Arc'Teryx Shells

In connection with my previous post, in which I discussed the prevalence of Montura brand when it comes to pants among the members of the Backcountry Camping group, I discuss here the popularity of Arc'Teryx as outerwear. This composite image consists of photos taken on the same trip, a trekking excursion to the Inje region of Gangwon-Do. Five of the 17 members wore Arc'Teryx shells that day, including me. Mine, a Sidewinder SV, is shown on the bottom with the logo along the sleeve.

Of course, Arc'Teryx was also present in the form of layering tops and accessories, as well as packs, and at least one pair of pants (whereas Arc'Teryx pants are mostly loose-fitting, Korean climbers currently prefer slim or tight-fitting pants, such as those made by Montura).

Arc'Teryx hails from Canada, much of it still produced in Canada. Although I'd never heard of it prior to my involvement with outdoor activities in Korea, the label is relatively mainstream here, where it has its own retail outlets and can be found in most camping/hiking multi-shops and general department stores. From its availability in American websites, I'm assuming that it's also popular in the States.

Not cheap, especially here in Korea due to shipping costs, import taxes, and high "premium" markups (probably the biggest culprit). My Sidewinder SV is listed at 1,050,000 won, though I paid 700,000 by offering cash on a two-year-old model languishing in the back of a small independent dealer (large sizes don't sell very well, apparently). I also have an Alpha SL, 590,000 won. The most expensive model is the Alpha SV at 1,139,000 won.

Me, wearing Arc'Teryx on top, Montura below

(photo: courtesy of Lee Hosup)

Unlike the Montura pant, which I firmly believe is far superior in terms of design and quality to others that I've worn, and which fits my body particularly well, I have to confess that I can't define a specific justification for wearing Arc'Teryx shells. They feature waterproof Gore-Tex fabric and immaculate construction, yes, but so do any number of jackets by most companies these days. They look great, yes, but most styles these days are more or less the same. It can't be a matter of value, since they're overpriced. It can't be a matter of exclusivity, since they're commonplace (among outdoor enthusiasts who are willing to pay for it). I don't know, maybe it's the quirky name or the funky logo.

Montura Pants

On a recent trekking excursion to the Inje region in Gangwon-Do, I took notice that the brand Montura was the overwhelmingly popular choice for the pants worn by the members of our group that day. Organized by Backcountry Camping, the group comprised 16 men and women, 7 of whom were sporting Montura pants. Mine are in the far left of the frame. The brand was also represented in the form of top layers and accessories, such as buffs and gloves and even gaiters.

Prior to my involvement with Backcountry Camping, I had never heard of Montura. It's a small Italian brand that, as far as I'm aware, doesn't have much of a presence in the United States or anywhere in the world outside of isolated pockets in Europe and Asia, particularly Korea, where it has rabid cult followings. Even in Korea, Montura doesn't have its own store but sells mostly through small specialty stores that buy directly from the local importer, a company rumored to consist of 4 employees and generate yearly gross sales of $10 million. I'm generally loathe to follow trends--in fact, I tend to avoid them--but I have to admit that the prevalence of the tetra-petaled flower logo on the legs of so many of my camping cohorts piqued my interest.

The trend factor aside, the bottom line is that Montura makes an excellent pant. I could go on at length about fabric and construction, both of which are top of the line. Or about design esthetics, which is admittedly a subjective matter but, speaking as objectively as possible, the lines create a slimming effect on the wearer. But the main thing is that the pants are comfortable. For me especially, I appreciate the low-cut front, which stops just below, and thus doesn't interfere with, my protruding gut. I've worn Montura pants on long treks and mountain hikes, for several consecutive days on extended camping trips, around the city, and lounging at home--and never once on those occasions have I ever given a second thought to what I was wearing on my legs, a testament to the second-skin nature of the pants.

They're not cheap, ranging from about 250,000 won for a lightweight casual pair to nearly 500,000 for an extreme winter weather model. Worth it.

I have 4 pairs. I love every one of them.

Home Camping

Trapped in the city, stuck at home, overloaded with work, hobbled by ailing health, I haven't been in the field for over a month, not since the trip to Inje in late October. Envious of my friends, who appear to be enjoying the start of the cold-weather camping season without me, I convert the master bedroom into my personal indoor campsite. It will remain this way until my wife returns from an overseas business trip at the end of the week, at which point I may haul the whole setup to the roof.

