Neil
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My wife Sylvie and I were all bedded down in our Henry Shires Ultra-Light 2.8 pound tent after a lengthy day of hiking when it began raining. We were on a tent platform at the edge of a beautiful lake. The wind picked up suddenly but in spite of there being no doors to close we were confidant that the overhanging beak had been thoroughly tested out by Mr. Shires himself and that it would act much like the overhang on an Adirondack Lean-to.
Our day had started much earlier with a 30 kilometre taxi ride from our car (at the trailhead for Gros Morn Mountain) to the parking area for the tour boat that would take us 15 kilometres up what had once been a fiord but was now a fresh water lake named Western Brook Pond. We had walked 3 kilometres into the lake, got on the tour boat and enjoyed a truly spectacular ride beneath cliffs that rose thousands of feet vertically out of the water. We caught glimpses of the 2000 vertical foot slope we would hike up to get out of the old fiord. The reason the fiord was no longer a fiord is explained by isostatic rebound. The Earth’s crust under the mouth of the fiord had slowly rebounded once the weight of the glacier was removed and in so doing it cut the fiord off from the sea.
As we got off the boat at the tiny dock people took our pictures, shook our hands and applauded as the tour boat operator made it sound like we were Sir Edmund Hillary and spouse. Then, as soon as the boat pulled away I noticed that it was extremely hot and that the black flies were extremely numerous and voracious. On came long sleeves and long pants and out came the DEET. It took about 5 hours to get out of the gully. The hike was very rugged and hot and neither of us were used to carrying more than a day pack. The trail was at times obvious, at times flooded and often, only the faintest of faint herd paths that we had to look for from time to time. We plugged along feeling closed in by the walls that rose 2000 feet vertically above us but we also watched them grow smaller and smaller as we rose to meet the rolling plateau. After 4 hours and drinking quarts of water we broke out onto a slide and for the rest of the 4-day hike we would be pretty much out in the open. We could see all the way down to the “Pond”. The scene of rugged beauty was like nothing I have ever seen anywhere else.
Parks Canada does such a good job at making you believe there is no trail (we could easily understand the herd path up the gully) that once we had cleared the gully we spent a good deal of time doing a combination of route finding and map and compass navigation. Sylvie was a quick learner and we took our time keeping a fix on our exact position as we progressed using various visual aids and the compass.
Eventually we picked up a herd path and as it turned out there was a herd path from start to finish on the Long Range Traverse. Parks Canada is quite coy about its presence.
Once on the path we picked up speed and hiked with mouths agape at the incredible surroundings. We admired them through head nets though (Sylvie had an entire shirt that was made of netting) because the black flies were also like nothing I had ever experienced in my life, anywhere.
It has been a very wet summer and we crossed a small stream roughly every 5 minutes, which made me recall that black flies lay their eggs in running water and the larvae anchor themselves to a rock and filter their food out of the current into two broad and feathery antennae that stick out of their heads like 2 pennants. Most importantly, I also mused upon the fact that the larvae number about 100,000 per square metre of stream. We were surrounded by millions of square meters of black fly larvae habitat and it was a particularly wet summer.
We arrived at the tent platforms and were pleased to see a bear box right nearby. We enjoyed a quick meal, I went for a dip in the chilly water and we went to bed. Due to the bug density we decided it was a good thing we hadn’t decided to rely on a 10x12 syl-nylon tarp for shelter. Our tent was tricky to put up on the platform (much easier on the ground, but the ground was soaked everywhere like a saturated sponge) but we were quite satisfied with it.
Then the rain and wind I mentioned above increased and the rain began to be driven right into the tent and our bags were getting wet, quickly. We backed up into the far end of the tent but then we noticed that water was pouring in from the sides. Between the bathtub floor and the walls there is a 6 inch space of netting and water was streaming in and puddles were growing with alarming speed. Madly, we mopped up the water with pack towels and then we went outside in the pouring rain and lay a 10 x 12 blue plastic tarp over the front door and half of the tent and anchored it securely with rocks and rope. Getting in and out without getting our bags and sleeping pads too wet required vigilance and care.
