My favored route to the top of Mount Sanitas, in Boulder, Colorado, gains some 1,200 feet in just over a mile. It starts on the aptly named Goat Trail and then climbs the East Ridge Trail to the 6,800-foot summit. There are much better trails for running in Boulder—less rocky, less steep—but I prefer this route up Sanitas because it has a great view, it’s near my home, and, if nothing else, it’s very efficient.

I’m not a particularly good runner, definitely not fast, but I am consistent. Over the last 15 years, I’ve chugged up Sanitas more than 2,000 times. Occasionally I’ll mix it up with one of those other Boulder trails, where the grade is more running-friendly and my dog can chase new smells, but we always come back to Sanitas. Which is to say, I know the route to the top really, really well. I know where wildflowers appear in yellow and purple bunches in late spring and where ice persists long after winter storms. I know where water pools after summer rain and which pine trees smell like butterscotch.

And I certainly know my pace. The ascent takes me about 30 minutes, depending on how many times I have to pick up my dog’s poop. (I once made it to the top in 22 minutes, without the dog, which isn’t bad for a middle-aged desk jockey, but for context, Kilian Jornet ran the nearly identical in 14 minutes and 12 seconds, according to).

Even at my slowest, though, I’m at least maintaining a steady jog. So I knew something was different when I suddenly stopped running halfway up. Weird, I thought, as I slowed to a walk with no conscious decision to downshift. It was a bright April day, perfect conditions, and I was glad to be back on Sanitas after a couple of weeks out of town. I had been put-putting along like normal, on a section of trail that steepens considerably after a couple of long switchbacks, and then suddenly I was walking. It felt like running underwater: I was telling my legs to run, but they just wouldn’t go any faster.

I felt fine in every other way—no pain, nothing. I was breathing hard but that’s normal on a trail that ascends more than 1,000 feet per mile. This must be what serious athletes mean by hitting the wall, I thought. But why was I bonking on a trail I know so well? I continued to swim-walk, considering possibilities. Did I need to re-acclimatize to the altitude after being at sea level for two weeks? Did I have a virus that was sapping my energy? Were the effects of aging unfolding the same way Earnest Hemingway, in the Sun Also Rises, described the process of going bankrupt: gradually, then suddenly?

More than a decade ago, surprising research sparked sensational headlines suggesting that endurance training might be bad, not good, for your heart. Articles like “” captured the spirit of the moment. The counterintuitive results of these studies turned out to be flawed, but they did jumpstart a series of investigations into the relationship between endurance training and cardio health.

Alex Hutchinson, şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s Sweat Science columnist, has written extensively about the subject. Most recently he dug into the latest news in “Two Promising Updates on Heart Health in Endurance Athletes.” The upshot? It’s clear that endurance training affects the heart, but it’s difficult to say exactly what the changes mean. For example, one study found that masters endurance athletes have elevated scores compared to non-athletes, which on the surface is not good. Higher levels of arterial calcium are associated with a higher risk of serious and potentially fatal heart problems in the general population. That’s because calcium deposits are a sign of possible plaque buildup on the artery walls, and when plaque breaks off it can create a blockage, reducing or stopping the flow of blood.

But the new research goes deeper, examining the difference in plaque between endurance athletes and non-athletes. It turns out that while CAC scores do increase in athletes over time, the athletes’ plaque tends to be smooth and hard, and unlikely to rupture compared to the softer plaque found in non-athletes. Crucially, one study found that subjects with higher CAC scores caused by exercise did not have a higher risk of cardiac events.

Endurance training can affect the heart in other ways. It’s a muscle, after all, and it responds to a workout. Researchers have documented micro-scarring in athletes’ hearts, for example. But the studies are so far inconclusive when it comes to proving if specific changes are good or bad or neutral on the one thing it’s safe to say we all care about: longevity.

Fortunately, a 2022 published in the journal Circulation speaks directly to that issue. It followed 116,221 adults over the course of 30 years. Researchers asked subjects to report on their exercise habits every two years, which provided a much more complete picture of their athleticism over time than previous studies. The takeaway? As Hutchinson sums it up in his reporting, “The headline result is that those doing 150 to 300 minutes a week of vigorous exercise such as running (or, somewhat equivalently, 300 to 600 minutes a week of moderate exercise such as walking) were about half as likely to die during the study.”

That’s good news for runners who have been confused by the mixed messages on heart health. Five hours of running a week—about exactly how much time I spend going up and down Sanitas—is as good for your body as it is for your soul. (Logging more than 300 minutes of vigorous exercise per week yielded about the same benefits.)