From left: Mystery Ranch Grizzly, Therm-a-Rest Trekker Lounge, Therm-a-Rest Trailpro, D-Pack, MSR Hubba Hubba (fly only), Primus ExpressSpider, Granite Gear Rock 900, Snow Peak Baja Table, Snow Peak Titanium Cookset, Snow Peak T-Double Low Mug, Snow Peak Carry-on Chopsticks, MRE Beef Stew, Baro Japchae-Bap, Black Diamond Apollo.

Snow Peak Apparel Store

Snow Peak has opened its first apparel store, the first of its kind anywhere in the world, but first here in Korea, featuring a line of clothing and accessories.

The brand originally hails from Japan, a purveyor of high-end camping products, such as titanium cookware, foldable interconnecting bamboo table sets, luxury tents, and the like. Korean campers, especially car campers, are nuts about the brand. Most backpackers will have at least one Snow Peak item among their gear, say, a pair of their portable chopsticks (wooden tips can be unscrewed and inserted into the hollow stainless steel handles, which are then carried in a sleeve attached to a lanyard). (See the link to the official website on the home page for more details.)

According to the manager of the new store, Snow Peak licensed the logo to a local Korean company, which then designed and manufactured the apparel. I didn't have time to look very closely at the stuff, the photos taken on the fly, but a quick glance suggests that it's more "lifestyle" than "performance." Cargo pants, flannel shirts, down jumpers, stuff that would look cute sitting around a cozy campfire, but nothing with technology or design elements associated with vigorous activities or extreme conditions. I also didn't get a look at the prices, but I noticed that a pair of cargo pants was going for about 180,000 won. Not cheap. Nothing from Snow Peak is.

The store is located by the Jongro 5-Ga subway station, exit 5, in a back alley that's increasingly becoming a mecca for shoppers of outdoor sporting goods (in fact, Mammut recently opened a store just a couple blocks away).

Incidentally, the second floor carries camping gear. Nothing new there.

Baro Bibimbap

Baro Bibimbap, an instant formulation of the ubiquitous Korean dish, rice with mixed vegetables, is a popular product for backpackers, second only to instant noodles (ramyun). The bag contains dehydrated rice and veggies and spices, along with chili paste and sesame oil in separate pouches for additional seasoning, along with powder for bean paste soup, and a plastic spoon. Supposedly, the technology was first developed by the Korean military for use in field rations. It actually tastes like real bibimbap, though the texture is understandably a bit off. Not bad for 3,300 won. The one featured here is the kimchi version, though other variations are available, as are products from other companies.

Step 1: remove pouches; sprinkle spice mix onto dehydrated rice and veggies.

Step 2: boil water (cold water is also possible);

pour to fill line (250 ml) indicated on package interior;

seal package and wait 10 min (40 min for cold water).

Step 3: add red chili paste and sesame oil; mix thoroughly.

Medicine Bottles

From left: 100-ml bottle with olive oil, 60-ml with sriracha sauce, 15-ml with powdered spice mix

Whether this will come as a surprise to anyone else, I don't know, but it took me some time to discover the convenience of using medicine bottles to pack both cooking ingredients and bathing supplies. Coming in a variety of sizes ranging from 10-100 milliliters (and maybe even bigger), these plastic bottles are made of thin, semi-disposable plastic (like Gladware) and primarily used by pharmacies to dispense prescription medications for children in liquid form. They're given out free with the paid meds, but the pharmacy will usually toss in a few (empty) freebies if requested, or sometimes for a small price, like 100 won (less than a dime) each. Compared to anything else out there (e.g., commercially sold mini-containers, sample bottles of cosmetic products) that's often used for the same purposes, the medicine bottles are superior in many ways: they're much lighter, virtually or actually free, which means you can afford to lose them or throw them away when necessary, and they come in whatever size you specifically need. On the flip side, because they're so flimsy, they can get kinda crumpled after a couple uses and don't stand up to washing very well--but again, cheap enough for no-sweat replacement.

In the photo above, I packed the marinade ingredients for lamb skewers. I also used medicine bottles for sunscreen, moisturizer, and Kiehl's Cross Terrain All-in-One Refueling Wash (reviewed in a prior post).

