Gear Junkie

I can always see them coming. They dropped a bunch of money to buy the lightest, most streamlined, most ergonomic gear to maximally enhance their outdoors experience. Yet somehow, these wannabes always seem to be the most loaded down with an absurd amount of helpful items.

And just because they have the lightest, most waterproof, shockproof, aerodynamic gear, that doesn’t mean the necessarily know how to use it. Obviously, specialty clothing and hardware are highly recommended for most outdoor activities. This gear has been developed by professionals to reduce strain on the body and increase comfort, but so many people think that they can substitute this gear for common sense. These are the gear junkies.

I was day-hiking along a section of the Great Ocean Walk when I crossed paths with the epitome of a gear junkie. He was about my age and body type, with a trim beard and that fancy new hairstyle that it is long on the top and front, then buzzed short around the sides and back.

He was stopped on a trail-side bench fiddling with something on his pack as I walked up. I asked if he was doing okay and he gave me a pained look.

“This insect protection hood just isn’t working,” he said.

“I paid forty-three dollars for this and the flies are driving me nuts!”

I looked closer. His pack was sitting on the bench and it was stuffed to the gills. The zippers were bulging. A brand new unopened tent was strapped on the bottom and high end rain jacket was laced through a fancy jacket loop. On top of the pack was a small aluminum frame adorned with mosquito netting. This contraption was what was giving him trouble.

The little frame was designed to drape over his head while he was walking, covering his face with the netting to keep the horseflies out of his eyes. The Australian flies are so famous for their pestering that the act of swatting at them with your hand is often called “the Australian Salute.” Unfortunately for this fellow, his fancy backpack was designed to shift with his body weight, so every step sent the little aluminum frame whacking into the side of his head.

As I took a gander as this absurd contraption, I sipped water from my three-week-old recycled lemonade bottle. I caught a glimpse of his dual vacuum sealed thermoses mounted like torpedoes on the side of the pack. They still had the stickers attached to the side advertising “Easy flow” and “ergonomic grip.”

As he fiddled with some adjustment knob on the side of his bug frame, I watched in amusement. I was definitely lingering awkwardly to watch, but I had never seen something quite so ridiculous. Eventually he gave up and removed it from his pack. I volunteered a suggestion.

“You know, I would much prefer to swat flies than get walloped by that ‘thing’ with every step.”

He harrumphed and glared at me.

“Or you could just drape the net over your face; it doesn’t need a frame.”

The look he gave me was pure annoyance, but he took my suggestion. He shouldered his pack and without another word, set off down the trail.

I stood there and watched him go. He had sturdy boots, snake-proof gaiters, trekking pants, wick-away windbreaker and tramping poles to go with his massive backpack. Every article of clothing and gear looked like it came off the store shelves that morning.

I looked at his outfit one last time, and then looked at my own wardrobe. I was wearing flip flops and torn khaki shorts. My dad’s old football-coach rain jacket covered a sweat stained tank top. A tattered little daypack with a recycled water bottle and a camera wrapped in a rag. I wasn’t exactly the picture of style or sophistication, but I realized that I would never ever trade outfits with that guy. Even if I could afford to, I wouldn’t want to be a gear junkie. Of course I would appreciate the benefits of rain jackets that wick away sweat, or trekking boots that protect your ankles, or any of the million different gear options.  My problem is that the people who have all the gear too often forget why we go exploring in the great outdoors. Adventures like the Great Ocean Walk aren’t meant to be supremely comfortable. If you want to be comfortable, sit on your couch and look at the pictures. Getting out to wild places is more about feeling the ferocity of the world and learning to appreciate it.

These gadgets and high-tech options are no substitute for that understanding. I can just imagine Fly-hood man boasting to friends that he can jet boil water in thirty seconds and his carbon pocket knife can perform ninety-three different functions. His jacket has fourteen air vents and twelve customizable drawstrings for maximum comfort. But if he ended up in a real sticky situation, I doubt he would even remember to close all those vents to keep the wind out.

Feel that bitter southern wind on your face as the crashing breakers echo through your soul. That will always have much more of an impact than standing there in a Gore-tex and Kevlar bubble.

I wish that proper outdoors gear had a system of earning. You shouldn’t be able to buy the best gear up front. First, you should learn on crap gear; the tattered, dented supplies that would make you appreciate and understand the good stuff even more. After a certain amount of adventuring, you should earn that comfort. You should earn the gear that allows you to go further and explore more.

Of course, that system will never come to pass. Gear junkies will continue to buy their way into the outdoors. And so, I will just continue take my joy in the looks I get as they pass by. It is a look of priceless worry and shock. It is a look of surprise and disgust. It is the look of realization that a thousand dollars in camping supplies is not enough to make them enjoy this outdoor experience. As I trot by in my flip flops and hand-me-downs, having the time of my life, they can learn that it is not the gear that makes the adventure.