A word about the blue tarp: Prior to embarking on the hike we had to pass a map and compass exam and view a DVD. The DVD recommended sitting under a tarp and waiting out bad weather for a day or two because navigation was so challenging under conditions of fog. This is the kind of advice I tent to ignore but not Sylvie. So, with me reluctantly in tow, she hunted down a blue plastic tarp and I complained bitterly about the weight of it. I had weighed all of our gear beforehand and was pleased to have a pack weight (without food or water of about 22 pounds). I had already added some more gear after our first 2-day hike where we broke camp and hiked out in the pouring rain.
To carry a blue plastic tarp was quite an insult to the budding ultralite backpacker in me but years of experience as a husband taught me long ago when to yield to a greater force. Now, the blue tarp was proving Sylvie right to have bought it and it proved me right in going along with her and carrying the fool thing. (I have a 15oz silicone nylon one at home in my gear closet by the way).
I was back in my bag thinking about the steepness of the ultra-light backpacking learning curve when I felt a drop of water hit my bag. I put my light on and saw another drop swelling and getting ready to follow the first one onto my ultralite down sleeping bag that looks like one once of water would soak it through and through. By putting the tarp over top of the tent we had caused the ridge line to sag like a sway backed horse and water was pooling.
“Sylvie, didn’t you seam-seal this thing?”
“Only at the tension points as per the instructions”
“Oh. Well, we have a new tension point and it’s leaking”
I lay there getting progressively discouraged and wishing I had brought and carried our 7-pound Mountain Equipment Co-Op Tarn Three Tent with bomb-proof fly and generous vestibule.
We decide to go out and get a hiking pole and put the tip in my boot and the handle against the roof. Sylvie did the wet deed and after adjusting the pole the drips formed more slowly. I took a large, brand new, wrap around syl-nylon pack cover and enclosed my sleeping bag in it and then I successfully willed the rain to stop for the rest of our through-hike until the final 30 minutes.
Stay tuned for day two and pictures.
Our day had started much earlier with a 30 kilometre taxi ride from our car (at the trailhead for Gros Morn Mountain) to the parking area for the tour boat that would take us 15 kilometres up what had once been a fiord but was now a fresh water lake named Western Brook Pond. We had walked 3 kilometres into the lake, got on the tour boat and enjoyed a truly spectacular ride beneath cliffs that rose thousands of feet vertically out of the water. We caught glimpses of the 2000 vertical foot slope we would hike up to get out of the old fiord. The reason the fiord was no longer a fiord is explained by isostatic rebound. The Earth’s crust under the mouth of the fiord had slowly rebounded once the weight of the glacier was removed and in so doing it cut the fiord off from the sea.
As we got off the boat at the tiny dock people took our pictures, shook our hands and applauded as the tour boat operator made it sound like we were Sir Edmund Hillary and spouse. Then, as soon as the boat pulled away I noticed that it was extremely hot and that the black flies were extremely numerous and voracious. On came long sleeves and long pants and out came the DEET. It took about 5 hours to get out of the gully. The hike was very rugged and hot and neither of us were used to carrying more than a day pack. The trail was at times obvious, at times flooded and often, only the faintest of faint herd paths that we had to look for from time to time. We plugged along feeling closed in by the walls that rose 2000 feet vertically above us but we also watched them grow smaller and smaller as we rose to meet the rolling plateau. After 4 hours and drinking quarts of water we broke out onto a slide and for the rest of the 4-day hike we would be pretty much out in the open. We could see all the way down to the “Pond”. The scene of rugged beauty was like nothing I have ever seen anywhere else.