Kiehl's Cross-Terrain All-in-One Refueling Wash

This product, which is apparently "adventure tested," claims to be a combined facial cleanser, shaving cream, body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. And it's 99.9% biodegradable, whatever that actually means (seriously, is soap residue really killing this planet?). All that's missing is the exfoliant factor. In other words, it purports to perform the functions that a bar of soap used to do before someone convinced us that we needed a series of separate formulae to complete our daily personal hygiene regimen. It's either a lie or, if it works, it means that all of the company's other products have been rendered obsolete--a classic Catch-22, marketing-wise.

What I can report, having tested it under "adventure" circumstances, is that it works--for me. I don't know if I should be washing my face with something that can supposedly condition my hair and remove the grime from my crevices, but the (coconut-derived!) product is lightly yet powerfully formulated (with aloe vera, menthol, vitamin E, and wheat amino acids!), leaving me feeling clean, refreshed (refueled!), and free of chemical residue. Granted, I've never had skin problems, so I could probably have the same results with a bar of soap. It's not cheap: KRW24,000 for a 240-ml tube, which might last a week if I did a daily full-body once-over (not that I ever would). But it feels good, and smells good. Most important--I'm somewhat sheepish yet ready to admit--I like the idea of packing a single, multi-purpse bathing product in my bag that's been scientifically sanctioned as such by the marketing geniuses on Madison Avenue.

I'm now waiting for Kiehl's all-in-one moisturizer eye-balm toner wrinkle-cream mud-pack sun-block.

Osprey Atmos 65

In New York last summer, my backcountry camping journey began with a visit to Paragon Sports, one of the biggest retailers of sporting goods in the city. Although I had been a car camper for some time, I wanted to broaden my horizons beyond the safe and comfortable confines of commercial campsites. The first order of business was to acquire an appropriate pack. When I explained to the sales rep that I would likely be going on short trips, usually overnighters but occasionally as

long as three nights, he recommended that I look at packs between 50-60 liters, which were supposedly designed for trips as long as five days. When I asked what the larger 80- to 100-liter packs were for, he said that they were for extended excursions, like two-week backpacking vacations around Europe. But after filling a 60-liter pack with various display gear around the store, such as a small tent, sleeping bag, pot, etc., I couldn't imagine how food and drinks (particularly booze) would fit on top of it all. With a slightly puzzled look on his face, the sales rep replied that camping foodstuffs--by which he meant beef jerky, nuts, maybe condensed soup--don't take up much volume and Why would you take alcohol on a backpacking trip?!?! In the end, though still somewhat skeptical, I selected the Osprey Atmos 65.

I've now used this pack on three occasions, and I've had enough. I selected the model primarily because of its "airspeed" design feature, which consists of a mesh backpanel that separates the main body of the pack from the user's torso and allows for ventilation. It was also, relative to its size, the lightest at approximately 1.61kg according to specs. However, I found the pack to be uncomfortable, even painful, in the shoulder areas even when packed well below the advertised comfort zone of 15-20 kg. Assuming everything had been properly adjusted for my frame, I suspect the problem lay either in the separated backpanel, which distributed the weight away from my core, or in the shoulder straps themselves, which are extremely narrow in width and thin in depth and made of a swiss-cheese-like hole-punctured foam (presumably for ventilation purposes). In any event, I'm done with it.

If anyone's interested in taking it off my hands, this dismal review notwithstanding, I'm willing to let anyone have it for less than it would cost to have one shipped here from the States.

Sierra Designs Light Year 1

My first solo tent was the Sierra Designs Light Year 1. At the moment of purchase, I was sincerely convinced that I had chosen the perfect tent and supremely confident that I would never--never--buy another one (barring loss or destruction). That may be the dumbest most shortsighted naive thought, among a large pool of strong contenders, that has gone through my head in the past decade. Having used the tent on six separate outings, most recently on a trip to Jangbong-Do in early July 2010, I had already concluded about three outings ago that it was not the perfect tent, at least not for me, and had purchased another backpacking tent anyway (i.e., MSR Hubba Hubba HP), and was/is eyeing yet another (i.e., TarpTent Double Rainbow), but I decided to give it one last chance, maybe to see if it would be worth hanging on to for emergencies or maybe just for sentimental value. For the many reasons described below, I am bidding farewell to the Light Year 1.

Incidentally, I've also said my goodbyes to my first expedition backpack, an Osprey Atmos 65 (see photo left, pictured with Light Year) (also see gear review, "Osprey Atmos 65"). Although I bought it on the same trip to New York as I did the tent (though not at the same store), I can't recall if I had those same lame and lofty BFF aspirations for the pack. In any event, it's a bit sad to dump both members of the inaugural class just one year later.

