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Alan Gegax discusses hiking safety on “KNPR’s State of Nevada” at desertcompanion.com/hearmore
discomfort zone
The grating outdoors
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The first rule of backcountry hiking: Be prepared. But what if you’re too prepared? By ALan gegax | Illustration Hernan valencia My feet were hamburger, socks soaked through with blood. I knew I needed medical attention, but I was isolated in the backcountry of Zion. I’d left ALICE miles behind, atop Zion’s West Rim, possibly never to see her again, nor the precious supplies she carried. Now, desperately replenishing my body with the cool water of this tiny spring, I had to decide whether to march back to ALICE and contin-
20 | Desert
Companion | May 2012
ue our misadventure, or plod on through coming darkness toward the safety of civilization. I should probably mention that this was the first time I had ever backpacked. Sure, I had hiked with a backpack on. And I had camped. But I had never used the former to do the latter. The one thing I knew about backpacking was that it paid off to be prepared. Out in the wilderness, fully alone, my life would depend on what I carried. “Better to have it and not
need it, than to need it and not have it,” right? To fit all these supplies, I needed a really big backpack. That’s where ALICE came in, my trusty Vietnam-era pack. She’s one of those giant, camouflage jobs that looks as big as the soldier carrying her. ALICE, incidentally, stands for All-purpose, Lightweight, Infantry Carrying Equipment. There is nothing lightweight about her. But she could carry. Oh, how she could carry. So I packed. I packed for comfort. I packed for boredom. I packed for safety. I knew the ability to make fire might save my life, so in disparate packs and pouches I stowed three books of matches, three Bic lighters, a magnesium fire starter, waterproof matches and a windproof lighter. (Fires aren’t even allowed in Zion’s backcountry. The only items I brought that I could legally set ablaze were cigars — eight Punch Royal Coronations, to be exact.) A sampling — just a sampling — of what else I brought: one fluorescent lantern, two LED flashlights, one 2-liter hydration system, three half-liter bottles of water, a water filtration pump, a three-subject notebook, two pencils, two pens, a felt marker, four spare AA batteries, 12 pairs of socks, eight pairs of underwear, two rolls of toilet paper, a Gerber multi-tool, a Swiss The discomfort: army knife, a headHis first big solo backpacking trip — lamp, compact field carrying everything binoculars, a camera, but the kitchen sink six rolls of film, two The zone: bottles of Deet, a tent, Zion’s beautiful — but rugged — West Rim tent repair kit, eight steel tent stakes, eight backup aluminum tent stakes, a roll of duct tape, a spade, three space blankets, 50 feet of rope, six feet of twine and 15 various plastic bags. Did I overpack? Let’s put it this way: When the outfitter picked me up in Springdale, Utah, to drive me to the trailhead, he refused to lift ALICE into his van for fear of injury. This guy lifts packs for a living. B ra k e t i m e I was undeterred. After all, I had five days to cover only 16 miles. Most of my time would be spent with the pack off, reveling in nature’s wonder. I’d be traveling through the kind of place where I could get that deep quiescence not only of environment, but of spirit. True solitude. Real tranquility. Turns out I don’t really care for solitude. As for tranquility? I wouldn’t know whether I like tranquility — because it was on the first day, at a time when tranquility should have been at its height, that my trip came unraveled.