I won’t be getting any endorsement money after this chapter, but I’ve lived this long without it. I might as well do away altogether with that wan hope of a financial windfall.
So. Don’t you think it strange how some equipment develops incredible sales, gets all manner of exposure, even becomes generally known by its brand name, as in, Do you have any _____ here? when it’s either demonstrably flawed or patently frivolous? Some of this stuff is outlandishly expensive to boot, so you aren’t just stuck with junk—you’ll be making payments on it long after you’ve discovered the fraud.
It can only be another example of marketing overpowering objectivity, or more evidence of our simple gullibility. Maybe these equipment scams tap into the wellsprings of insecurity we’re all so vulnerable to. When gear doesn’t work, we think it must be our fault. We’re doing something wrong. I’m the one who’s strange and defective. I don’t know what I’m doing in the wilds anyway, and this is just further proof of my incompetence.
Well here’s the short list of paddling gear that is useless, defective by definition, or harmful to the user.
You all know the brand name this stuff is known by, but in the wake of that business success, all manner of look-alikes have appeared, each claiming to be truly waterproof and also breathable. Not only do these manufacturers have the temerity to make this assertion without blushing, but they have the gall to charge hundreds of dollars per garment and put the material to uses that are so ridiculous they’d be laughable if people weren’t dropping their paychecks on the stuff. Waterproof, breathable boots! I mean, really. Is there no shame?
Sorry, but it doesn’t work. It is really good wind gear, and nice in dry snow, but who needs a $600 wind suit? Pay no attention to the showroom demonstrations that supposedly mimic rainstorms and the rigors of outdoor use. They’re smoke and mirrors. Take it on a trip, clog a few pores with sweat and dirt, subject it to real-life activity, and about three rainstorms in you’ll be looking for the plastic garbage bags and working up a good angry sweat thinking about the salesperson who sold you the miracle suit.
The bitter truth is that staying dry in the rain without working up a sweat inside your suit is an age-old conundrum we won’t be solving anytime soon. It’s one of those dilemmas of the human condition, no matter how much money you throw at it.
Put your faith and hard-earned money into rain gear that doesn’t claim to breathe and keep you dry at the same time. Coated nylon with sealed and treated seams remains the standard. As far as the sweat part goes, look for designs with good ventilation features like openings at the armpits and then don’t work too hard in the rain. Don’t expect the impossible; it’s going to be a bit humid inside.
Another whopping example of inexplicable outdoor retailing success. I got suckered in, myself, but only once. Those strap-on sandals with neon detailing look great on models in bathing suits, and they even work pretty well for evening strolls in the sand.
Beyond that, though, there are problems. Put them to work on real trips and their shortcomings come out of the woodwork. To begin with, they’re uncomfortable. Maybe I have gnarled feet, but I’ve found the hard buckles and straps rub painfully, especially when they get wet and gritty, which they certainly will. Second, as soon as you start really scrambling around somewhere slippery and uneven, the sandals slide around on your feet and turn into treacherous little dance shoes. Finally, in river current when it really matters, like when you’re working to retrieve a boat or lining a set of rapids or going to help someone, the sandals bend back on themselves, catch all kinds of painful gravel, and snag on sharp objects. You’re better off barefoot. At least then you don’t wade in assuming you have foot protection.
You’d be much better off wearing slipper-style wading shoes with good friction soles. They don’t look nearly as neat as the fluorescent sandals the volleyball beach set will be wearing, but on a river trip, who cares?
A classic example of a great idea taken too far. The same people who made the fantastic folding-chair discovery took hold of their good thing and went a couple of steps across the boundary into the land of the frivolous.
A backrest is a terrific idea, but the ones sold as attachments to your canoe seat are not—unless you plan on not paddling. If you actually paddle, you simply can’t lean back. The kinesthetics just don’t work that way. You’ll either be sitting up straight or leaning slightly forward. The backrest will tickle your lumbar region once in a while, making you dwell on that insidious lower-back ache, but it will come in handy only when you stop paddling. At that point you could just as easily lie back against the stern plate of the canoe or on the packs loaded behind the bow seat. Save your money for a better paddle and the folding camp chair.
I’m going to get in trouble here, because these things are all the current rage. People think of them the same way they think of the Internet or e-mail. There’s no going back. This is the wave of the future. Get on or get left behind. Well, bye-bye. Send a postcard from Techweenie Land.
I’ve been on several paddling trips with people using a GPS unit. They inevitably have the fervor of a revival tent preacher. Problem is, in my experience using the thing is like trying to get an uncooperative computer to do what you want. People are always muttering and pushing buttons. Minutes go by, punctuated with exasperated little outbursts like “Oh, yeah, I’ve got to punch in my access points” or “Well, that’s the distance in air miles, it doesn’t account for all the river bends” or “Just a second, I think it’s almost got us.” Minutes that could be spent pulling out the map, taking a look, and getting back under way.
The only application on canoe trips that I’ll admit to enjoying is the feature that will tell you your ground speed as you sail across a lake with a tail-wind. Now that’s pretty heady stuff, but it’s hardly worth the expense and wasted time of bringing the gizmo along.
There are places and times when I understand that a GPS unit would be handy. Bushwhacking across confusing desert terrain, for example, when knowing your precise location would be a real godsend. Or flying a bush plane through fog. Problem is, very few situations where the GPS unit is useful crop up on canoe trips.
Get good at map reading and using a compass instead. Even if I haven’t talked you out of buying a GPS, at least you’ll have the navigational skills to fall back on when the batteries die.
My beef with GPS goes beyond its backcountry efficacy. I have a philosophical bone to pick as well. It smacks of the growing tendency to bring cell phones everywhere we go. Excuse me, but don’t we go to the wilderness precisely to escape the grasp of gadgets, technology, and the other claptrap of civilization? Don’t we go there to get out of touch? What are we doing bringing our laptops, our phones, and the other toys of the modern era to places full of loon calls and canyon wrens and lapping water?