First, the quasi-bivy design allows barely enough room to sit up (and not even straight up). I hadn't anticipated that movement within a tent would be necessary--after all, I figured I'd just be sleeping in it--but an action as simple as changing my shirt (forget about pants) became a rather awkward maneuver. And the tapering at the foot of the tent further enhanced the sensation of lying in a coffin. This minimal silhouette may be appealing to some, like stealth campers or vampires.

Second, the size is inadequate, both in length and width. As person who weighs 85 kg and stands 183 cm (yes, a bit overweight), and sleeps on his stomach, and rolls around a lot in his sleep, every point of my body (toes, knees, gut, elbows, hands, head) simultaneously touched some part of the tent when I lay out to sleep. If I were a thinner shorter supine immobile sleeper, this probably would've been less of a problem.

Third, the forward-entry door forced me to scrabble in (and out) on my hands and knees. Made me feel like a mangy cur crawling into (and out of) its doghouse, particularly on those mornings after ten too many.

Fourth, the non-freestanding frame requires pegs, as well as guy lines, a minimum of two for the main body and two for the rain fly. This wasn't a deal-breaker per se, since a properly pitched tent involves at least a few pegs anyway, for stability if not esthetics. However, I offer four situations that call for a freestanding tent that doesn't require pegs: (i) extreme physical exhaustion or some other incapacity (laziness counts) that makes you want to just pitch the damn thing without bothering to measure distances, drive pegs, and secure everything with lines; (ii) relocation, for whatever reason (e.g., after completing setup and settling down for the night, you discover that you've pitched the tent next to a big pile of animal shit), which forces you to do everything all over again; (iii) sand--pegs won't stay in; (iv) ice--pegs won't go in; and (v) decks (see photo below), which require

calculation of angles and sufficient line to reach the ground (although some decks feature hooks or other fixtures for lines). With respect to decks, I realize that this is supposed to be about "backcountry" camping, but the reality is that some trips involve setting up camp at a commercial site or national park, many of which nowadays offer the convenience and comfort of wooden decks made for tents. And I also realize that no one is forcing me to pitch my tent on the deck, but c'mon, did I mention convenience and comfort?

Fifth, the mesh fabric and lightweight rain fly, which I'd correctly foreseen would be ideal for summer, provided jack's worth of warmth when the weather had even the slightest nip. Even worse, during the colder months, anything outside of July, the lack of proper ventilation resulted in condensation buildup that would freeze and transform the tent into a crisp refrigerated coffin.

And finally, with a 1.51-kg trail weight (not including pegs and guy lines), the tent may not exactly be an anvil, but, all things considered, it's not as ultralight as I'd once believed. By comparison, the MSR Hubba Hubba HP is a two-person dome-style four-season freestanding tent with dual lateral doors and weighs in at a maximum of 1.93 kg. The TarpTent Double Rainbow, which has a three-season-plus mesh body and is not freestanding, weighs an embarrassing 1.13 kg.

Sorry, Light Year, but you've been replaced.

Promethean Wood Stove

In Greek mythology, the titan Prometheus steals fire from the god Zeus and gives it to the mortals. The fire has been interpreted to symbolize, in addition to literal fire, both tools and knowledge in general.

In Korean camping circles, Mr. An Kiyong (a titan, perhaps even a god) has given us (the mortal campers) the ultimate portable wood-burning furnace. Mr. An, the founder and leader of the Backcountry Camping group, designs and produces various camping gear in limited batches under his own proprietary brand, Promethean.

When I first saw this thing, I have to admit, I thought the very idea was categorically absurd. I mean, c'mon, really. If you think it's so cold that you have to lug an entire furnace with you, then maybe you ought to wait until spring. It's like packing a portable air conditioner in the summer. It not only offended my personal sensibilities but also seemed to conflict directly and almost comically with Backcountry Camping's own purported "minimalist" camping philosophy.