Parks Canada does such a good job at making you believe there is no trail (we could easily understand the herd path up the gully) that once we had cleared the gully we spent a good deal of time doing a combination of route finding and map and compass navigation. Sylvie was a quick learner and we took our time keeping a fix on our exact position as we progressed using various visual aids and the compass.
Eventually we picked up a herd path and as it turned out there was a herd path from start to finish on the Long Range Traverse. Parks Canada is quite coy about its presence.
Once on the path we picked up speed and hiked with mouths agape at the incredible surroundings. We admired them through head nets though (Sylvie had an entire shirt that was made of netting) because the black flies were also like nothing I had ever experienced in my life, anywhere.
It has been a very wet summer and we crossed a small stream roughly every 5 minutes, which made me recall that black flies lay their eggs in running water and the larvae anchor themselves to a rock and filter their food out of the current into two broad and feathery antennae that stick out of their heads like 2 pennants. Most importantly, I also mused upon the fact that the larvae number about 100,000 per square metre of stream. We were surrounded by millions of square meters of black fly larvae habitat and it was a particularly wet summer.
We arrived at the tent platforms and were pleased to see a bear box right nearby. We enjoyed a quick meal, I went for a dip in the chilly water and we went to bed. Due to the bug density we decided it was a good thing we hadn’t decided to rely on a 10x12 syl-nylon tarp for shelter. Our tent was tricky to put up on the platform (much easier on the ground, but the ground was soaked everywhere like a saturated sponge) but we were quite satisfied with it.
Then the rain and wind I mentioned above increased and the rain began to be driven right into the tent and our bags were getting wet, quickly. We backed up into the far end of the tent but then we noticed that water was pouring in from the sides. Between the bathtub floor and the walls there is a 6 inch space of netting and water was streaming in and puddles were growing with alarming speed. Madly, we mopped up the water with pack towels and then we went outside in the pouring rain and lay a 10 x 12 blue plastic tarp over the front door and half of the tent and anchored it securely with rocks and rope. Getting in and out without getting our bags and sleeping pads too wet required vigilance and care.
A word about the blue tarp: Prior to embarking on the hike we had to pass a map and compass exam and view a DVD. The DVD recommended sitting under a tarp and waiting out bad weather for a day or two because navigation was so challenging under conditions of fog. This is the kind of advice I tent to ignore but not Sylvie. So, with me reluctantly in tow, she hunted down a blue plastic tarp and I complained bitterly about the weight of it. I had weighed all of our gear beforehand and was pleased to have a pack weight (without food or water of about 22 pounds). I had already added some more gear after our first 2-day hike where we broke camp and hiked out in the pouring rain.
To carry a blue plastic tarp was quite an insult to the budding ultralite backpacker in me but years of experience as a husband taught me long ago when to yield to a greater force. Now, the blue tarp was proving Sylvie right to have bought it and it proved me right in going along with her and carrying the fool thing. (I have a 15oz silicone nylon one at home in my gear closet by the way).
I was back in my bag thinking about the steepness of the ultra-light backpacking learning curve when I felt a drop of water hit my bag. I put my light on and saw another drop swelling and getting ready to follow the first one onto my ultralite down sleeping bag that looks like one once of water would soak it through and through. By putting the tarp over top of the tent we had caused the ridge line to sag like a sway backed horse and water was pooling.
“Sylvie, didn’t you seam-seal this thing?”
“Only at the tension points as per the instructions”
“Oh. Well, we have a new tension point and it’s leaking”
I lay there getting progressively discouraged and wishing I had brought and carried our 7-pound Mountain Equipment Co-Op Tarn Three Tent with bomb-proof fly and generous vestibule.
We decide to go out and get a hiking pole and put the tip in my boot and the handle against the roof. Sylvie did the wet deed and after adjusting the pole the drips formed more slowly. I took a large, brand new, wrap around syl-nylon pack cover and enclosed my sleeping bag in it and then I successfully willed the rain to stop for the rest of our through-hike until the final 30 minutes.
Stay tuned for day two and pictures.
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