That fellow’s got to swing.
OSCAR WILDE
EVERYONE KNOWS THAT the inexperienced youth of summer camp are the most destructive of campers, hacking up the woods, peeling birchbark, littering, destroying others’ solitude by their presence—right?
In one case at least—wrong! During the very height of the backpacking boom, an outfit called Killington Adventure in Vermont set out a program of low-impact camping that had far-reaching implications for today’s overcrowded backwoods.
Killington’s camp director, David Langlois, was an innovator who threw away the heavy groundcloth, tent, foam pad, and air mattress. He raised camping off the ground, where most of the impact occurs, and into the air. His campers, a couple of hundred scattered in two- or three-week sessions throughout the summer, swung from hammocks to get a good night’s sleep. Furthermore, they got off-trail and away from shelters and streams to set up camp, so their presence didn’t bother others. Because of their airborne tactics, they could go into the most fragile fern bed or the most rock-strewn sloping mountainside and set up camp quite comfortably—and with minimum impact. Langlois claimed that with his method he could camp a large group for several days in one spot and the next party wouldn’t know that anyone had been there since the Indians left.
The implications for the problems of the crowded backwoods are tremendous. The effect of campers repeatedly tenting on the same sites is devastating: Soil compacts, ground cover dies, trees get hacked and peeled in the voracious search for firewood. Then come official restrictions on camping, caretakers telling you what you can’t do, and the dead hand of “permits”—all taking away what was once the freedom of the hills.
Langlois seems to have charted the most pleasant way out of this vicious cycle we have seen yet. His “clean camping” methods go far toward reducing the impact of even a large group’s passing, as well as removing the justification for stifling restrictions.
A symbol of the new trend in low-impact camping is the lowly hammock.
Centuries ago, Duke Alexander J. Hammock grew tired of sharing the four-poster with Lady Hammock, who snored violently. The duke came up with a marvelous invention. For years the hammock has been perceived as a place for a backyard siesta for the tired soul who just finished cutting the lawn. Now imaginative backwoodspeople are realizing that Duke Hammock’s invention is a great way to spend the night in the woods. It sure beats air mattresses, foam pads, heavy “lightweight” tents, roots or stones sticking into your back, rainwater running under the floor, condensation on the ceiling, and all the other disadvantages of being grounded. Go airborne and you enter a whole new world.
One thing that may have attracted the attention of backpackers was the hammock’s utility in big-wall rock climbing. Out in Yosemite, where climbers may take several days to work their way up the sheer 3,000-foot walls of El Capitan or Half Dome, the best and sometimes the only way to bivouac is to string a hammock between two pitons. Many hikers gaped in awe at heart-stopping photos of climbers snoozing contentedly with 2,000 feet of empty air between them and the rock talus below. But eventually the image of these admired hard men using hammocks began to sink in.
The move to the hammock was not confined to Killington and the East. In fact, western outdoors writer Russ Mohney soon reported that “The lightweight nylon hammock caught on strongly with western backpackers last season.” Out in the Cascades, apparently, people used them not only for spending the night but also for an occasional trailside siesta in midafternoon.
Some campers have used hammocks for years, even in such noninnovative establishments as the army. Sailors used them to offset the roll and pitch of the sea. But their widespread adoption among backpackers is relatively new.
There are risks, to be sure. Langlois reports that one night he strung his hammock with 16 inches of clearance off the ground, only to be awakened when a 17-inch-high porcupine chose to pass under the bridge. In cold weather or winter conditions, hammocks may not be practical, and on a night when the bugs are out in full strength, you’re in for trouble. Nevertheless, from our experience in making the switch from tent to hammock for summer backpacking, we pronounce it well worth the risks.
Duke Hammock’s original model was build of hemp and flax, with brass fixtures, and most backyard hammocks for years were luxurious cloth and rope jobs, far too heavy and bulky to carry any distance. For modern backpacking, however, the hammock has made great strides. During the 1970s, when we first became interested, there was beginning to appear a new version, made of lightweight nylon mesh, incredibly light and so small you could stuff it into your pocket.
If you wanted to go with those early backpacking hammocks, you put together a jerry-built system that included:
Hammock. A few equipment stores and mail order catalogs offered hammocks at prices ranging from $3.50 to a little over $10—a minor investment when compared with purchasing a tent!
Tarp. 8 by 10 feet, either coated nylon (expensive) or 6 mil poly (cheap).
Nylon cord. About 20 feet.
Tent stakes. Four.
Armed with this equipment, you then followed a quaint set of procedures, roughly as follows:
To set up your hammock, choose two trees about 12 feet apart. Suspend your hammock 3 feet off the ground. Make sure it is tight as a bowstring—otherwise excessive sag will place you in a “jackknife” position.
Next, tie your nylon cord about 2 feet, or at nose level, over the hammock. Now you have two parallel lines, the hammock below, the cord above.
Then throw your tarp over the cord and stake it out at the four corners. The tarp should be well away from the sides of the sleeping bag and, if properly staked, will act as an effective waterproof cover in case you’re cooking dinner in the rain.
