinosaurs in the eyes of the new “enlightened” backpacking pundits:
“Woodcraft is dead-dead
because the modern equipment described in Chapters 11 and 12 makes
pioneer-style engineering Warren H. Miller, Horace Kephardt, and the other founders of American woodcraft and camping would have been highly insulted at Manning’s tone. They too had little tolerance for the “duffers” and “chumps” that slashed and gouged their way through the forest. Then, as now, waste and needless destruction found little favor among master campers. What Manning and others failed to realize is that the fundamental problem was not the equipment, but the lack of proper technique by an increasingly large group of backcountry users. The results of their gospel seemed to have had a good effect because the new gear-stoves, free-standing tents, etc-could be used by the unskilled with far less damage to the local environment. Traditional camping gear can also be used with minimal impact, if the user takes the time to learn the necessary skills. Instead, the deities of the new backpacking embraced technology, and the new ethic of non-interaction with the environment. Fires were probably the first casualty of the emerging ethic of non-interaction. Large mounds of charcoal, half-burnt logs, and the inevitable half-burnt trash detracted from the beauty of the experience, and the normal forest debris was vacuumed up to feed the fires, leading to erosion, and reducing the nutrients available from decaying wood. In many popular campsites around the country, even small, well-tended fires would quickly denude the landscape simply because so many people visit the area every year. In addition, recent severe droughts have led to extensive fire bans, as paranoid land managers seek to reduce the chance of uncontrolled wildfires. The result is that in many areas wood fires are strictly banned, and much of the current backpacking literature recommends stoves as the preferred method of cooking. Leave No Trace tells people “Campfires can cause lasting impacts to the backcountry. Use a lightweight stove for cooking and enjoy a candle lantern for light.” (Leave No Trace, 2002). The Mountaineers (1992, p. 37), applying mountaineering ethics to all situations, seem eager to put another nail in the proverbial coffin as well: “The old romantic days of cooking over an open fire and lounging around a big campfire are just about over. The price is too high in old scarce trees, especially at higher elevations. And no matter where, campfire scars are a blemish.” (My emphasis). True enough at high elevations, but again, a case of inappropriately trying to apply a one-size-fits-all dogma. The fact is that a small, well-tended fire leaves no negative local impact, and actually benefits the land by removing unnatural buildups of forest litter due to fire suppression, and by returning nutrients to the soil in the form of ash. Even in extremely high-use areas, a small amount of wood or charcoal can be packed in, and burned in a small stove, or on a firepan.
Another aspect of minimizing impact is the question of how to deal with human waste. In popular areas, the disposal of human waste has become a problem, sometimes because of the constraints of the environment, and sometimes because of the lack of skill and caring demonstrated by campers. Cave explorers have long been familiar with carrying their body waste out. Caves are confined, and extremely fragile ecosystems, and leaving human waste in a cave is simply not an acceptable option. Not too long ago, river runners on popular routes faced new requirements to carry solid waste out. The campsites were often too few and overused for even properly disposed of waste to be left behind. The “groover” box has become ubiquitous with the river trip (one canoer on the Green was recently heard to say “Let me get this straight. The government says I have to poop in a box, and that it must be a box that meets their specifications???”) Most recently, climbers on the Grand Teton have been required to carry their waste out. Rangers on this popular mountain tried using a helicopter-serviced outhouse, (which turned out to be a logistical nightmare), and have since switched to handing out special bags for the times when nature calls. In the rocky, fragile alpine tundra, the masses simply were not doing a good job of disposing of their waste. While changes such as these are crucial to the preservation of certain highly-used areas, the resulting legislation and popular dogma has created an environment where increasingly (and for no real reason) these same standards are being applied as holy gospel, even if the situation simply doesn’t merit such changes. Standing on the edge of the Green River early one morning this past summer, for instance, I surveyed hundreds of readily accessible square miles of desert. Seeking to do my morning business, I contemplated the utter absurdity of pooping in a box, especially this morning. Yes, we had seen some sites that were very confined, where the options were limited for waste disposal. But there were also thousands of square miles where human waste, properly disposed of simply would not have caused a problem. Yet the rules laid out by the Bureau of Land Management left no legal options to river users: Even if you did your business hundreds of yards from the river, buried in a shallow cathole, you had broken the law! In this case, rules were deemed more important than skill, common sense, and knowledge. The BLM applied the standards created for unskilled, or uncaring people to everyone (On this particular morning, I had to disagree with this policy: As my friend says: “rules are for people who need them”).
