New Zealand was full of campervans and caravans. Both tourists and Kiwis go on extended movable holidays; it's the thing to do. Everywhere we went we were surrounded by travelers frying eggs over butane cookers. Some Kiwis turn it into a way of life. Si and I stumbled across a real, live Gypsy Fair on the west side, complete with beautiful handmade wooden caravans. The Lost Gypsy Gallery in Papatowai is probably my single most favorite memory of the whole trip.
After three weeks I got pretty fed up with the Hippie Camper, but I love caravans, of course I do--they're self-contained portable houses. Don't think I haven't considered outfitting my own. Before accepting the baking job in Port Townsend I looked wistfully at a couple of craigslist ads for decommissioned Blue Bird school buses--I could turn one into a latter-day Parnassus on Wheels! But of course the problem with modern caravans is the driving. I hate driving.
I expect that everyone can see more or less where this is going.
I wanted very badly to make my own backpack for this hike. Ray Jardine sells a kit with instructions and all the necessary materials. But the longer I looked at it, the more uneasy I felt. No padding, no hip belt, no suspension. And fourteen ounces. I may as well hike with a flipping bindlestiff. The efficiency of a pack that light seems to rely a great deal on the knowledge of the hiker--Jardine's the same age as my father and he's been backpacking for most of his life, so hooray for him--but I can't overstate that I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm relying on research and other peoples' experiences in order to outfit this adventure. (And almost equally on my own adaptability once I get going.) Sound advice from these purveyors suggests that a thru-hiker nail down all the rest of her gear and then choose a backpack to accomodate the load--it's essentially a container, after all. So I put it off.
At the approximate two-months-to-start date, though, newbies like myself need to have chosen most of their gear in order to allow an opportunity to get used to the stuff. Mid-February was decision-making time. After I'd let go of constructing a custom-fit backpack with my own hands, there were really only two contenders: the ULA Circuit and the Gossamer Gear Mariposa. As far as I can tell, they are essentially the same pack, with a mysterious weight discrepancy of 13oz. To be entirely honest I picked the Mariposa for no better reason than it was lighter than most, and I liked the look of it. (Which is pretty much the same way I picked out the Hippie Camper.) How many decisions, great and small, boil down to such nebulous inclination?
I'm pretty pleased with my purchase thus far, but there's a lot riding on a backpack--literally--and it feels like bad luck to make too many sweeping, optimistic claims about my caravan before it's successfully suffered through a few hundred miles of abuse. (The Hippie Camper revealed an electrical short--no turn signals, no gas gauge, no lights, no odometer--before we were ten minutes away from the rental agency.) Ideally, true to its name, the Mariposa will metamorphose from a harness that fits over my shoulders into an extension of my person. I don't want to jinx it.
The minute it arrived on the doorstep, however, suddenly the trip seemed that much more real. Still so much to do! The following day I gave notice at work. That same week I applied for a thru-hiking pass with the PCTA, sent off my paperwork for an Entry to Canada permit, and took the hokey four-question quiz to issue myself a California fire permit. I've cobbled together a working resupply plan, though I still don't have any socks. Things are lurching forward. Gadzooks, I leave in less than two months!
After three weeks I got pretty fed up with the Hippie Camper, but I love caravans, of course I do--they're self-contained portable houses. Don't think I haven't considered outfitting my own. Before accepting the baking job in Port Townsend I looked wistfully at a couple of craigslist ads for decommissioned Blue Bird school buses--I could turn one into a latter-day Parnassus on Wheels! But of course the problem with modern caravans is the driving. I hate driving.
I expect that everyone can see more or less where this is going.I wanted very badly to make my own backpack for this hike. Ray Jardine sells a kit with instructions and all the necessary materials. But the longer I looked at it, the more uneasy I felt. No padding, no hip belt, no suspension. And fourteen ounces. I may as well hike with a flipping bindlestiff. The efficiency of a pack that light seems to rely a great deal on the knowledge of the hiker--Jardine's the same age as my father and he's been backpacking for most of his life, so hooray for him--but I can't overstate that I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm relying on research and other peoples' experiences in order to outfit this adventure. (And almost equally on my own adaptability once I get going.) Sound advice from these purveyors suggests that a thru-hiker nail down all the rest of her gear and then choose a backpack to accomodate the load--it's essentially a container, after all. So I put it off.
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| mariposa |
I'm pretty pleased with my purchase thus far, but there's a lot riding on a backpack--literally--and it feels like bad luck to make too many sweeping, optimistic claims about my caravan before it's successfully suffered through a few hundred miles of abuse. (The Hippie Camper revealed an electrical short--no turn signals, no gas gauge, no lights, no odometer--before we were ten minutes away from the rental agency.) Ideally, true to its name, the Mariposa will metamorphose from a harness that fits over my shoulders into an extension of my person. I don't want to jinx it.
The minute it arrived on the doorstep, however, suddenly the trip seemed that much more real. Still so much to do! The following day I gave notice at work. That same week I applied for a thru-hiking pass with the PCTA, sent off my paperwork for an Entry to Canada permit, and took the hokey four-question quiz to issue myself a California fire permit. I've cobbled together a working resupply plan, though I still don't have any socks. Things are lurching forward. Gadzooks, I leave in less than two months!
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