A Journey to Ultralight
The pack was blue. Bright blue, with a shiny aluminum metal frame. I walked all over the house with it, stuffed with my dolls and animals and my plastic bow and arrow and at times, the cat. I couldn’t wait to join my dad in the Boundary Waters of northern Minnesota, canoeing and hiking and fishing for 2 weeks. I was 5.
The rule then, in 1975, was that if I wanted it on the trip I had to carry it. Dad wasn’t going to carry it, Mom wasn’t going to carry it, my 2-year-old brother certainly wouldn’t carry it. If I wanted to bring it, it had to go in my pack and I had to schlep it. If we were in the middle of the wilderness and I didn’t want to carry my prized stuffed dog named Emmitt anymore, well then that matted bit of fur was going to be left in the middle of the wilderness, all alone. That was enough to scare me to leaving the dog at home, as well as the plastic standing robot that actually shot darts with suction cups, the bow and arrow set, and my indian...
Mar 13, 2017