In Tents

There should be a word for it: the fear of touching the inside of your tent lest the water start dripping onto you. If there is such a word, it might now be considered archaic. Most tents don’t behave like that any more.

[Will it be warm and dry inside the tent?] 

In theory at least you shouldn’t have to worry that condensation on your inner wall will combine with rain on the outside to form pools in your tent. That’s largely thanks to bushwalking tents having double skins, with a mesh or solid inner tent held clear of the solid outer fly. And having a floor.

But when I first started bushwalking in the 1960s, single wall japara tents were state-of-the-art. Japara, a close-weave type of cotton impregnated with wax, repelled water quite well. However water on the outer surface could wick through and start dripping on you during persistent rain, especially if you helped it find a way in by brushing the inside wall of the tent. Our camp leaders hammered into us the need to avoid this.

[A 1970s Paddymade walled japara tent - a "Tassie" 4 man tent. Photo from a Gumtree ad.]  

Consequently my vivid early memories of nights in tents include huddling towards the centre of it during rain. “Never touch the tent wall” was up there with “don’t bump the turntable” when a vinyl record was playing.

The strictness of the rules never prevented me from going camping; nor from buying records for that matter. By the early 70s I had saved up for my own Paddymade Glen two person tent. I was a nascent gear freak even then, because I remember it being a step up from earlier tents. Rather than being a straight A shape, it had small vertical walls at the bottom of the sloping roof. This all-important innovation helped keep the sloping wall further away from the sleeping camper, keeping them drier.

[A Paddy Pallin catalogue ca. 1970, featuring a Glen Tent (centre).
Scanned image via Ian Ross, with thanks.] 

But they still had their issues. Firstly they didn’t yet have a built-in floor. In some settings we would put down bracken fronds as a tent base, and to keep the floor drier we might add a plastic groundsheet. To stop water from flowing through your tent, the common practice was to dig drainage ditches all around your tent. Many campsites still bear the scars.

We discovered another major problem when we took the tent to New Zealand during university holidays. The tent flaps had no zipper, and could only be tied together to secure them against insects. No matter how particular you were, you always left good sized air gaps. We suffered serial invasions of sandflies (until dark) and mosquitoes (after dark) whenever we slept in places where these bities were common.

[To hut or tent? Old Waterfall Valley, Tasmania] 

But tents have always had numerous virtues, and these only increased once floors, zippers and double skins were added to them. While a hut chooses an overnight site for you, a tent allows you to stop and camp almost anywhere. That sometimes proves to be a bigger plus than it sounds. What could be better than waking up to a billion dollar view that is just yours?

[Worth waking up to! Campsite scene from the Tasmanian highlands.] 

And having just a thin wall between you and the world can be an incredible experience when that world is devoid of mechanical noise and filled instead with the roar or whisper of wind; the crash or lap of waves; the trickle or chuckle of a creek; the thump or growl of the night’s beasts. And when the dawn chorus starts, stuttering at first, then building to a crowded crescendo of uniquely local song, a tent is a heavenly place to be.   

That’s when you lie back and feel thankful you live in a place like this.

11 Dumb Ways to Die While Bushwalking

[Perfect weather for walking, but will it stay that way?]

People die bushwalking. Every year several people shuffle off this mortal coil while shuffling their boots through the Australian bush.

Our bushwalking retailers, bushwalking websites and other authorities issue warnings along the lines that “outdoor activities carry their own risks of injury and death.” They’re trying to tell us that when we lace up our bushwalking boots and hoist your pack, we’re doing something dangerous.

How dangerous? Well, it’s as risky as getting in a car; or catching an aeroplane; or going to hospital; or swimming; or making love; or riding a bike; or sitting on the toilet; or any of the other common activities that kill a proportion of their participants. If we wanted to be really paranoid, since most people die in bed, we might consider avoiding sleeping there.

Having established that most activities carry risk, wise participants will look for ways to minimise those risks. Or some might prefer to learn lessons from those who’ve already made mistakes. I’m in that second category. So I thought I’d offer here my own far-from-exhaustive list of dumb ways to get into trouble while bushwalking.

[A gently-flowing Ronny Creek, near Cradle Mt, Tasmania]

A few caveats: I point out that I have adopted – as one born-to-it – the voice of a dumb (male) walker! Also, although his list applies to bushwalking in Tasmania, it should be transferable to most cool/temperate/alpine walking areas. Here then are: 

11 Dumb Ways to Die While Bushwalking

1. Don’t take a map

Maps are expensive, and I’ve got a perfectly good road map after all. And don’t get me started on how expensive a GPS is! I’ve got my smart-phone, and I’m sure it has GPS built in. Besides the route is easy to follow - she’ll be right!

2. Don’t carry a tent

There are huts on this walk, for heaven’s sake! Why would I bother buying a tent that I won’t even need? Do they think I’m made of money? In an emergency I’ll just use the bin-liner I’ve got inside my pack.

[Who needs a tent: unless the hut is full]

3. Ignore weather warnings

I’m on a tight schedule, so I have to leave today. Besides those bushwalker’s weather alerts are a bit of an over-reaction, I reckon. I’ve got pretty good clothing and my bin-liner will keep stuff in my rucksack dry.

4. Wear denim or cotton clothes

If there’s one thing that drives me crazy about bushwalkers, it’s how incredibly daggy they look in all that expensive gear they get from those rip-off outdoor stores! My good ol’ jeans look SOOO much better, and they’re comfortable. Same with my cotton T-shirt. Okay they get a bit heavy when they’re wet, but since when did a little moisture kill anyone?

[Daggy, but effective for cold/wet weather]

5. Start late in the day

I believe in flexibility. We had planned to get walking by noon, but that early lunch turned into a long – and very pleasant - one. And we certainly weren’t going to leave our beers! Who cares if it’s nearly four o’clock?! We’ve got a warm inner glow, and a couple of torches to match. We’re up for navigating in the dark if we have to.

6. Don’t take a PLB

Here’s another con from the gear stores! A personal locator beacon will set you back hundreds of dollars. And I hear you have to register with some dodgy-sounding international organisation. If worse comes to worst, a good old smoke signal will do the same thing, and it won’t cost you an arm and a leg.

7. Split up from your group

If you’re lost, there’s a better chance to find the track if you all split up and go looking. Many hands make light work, and all that. You can always find each other again by shouting or whistling.

8. When you’re lost, just keep walking

I’ve got a great sense of direction, so I figure if I just keep looking I’ll eventually find my way back to the track. My other rule of thumb is to walk downhill. For one it’s easier, but for another it’ll lead you towards a lake or the sea, and that’s always good, eh!

9. Don’t leave your trip plans with anyone

As I said, I like to be flexible, so I never bother leaving my plans with anyone. Where’s the spontaneity in that? Also, I NEVER sign any of those damned log books. I don’t want the government knowing my personal business!

10. Cross that flooded creek no matter what!

I’ve already told you that a bit of moisture isn’t going to kill you. I’m not one to let a bit of flowing water intimidate me, or stop me from getting to my campsite on the other side. Just plunge on in and keep going, I reckon. Anyway I’m not a bad swimmer.

[A creek crossing: what could possibly go wrong?]
 

11. Never underestimate your abilities

I take learning seriously. It’s very important to think that you can work everything out on your own. If you stopped to ask for help every time you struck a hard patch you’d never improve your own abilities. What kind of wimp ever admits that he’s in trouble?!

* * *

As you can see, there are a good many dumb ways to die while bushwalking. If you’re as rigorously gormless as my dumb friend, there’s a good chance you’ll never even be bothered by the sound of the rescue helicopter. It’ll all be too late.