I’m not the careful backpacking organizer that I probably should be. Oh, once upon a time I was. But over the past few summers, anytime we’re headed for the backcountry, my wife and I basically throw the big camp gear box in the back of our truck along with our packs and clothes and shoes and frantically drive east toward the Sierra as fast as we can. “We’ll pack when we get there,” we mumble through mouthfuls of scone and coffee.
You won’t be surprised to learn that sometimes mistakes are made.
Our first backpacking trip a couple of summers ago was to a gem of a spot that shall remain nameless, somewhere north of Yosemite and south of the North Pole. The snow had thawed, the mosquitos were merrily multiplying, and we were thrilled to be on the trail and among the wildflowers. Our first morning, however, we were met with near disaster. I’d forgotten to pack coffee. I emptied and refilled the bear canister three, four, five times, hoping that somehow a collection of Starbucks Via packets would magically appear, but even as I did so, I could picture the precious box of coffee packets sitting on the backseat of the truck, absentmindedly left behind in our haste to feel the gravel beneath our boots.
There was a tent peeking out from some trees across the lake from we were set up, and though it pained me, I made my way over to beg for any spare coffee. I learned a valuable lesson that morning. That lesson was: when begging for coffee, bring along something to trade. The nice young family sitting around a bubbling pot of oatmeal had some spare instant coffee packets and they graciously gave me two. Crisis averted, but I felt like a jerk for offering nothing but my blubbering thanks in return.
I really felt like a jerk two weeks later on our next backcountry trip when I forgot the coffee again. You see, I’d just purchased a new Sawyer water filter, and was eager to try it out, and this was my first fly-fishing backpack trip of the summer, and blah blah blah. I blew it.
But I’d learned from my previous coffee panhandling experience and this time, when I arrived at the next campsite over with my hat in my hands, I came with granola bars AND a pot of boiling hot water to trade.
Horrifically, these campers had no spare coffee—they were tea drinkers. I offered to leave them the granola bars anyway, as a karmic offering, and as a “sorry” for the confused face I made when they told me they drank only tea. They insisted I take a teabag or two, and I did, just to be polite, but who are we kidding.
That was the last time I forgot the coffee on a backpacking trip. Our bear canister is now home to our camp coffee supplies, so that no matter what, when we assemble our food, we can’t help but rest assured that we’ve got the joe covered.
Here are the lessons I learned:
• Take a moment to collect yourself when packing, even if you’ve done it a thousand times. You might forget something crucially important, like the damn coffee.
• If you must borrow coffee from neighbors, ALWAYS offer something in trade. That would I suppose make it trading for coffee, not borrowing, but you get the idea.
• Stash extra instant coffee packets in a few of your pack’s pockets, just in case. The added grams are worth it. And if some poor, bedraggled soul sheepishly approaches your campsite looking for that caffeine fix, you have a spare you can offer.
• Assemble what I like to call “oh shit” bags. Sandwich bags with a handful of coffee packets, a granola bar or two, and waterproof matches. Toss the bags in your camp gear, so that if you’re packing at the trailhead and you’ve done something as idiotic as leave the coffee behind, you can stuff one of these bags in your pack, just to be sure.
• Arriving at a chosen campsite and spotting another tent nearby doesn’t have to be a bummer. The mercy of fellow campers can be a godsend.
Photo: McKayla Crump
Good one! But twice?
Years ago when I was a commercial white water river guide I forgot my sleeping bag on an overnight trip in the early flows of a Sierra Nevada spring. I learned the obvious: dry bags are sweaty, offer no heat-retention and hard to snuggle into…
Needless to say, I never forgot my sleeping bag after that trip AND I always had a fleece-lined sleep-sheet in case some other distracted river guide found him/herself peeling into a gear-size dry-bag for the night.
A lot of stuff can be replaced by things freely available in nature. Tea can be made from eg pine needles, sleeping pads can be replaced by branches, leaves and moss. Lichen can do as a spunge for doing the dishes, and gras can be used as toilet paper.
This I guess is easier here in wooden Scandinavia than say Arizona or in an alpine environment.
My wife is the same way with “good” tea when we travel. There are emergency stashes of it in every bag that we ever use to leave the house!
On my first bike packing trip I didn’t forget anything, however we must have looked rough as our camp site neighbors offered kabobs, corn on the cob and beer!
Another lesson: Learn to live without coffee….and tea isn’t a bad thing bad either…….
Like Kris, I too forgot my sleeping bag once. Though Central Texas winters aren’t THAT cold, I slept in all my clothing, wrapped beneath my jacket.
Scott and Kris, you’re not alone. I forgot my sleeping bag once and only once. But Hill Country SNA (Central TX) is, as you say, not terribly cold in November.
Seems everyone has a “forgotten sleeping bag” story. Mine was a mtn. bike trip to Gooseberry Mesa, in UT. Somehow I managed to get everything in the car *except* my sleeping bag. Fortunately my mistake was discovered prior to arriving at camp, so we stopped in town where I picked up a cheap Coleman sleeping bag at a local hardware store’s outdoor goods section.
It was summer, and a pretty warm one, so I probably could have done without, and might have actually preferred to do so, as I discovered the next morning when I woke up covered in green from the cheap sleeping bag’s liner having bled dye all over me after having sweated in it overnight. Returned it a couple days later on the way out of town and when they asked why I was returning it, I just showed them my green arms.
Seems everyone has a “forgotten sleeping bag” story.
Thankfully I don’t (yet). I have an Army modular sleep system. It all fits neatly into a carrier that attaches to the lower part of my backpack. I would have to be hella stoned to not notice if my sleeping bag’s AWOL!
Boy, do I have other “forgotten gear” stories I could tell, though. Ever been on a DXpedition 100+ miles away from civilisation, gotten all your radio equipment set up then realised all your batteries are still setting on the kitchen table back at home?
Lesson #6 – Always pack from a list!
How about the tent poles left at home, because I was replacing the shock cord and never put them back in the tent. Or, the stove on a week long river trip?
On my first camping trip with a new boyfriend and his Dad, I only packed one pair of pants. This is the wet side of Washington where I lost my footing and sat on a patch of soaking wet moss. My butt was so cold all weekend I was miserable. It was so cold he wouldn’t spoon me at night either.
I now keep a road trip checklist. “Extra Clothing” is a Ten Essential for a reason.
The day I discovered how lightweight, warm and not itchy cashmere is also vastly improved my life. Looking back, my wool sensitivity led to some hypothermia incidents that nobody recognized at the time. I was lethargic, dizzy and just wanted to ‘sleep’ by the trail.
Stay warm!
Funny…it’s never the whiskey that’s forgotten.
or forgetting TP. did that once on a canoe trip