Getting into the old hammock could be a little tricky at first. If you weren’t careful, you could get dumped faster than a presidential candidate coming in last in New Hampshire. Once mastered, though, the technique became routine. Here was the Rube Goldberg–approved version, which we followed:
1. Unstuff sleeping bag.
2. Stand beside the hammock near the middle.
3. Place stuff sack on the ground and stand on it (with boots off!).
4. Step into sleeping bag and pull it up around you. Zip it about two-thirds shut. Pull top well around your shoulders and hold in place with chin or teeth.
5. Find one edge of the hammock and pull it down past your thighs to just above the back of your knees. Sit down, being careful to position yourself in the center of the hammock. Keep the sleeping bag around your shoulders.
6. Swing legs (and foot of sleeping bag, of course) into hammock.
7. Adjust sleeping bag around back and head.
8. Lie back and sleep!
If that sounds too intricate, here’s a method that required fewer acrobatics:
1. Unstuff sleeping bag and spread it out in the hammock. That sounds easier than it is, but with patience and about five arms, you can eventually get it centered.
2. Partially unzip bag.
3. Sit down carefully and precisely in the middle of the sleeping bag, legs dangling over the side. The consequences of not being precisely centered are probably too obvious to require mention. If you weren’t right in the middle, pick yourself up, shake out the sleeping bag, and repeat step 1. Then try again.
4. Raising one leg at a time, maneuver yourself into the bag. Again—carefully.
No, really, with practice it wasn’t all that difficult. The resulting sleep was beautiful. And there was never a root in the small of your back.
Some of the gymnastic pyrotechnics of those early hammock arrangements have been overcome by modern camping-hammock designs. Now you can buy fancy models (unfortunately with fancy prices) that deploy mosquito netting and an easy-on-easy-off rain fly, together with lightweight “spreader bars” for greater stability and to elevate the netting and fly. People who have tried them tell us that the new hammocks make it easy and more comfortable to be swinging off the ground.
Switching from tent to hammock is one giant step toward leave-no-trace camping. An equally important step is to make a clean break from the old habit of heading for a shelter or known campsite. This is a good idea whether you’re in a hammock or tent.
Be sure to find out what the regulations are in your area. In our New England, customs and requirements vary. Along the northern end of Vermont’s Long Trail, for example, hikers are asked to stay only at the closed cabins (“camps” or “lodges” in local parlance) specifically provided for overnight camping; this was historically private land, and the landowners were friendly to hikers largely on the assurance that indiscriminate camping along their land would not take place. In Maine’s Baxter State Park as well, camping is limited to designated sites, by reservation. However, elsewhere in New England, for the most part, camping spots are virtually unlimited and perfectly “legal” as long as you stay 200 feet away from trail or stream. Pick a spot where water is not too far away, naturally, and do not camp on the stream bank, the way everyone used to, causing so many blighted “bootleg” sites.
Under a truly dispersed camping approach, no one will ever wind up in the same spot twice, and that’s what will save the land from degradation. Part of your strategy should be to go back and forth to the trail by a different route each time you make the trip. Similarly, pick different paths to the water. That way you won’t start a recognizable trail, one that might attract others to your site. (This precaution will have the added advantage of protecting you from theft if you leave your gear set up during the day when you are off hiking.)
Take your bearings carefully when you leave the trail, with a compass if necessary. If you don’t find your way back to your gear, it could be a long cold night.
The advent of lightweight backpacking stoves also helps protect the environment. The age of indiscriminate campfires all over the woods is past.
When you break camp, make sure every scrap of litter is picked up. Brush in areas that look heavily trodden; this will help them to regenerate, as well as conceal your passing. If you do set up a tent, drag some dead branches over the ground you flattened.
Camp in your chosen spot only once. Repeated use will turn it into a “bootleg” campsite that will quickly be discovered by other backpackers, and progressive degeneration will set in.
If you’re interested in an excellent summary of the clean-camping ethic, look up the profile of National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) instructor Del Smith in the April 1992 Outside magazine. It’s both interesting and instructive. Kudos to Outside, NOLS, and Del Smith for a superb presentation of the full array of low-impact camping techniques in a vividly readable style.
The advantages of the combined innovations of hammock plus dispersing into the woods are legion:
1. Loads are lighter to carry, by several pounds.
2. Camp is easier and quicker to set up.
3. Camp can be set up anywhere (except above treeline, of course)—the weary search for level, smooth tent sites is over.
4. No roots will stick into your back all night.
5. No other people will be around (ah, solitude!), because it’s so easy to set up off-trail, out of sight.
6. There is no risk of theft when you’re gone, because only you know where your “camp” is.
7. No well-trained “wild” animals will be waiting to raid your pack at night, like those that inevitably take up residence at shelters (though you still have to guard food against chance passerby squirrels and other potential marauders).
8. You won’t have to deal with caretakers, restrictions, fees, crowds, and other hassles.
9. You will help reduce the pressure for more regulations, sure to come about if we all continue to squeeze into already overcrowded campsites.
10. You will be part of the solution, not the problem.
Perhaps the most satisfying thing about practicing low-impact camping is the experience of trying a new approach. Once again, a major theme of this book is to open our minds, to take a fresh look at problems and solutions, to think.
It’s easy to fall into a rut of maintaining the same camping patterns—head for the same good old shelters, build that heartwarming campfire. But once these routines are thoroughly mastered, they can become dull, and you can become set in your ways. “Powerful indeed is the empire of habit,” wrote the Roman Publilius Syrus. Trying new camping habits can be a satisfying and rewarding experience.