To give credit where credit is due, the low-impact camping movement, and organizations such as LNT, have created a strong awareness of the importance of treading lightly in the wild, especially in heavily used areas. The increase in numbers of people heading into the backcountry has been huge, and many formerly unknown locations have become overrun, and overused. Teaching people to wash their dishes away from the stream, bury their poop, and avoid stepping on fragile soils and vegetation has created an important awareness of human impacts on the wilds. But applying blanket rules to all situations, and recommending technology as the solution to problems rather than skill and education amounts to “throwing the baby out with the bathwater”. These radical changes to camping techniques, and ethics have created a situation in which people are no longer learning how to interact with the land. Instead, they are taught to avoid interacting with the land, for fear of causing some irreparable, catastrophic blunder. Finally, outdoor recreation has moved into so many play sports that the wilderness is no longer the reason in and of itself for camping, but rather it has become the stage for some other goal, such as running a river, or climbing a mountain. The camping skills have become incidental, necessary only to allow one to “be there”. Hence the desire for convenience in use. In the days of Horace Kephardt, and Warren Miller, the hard-earned skills of the master camper were sources of pride, and something to strive for. In the last 30 years or so, the convenience-oriented equipment of the mountaineer has spread throughout the backpacking world, and the skill needed to create a safe, comfortable camp has become negligible. As such, other outdoor pursuits have taken the place of campcraft in the pursuit of satisfying skills. Rock and ice climbing, mountain biking, kayaking, backcountry skiing, and all their subtle (and radical) variations have become the agreed upon skill standards of the early 21st century outdoorsperson. The loss of real camping skill, technique and knowledge has resulted in the fall of campcraft from the pedestal it once enjoyed. Buy all the gear you can afford, and your comfort and safety are assured, allowing you to pursue your real motivation for travelling into the wilds. Certainly, earlier campers also sought the wilds to pursue pastimes other than simply camping. Hunting, fishing, canoeing, nature study, and other activities were all commonly mentioned in the literature. But with the techno-camp readily available, and skill pushed to the back seat, the world of outdoor recreation is evolving into a land of amazing climbers and skiers, many of whom lack a solid base of campcraft skills with which to interact with the land around them to secure their basic needs. Are these changes permanent? Have they been beneficial? Are there places where they have not taken place? I do not believe the changes in camping gear and technique are necessarily permanent. If American society is anything, it is adaptable, and eager for change. There has, in the last 20 years, been a resurgence of interest in traditional skills. From the snowshoe and hot tent camping of Garrett and Alexandra Conover to the nature awareness teachings of Jon Young, thousands of people every year seek out such teachers to learn something new, and get away from the gear-laden camping standard of our times. These students quickly come to appreciate woodscraft skills for the simplicity and beauty of the techniques. The equipment of the early camper is still available as well. Companies such as C.C. Filson and Duluth Pack continue to offer much of the same clothing, packs, and other gear that was standard among campers until the 1960s. Some modern companies have blended modern and traditional materials. Kifaru, a Golden, CO-based company manufactures a line of tents and stoves. Designed for traditional “hot-tent” camping, they are constructed of high-tech materials such as nylon, and titanium. The Ibex company makes a line of outdoor clothing constructed primarily of wool, and tightly-woven, water repellent “Ventile” cotton. Constructed of natural materials, these items look like modern, high-tech mountaineering gear. Also, the skills have continued, unbroken, in remote areas, such as Alaska, and parts of Canada, and, to some degree, in the hunting and fishing culture of this country, where canvas tents and woodstoves signal the beginning of hunting season. Hot tent camping, Dutch oven cooking on open fires, horsepacking, and other staple skills of the woodcrafter are standard fair for hunting guides. In addition, modern day “woodsman” competitions perpetuate such skills as axemanship, crosscut sawing, log rolling, and other traditions of the lumberman. And finally, gatherings such as Rabbitstick and Snowwalker bring together enthusiasts to share and learn traditional techniques from each other. A supposedly “modern” movement is the so-called “ultralight backpacking” craze. Although largely a retreat for ounce-counters and gear collectors, some of the philosophical underpinnings of the movement also seem to offer some of the spirit of traditional skills. In an effort to eliminate the heavy, 40+ pound packs common to the trails today, so-called “ultralight backpackers” have adopted a “less is more” attitude. The first thing one must do to reduce weight is to reduce the amount of stuff that goes in the pack. This means using simpler technology, such as a tarp instead of a tent, and a cup instead of a complete cook kit. It also means using multi-purpose gear: A poncho that can double as a tarp saves the weight of carrying both raingear and shelter. Such ideas are actually a revival of the “go-light” ideas of the late 19th/early 20th century. Nessmuk was experimenting with such a philosophy in the 1880s. He had an entire kit, including a specially built 10’ canoe, that weighed in at less than 20 lbs! (Brenan, 1962) Although camping skills and technique have changed dramatically since the turn of the 20th century, traditional skills are still very much alive and well. “Hands off” techniques, adrenaline play sports, mountaineering technology, and complex, synthetic gear may dominate the world of outdoor recreation, but the skills of Miller and Kephardt are alive, and still have an important voice to sound in the wilderness: That the body of skills, knowledge and techniques known as woodcraft offers a valuable connection to the wilderness, and a level of competence and skill nearly forgotten in the rush to “modernize” camping equipment and technique.
Brenan, Dan (ed)(1962). Canoeing the Adirondacks with Nessmuk: The Adirondack Letters of George Washington Sears. Blue Mountain Lake, NY: The Adirondack Historical Association. Chouinard, Yvon (2002). Voices of the American West: Patagonia. National Public Radio interview: 11/12/02. Graydon, Don (1992). Mountaineering: The Freedom of the Hills. Seattle, WA: The Mountaineers. Henderson, Luis M. (1950). Camper’ Guide to Woodcraft and Outdoor Life. Harrisburg, PA: Stackpole Books. Kephart, Horace (1923). Camping and Woodcraft: A Handbook for Vacation Campers and for Travelers in the Wilderness. New York: MacMillan and Co. Leave No Trace Principles of Leave No Trace Retrieved November 14th, 2002 from http//: www.lnt.org Manning, Harvey (1972). Backpacking One Step at a Time. Seattle, WA: Recreational Equipment Incorporated. Rethmel, R.C. (1964). Backpacking. Minneapolis, MN: Burgess Publishing Company. Rutstrum, Calvin (1958). The New Way of the Wilderness. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. The Trailhead (2002). Over 50 Camping Memories. Backpacker.com Waterman, Guy and Laura (1979). Backwoods Ethics: Environmental Concerns for Hikers and Campers. Washington, D.C.: Stonewall Press.
Appendix A |