But having seen the Promethean furnace in action, I have to admit, I now think it's not so ridiculous, perhaps even kinda cool. First of all, the main body (30 cm (l) x 20 cm (w) x 29 cm (h)) folds neatly into itself like a flattened shoebox, while the four-piece chimney (204 cm (h)) retracts like a telescope (55 cm), all of which can be stowed in a backpack with a capacity as small as maybe 60 liters. In total, the
furnace weighs about 2.7 kg, which isn't exactly featherweight but not bad all things considered. The top surface can be used for cooking or boiling water, which eliminates the need to pack a separate gas burner/stove and fuel; of course, you still need to either pack burning materials, such as wood pellets, or scrounge for firewood. Most important, the precision construction, hand-made in Korea, prevents seepage of smoke and fumes and thus allows for use inside a tent that features a chimney port (tents, particularly teepee-style, can be retrofitted for this purpose). And finally, an incidental benefit (unsanctioned by this blog) of the enclosed structure is that the furnace may be lit (or go undetected) in places where open fires are otherwise restricted.

I haven't purchased one of these gizmos myself, and I'm not sure if I ever will, but I support those that do--especially when I can share in the warmth.

As punishment, Zeus bound Prometheus to a rock, where a giant eagle would come to eat his liver every day (the liver grew back daily). I wish Mr. An all the best in his endeavors.

Survey Part 2: Luxury Digs

The following is not a review of any particular brand or model per se but rather of Korean (backcountry) camping gear culture. On my trip to Jangbong-Do on 3 July 2010, I conducted a survey to determine which gear brands were the most popular among the 21 members of Backcountry Camping (BC) who were present. The responses were limited to the gear actually packed for the trip. Because individual BC members tend to have various models of any particular type of item, often from different manufacturers, which they'll alternate depending on the season or whim, the results below are neither definitive nor comprehensive for this particular gathering or Korean campers overall. However, based on my observations from past trips, the results appear to be generally indicative of trends within the community.

The tent: the most popular brand was Hilleberg (see photo right, Hilleberg Alook) with 4, followed by Black Diamond with 3.

Other than clothing and footwear, the tent is the piece of gear that is most likely to be rotated in use among several different models owned by a given Korean camper for any given trip. I offer two reasons for this: weather and vanity.

The summer months in Korea necessitate tents that offer ventilation for the heat and humidity, water resistance for the monsoon rains, and protection from insects. As such, the majority of summer tents are dome structures (see photo above) with front and rear lateral entrances, often with mesh fabric. Typical set-ups are further supplemented with a small tarp (see photos bottom) that not only provides rain cover but also shields sunlight, the Korean camper's most dreaded element of all.

For the winter, wind resistance and heat retention are factors to consider, but the primary concern is ventilation to reduce condensation build-up, which either freezes along the inner walls (to turn the tent into a virtual refrigerator) or drips down like icy rain on the camper during the night (and then freezes to turn the sleeping bag into a virtual refrigerator). While all agree that condensation is the villain, everyone has a different theory on how best to combat the problem, some believing that double-walled tents (i.e., main body plus rain fly) most efficiently ventilate the steam that causes condensation, others

arguing that single-walled tents are preferable because condensation collects between the layers of a double-wall construction, a hardy few foregoing tents and the very possibility of condensation altogether by spending the night in a bivy sack, and many opting to pitch teepee-style alpine tents that in theory reduce condensation by creating a ceiling of warm air when heated from the inside. Indeed, some of these alpine tents have been retrofitted to accommodate the chimney of a portable wood-burning furnace (see photo above). Hey, whatever works.

But seriously, the main reason that Korean campers alternate their tents is the fact that they can, that they have so many tents to choose from. And the reason that they have so many tents is that they're constantly buying new tents, better tents, more expensive tents that one-up or at least keep-up with the camper next door. The Hilleberg Alook model (see photo top), apparently quite the thing among my fellow Korean backcountry campers, retails here for about $1200. $1200. For a tent. One of several. The Black Diamonds aren't much cheaper. They're like premium sports cars that feature superior materials (maybe), superior engineering (maybe), superior performance (maybe), and superior design esthetics (maybe maybe). Really, does anyone need any of that superiority, especially at such cost, except perhaps to compensate for an inferiority complex?

A side-bar on my own tents: on solo camping trips, I've used either the Sierra Designs Light Year 1 (see photo right) or the Kovea Alpine Nasca 2 (see photo below). I bought the Sierra Designs tent (about $130 in the US) primarily because of its weight of 1.51 kg (not including pegs), which seemed extremely light to the naive beginner that I was one year ago. However, after several uses, I've decided to dump it for several reasons: (i) its quasi-bivy-style design, which even tapers towards the feet, restricts movement to the point of feeling like I'm in a coffin; (ii) it's too short for my 183-cm height, (iii) the forward-entry door forces me to scrabble on my hands and knees like the mangy cur that I am crawling in and out of my doghouse; (iv) the non-free-standing frame that requires pegs can be inconvenient at times, particularly where

decks are involved--and yes, I'm aware that this is supposed to be about backcountry camping; (v) its ultralight-weight mesh construction, which is fine for summer, is wholly inadequate beyond the month of July, and (vi) I've since realized that I can get a dome-style, two-person, 2-meter-plus long, lateral entry, free-standing, 4-season tent that weighs less than 1.51 kg (e.g., the MSR Carbon Reflex 2 or the TarpTent Double Rainbow, both of which are under serious consideration for purchase). As for the Kovea (about $300 domestically), I absolutely love it for all the reasons I now detest the Sierra Designs: it's a dome-style, two-person, 2-meter-plus long, lateral entry, free-standing, 4-season tent; unfortunately, it weighs in at a whopping 3.02 kg (not including pegs). Still, I plan on using it whenever possible, whenever I won't be required to schlep it on my back to the campsite.

Survey Part 1: Leader of the Pack

The following is not a review of any particular brand or model per se but rather of Korean (backcountry) camping gear culture. On my trip to Jangbong-Do on 3 July 2010, I conducted a survey to determine which gear brands were the most popular among the 21 members of Backcountry Camping (BC) who were present. The responses were limited to the gear actually packed for the trip. Because individual BC members tend to have various models of any particular type of item, often from different manufacturers, which they'll alternate depending on the season or whim, the results below are neither definitive nor comprehensive for this particular gathering or Korean campers overall. However, based on my observations from past trips, the results appear to be generally indicative of trends within the community.

First, the backpack. The most popular brand was Gregory with 6, followed by Mystery Ranch with 4.

The backpack is symbolic of Korean camping culture in two respects: first, Korean campers eat Korean food, always and only and completely, which means a full spread of meat, kimchi, rice, dipping pastes, soup/stew, and various banchan (side dishes), not to mention the booze, thus necessitating packs of enormous carrying capacity that may appear excessive if not ludicrous to outsiders (other factors may also account for the large bags, as discussed below); and second, Korean campers are obsessed with brands, especially expensive brands, especially expensive brands that all the other Korean campers are using.

In New York last summer, my backcountry camping journey began with a visit to Paragon Sports, one of the biggest retailers of sporting goods in the city. Although I had been a car camper for some time, I wanted to broaden my horizons beyond the safe and comfortable confines of commercial campsites. The first order of business was to acquire an appropriate pack. When I explained to the sales rep that I would likely be going on short trips, usually overnighters but occasionally as long as three nights, he recommended that I look at packs between 50-60 liters, which were supposedly designed for trips as long as five days. When I asked what the larger 80-100 liter packs were for, he said that they were for extended excursions, like two-week backpacking vacations around Europe. But after filling a 60 liter pack with various display gear around the store, such as a small tent, sleeping bag, pot, etc., I couldn't imagine how food and drinks (particularly booze) would fit on top of it all. With a slightly puzzled look on his face, the sales rep replied that camping foodstuffs--by which he meant beef jerky, nuts, maybe condensed soup--don't take up much volume and Why would you take alcohol on a backpacking trip?!?! In the end, though still somewhat skeptical, I selected the Osprey Atmos 65.

Fast-forward to February of this year, I was packing for my first bonafide backcountry camping trip in Korea, in fact my first encounter with the Backcountry Camping (BC) group, and concluded to myself that I had made the right choice in the backpack, at least as far as size was concerned. Even with the extra layers of winter clothing, I still had sufficient room for canned soup, a package of ramyun (instant noodles), a Ziplock bag of homemade penne, a couple slices of cheese pizza from Costco, a pouch of almonds, a liter of water, a couple cans of Diet Coke, and a half-liter of tequila in a recycled Evian bottle. It would later turn out that my tent (Sierra Design Light Year 1) and sleeping bag (Kovea Traveler III) were wholly inadequate for the weather conditions, which means that the space taken up by a proper winter tent and thicker bag would've left me with significantly less room for food and beverages.

When I arrived at Incheon Ferry Terminal (the trip was for Guleop-Do, which requires two boat rides, with a stop in between at Deokjeok-Do), I was in for a whopping surprise, a cultural shock of sorts. At 65 liters, my Osprey Atmos was the smallest pack of the bunch. My two friends accompanying me on the trip had the next smallest packs with the Gregory Baltoro 70 and Gregory Palisades 80, respectively. Beyond the three of us, the other BC members had brought packs in excess of 100 liters apiece. In the

photo above, the camouflage pack on the left is the Mystery Ranch Kodiak--114 liters (7000 cubic inches). Holy crap. The first thought that flashed through my mind was, What the hell did I forget to pack? I thought I'd secured all the essentials, but these guys had nearly double the capacity, and their bags were packed to the brim. And these guys were experts (or at least experienced), so they must've known something that I didn't. My friends, who were also new to this, were similarly perplexed.

It turns out that the secret of what is in those gargantuan packs is rather disappointingly simple (in some cases). For the most part, the bags are filled with air--literally. As they like to explain with great enthusiasm and not a hint of embarrassment, the guy takes an inflatable mat (the one he sleeps on) (incidentally, the people who do this are most certainly all male) and, instead of deflating it and rolling it up, pumps it full of air and scrolls it within the internal perimeter of the pack to form a padded frame. Then, in addition to the tent and other necessary gear, the guy stuffs goose down parkas, puffy "tent" shoes, and other light but voluminous items to fill out the pack. Essentially, it's the camping equivalent of stuffing a sock down one's trousers. I'm hesitant to make a sweeping generalization here as to what drives these men to do this, but, on the basis of this and subsequent trips, every guy I've seen with one of these packs tends to be on the shorter end of the spectrum--which would seem like more of a reason not to carry such a large bag, as these guys are dwarfed by the huge loads on their backs. But there you have it.

On the other hand, some campers stuff their packs with all manner of food (and beverages), as well as cooking equipment, which is certainly more substantive and useful than lugging air. As to whether that amount of food is reasonable, the answer depends on one's cultural perspective. On that trip to Guleop-Do, for example, one guy who had come alone pulled out a whole roaster-size chicken and a massive stock pot to make chicken stew for dinner, enough to feed four. He would also make clam soup, also enough for four. Whole chicken and clams. Other than rack of lamb, I can't imagine menu choices with worse weight-to-food ratios. And this for the sake of feeding strangers. What an idiot. I opened a can of baked beans.

Fast-forward to July of this year, I was packing for the Deokjeok-Do trip and realized that the Osprey Atmos 65 was laughably inadequate for all the food I was intending on taking with me. Feeling compelled--compelled, mind you, as if I had no choice in the matter--to share a bit of the American backyard BBQ experience on what was to be the 4th of July weekend, I had made chili for chili dogs and wanted to make as many as possible for my fellow BC members. But buns take up volume. As does Jack Daniels. I'm going to need a bigger pack. I had thought the same thing on my prior trip, that time packing spring rolls, ingredients for mabo tofu, and goliangju (a Chinese distilled liquor), as well as a goddamn wok. For this trip, I eventually borrowed my friend's Gregory Palisades 80. Part of it is the personal fun and satisfaction in making food, especially surprising dishes, that others will enjoy. A bigger part is the warmth and appreciation that derives from the communal experience of sharing, especially since I've gotten to know the other members and come to realize with absolute certainty that they would do the same for me.

And so, even at the risk of appearing absurd in the eyes of the uninitiated, I've put in my order for the Mystery Ranch Grizzly--98 liters. I know it's big, and I'll probably be doing the stuffed sock thing on solo trips, especially in the warmer months, but I want to be ready to feed my friends the rest of the time. And just in case, I've also ordered two attachable side pockets--12 liters each. Because you just never know.

One final thought on brand loyalty. The fact that Mystery Ranch, a small not-so-famous internet-based company out of Montana (see link), has such an ardent following here, despite the cost (about $600 for the pack, plus $100 shipping plus $150 in duties) and time (sometimes over 2 months, as each pack is custom made), is a testament to the power of Korean brand loyalty. I don't know when it started, or why, or how, but at some point backpackers got it into their heads that Mystery Ranch is the brand to have, and have it they must, just because everyone else has one. This mindset follows from the same mentality that prompts sales clerks in clothing stores to point to a particular item and tell the prospective customer that it's the best seller, that it's what everyone else is wearing, as an inducement to buy. It's not about just keeping up with the Joneses--it's about copying them outright. A few years back, the popularity of the brand would've been a sufficient if not indisputable reason for me to avoid it. But perhaps living here has had a greater effect on me than I'd realized.