Of course, large epidemiological studies can’t say anything about an individual’s experience. Which is why endurance athletes should take comfort in the latest research, but pay very, very close attention to what their own bodies are telling them.

Halfway up Sanitas, I should have stopped and paid a little more attention to my sudden inability to run. But mostly I felt confused, not worried. And embarrassed. I encountered an acquaintance who was going down the trail, and as she passed, my main goal was to jog a few steps so she didn’t see me walking. I barely managed it. Then I started thinking about how late I would be getting to the top, where I was meeting a friend. Would he get impatient and leave?

I kept slogging away, and though my legs felt the same—deadweights—I actually started to feel better about the situation. Just a fluke, I figured, I probably just need a good night’s sleep.

By the time I reached the rocky summit, I felt victorious, like I’d really achieved something. My friend Aaron didn’t see it that way.

“You look like shit,” he said when I arrived on top.

“Just need to catch my breath,” I gasped, like I’d just finished a marathon. I sank gratefully onto a boulder. It took a few minutes longer than expected, but I did catch my breath, and also fended off Aaron’s efforts to ask if there were any doctors among the summit crowd. I felt vindicated—and mostly back to normal—on the descent.

Two hours later, after eating and drinking and showering, I was ready to write off the whole episode and try Sanitas again the next day. But two things changed my mind. My resting heart rate was still high, over 80, when it normally hovers in the 50s, and when I called my wife, she encouraged me to get checked.

If continuing up Sanitas that day was my first mistake, identifying my second is pretty easy: riding a bike to the urgent care a half mile away. But at this point I was feeling fine. Going to the doctor? Just an abundance of caution. So when the folks at urgent care said they lacked the required diagnostic tools, and I needed to go to the Emergency Room at a hospital across town, I was mostly annoyed. I had to ride home and drive there (mistake number three: driving).

Things only coalesced for me when I was in the ER, hooked up to an EKG machine, and heard an announcement over the intercom: “Cardiac alert room 9.”

Room 9? That was my room.

An hour later, I was in the operating room getting a stent inserted in my left anterior descending artery. According to the cardiologist, the artery had been partially blocked by an event I’d experienced while running. A piece of plaque, he said, had “exploded” and formed a clot. He couldn’t say what had caused it, but he reassured me that the rest of my arteries were fine, and now this one was too.

In my particular case, it’s impossible to say if running had any role in the heart attack—either as a contributing or mitigating factor. Could exercise have led to an increase in plaque? Or could some level of cardio fitness have protected my heart from damage while the blood flow was diminished? And did I have soft plaque despite running, or did I have hard plaque that ruptured anyway? Was it due to genetics? (My dad, 82, has three stents.)

Regardless, the cardiologist saw no reason for me to change my running habits. Just take it easy for a month, he said, and then I could resume exercising with no limitations. And that’s exactly what I did, first on Sanitas, and then farther afield. In the following months, I rafted the Grand Canyon, trekked in Nepal, and topped 17,000 feet. I drove a moped around northern Vietnam, a stress test if there ever was one.

If that sounds like a post-heart attack bucket list agenda, it’s just a coincidence—the trips were already planned. So this is not the part where I reflect on my close call and embrace a newfound fervor to live for today. I like to think that we all have the capacity to appreciate how precious and fleeting life is without having a near-death experience.

But here’s something I have been thinking about on recent runs up Sanitas: Could endurance athletes, even very average ones like me, be their own worst enemies when it comes to recognizing serious medical events? After all, the ability to push through discomfort is literally the definition of endurance. We practice training our minds to overrule our bodies.

That doesn’t mean we should start walking instead of running. Heck, plenty of sedentary guys have ignored heart attack warning signs. There’s no reason to miss out on the well-documented physical and mental benefits of endurance sports.

So rather than backing off—and to be clear this is my evidence-free opinion—I think we need to push a little harder. Most everyday athletes, even very accomplished ones, don’t redline their bodies. Elite athletes may know what hitting the wall actually feels like, but most of us ease up well short of collapse.

What if that’s a mistake? What if knowing the full range of your potential—what it feels like at the outer edges of what you’re capable of—is exactly what you need? Will you be more likely to notice, and act, when you enter unfamiliar territory?

Before experiencing a heart attack, I thought I knew the, chest pain chief among them. But of course, it’s not so clear cut. On Sanitas, shortness of breath and fatigue were my only complaints, and they were exactly what I expected to experience, to varying degrees, when running up a very, very steep hill.

So go ahead, run hard. Or bike hard or hike hard. But take it from me: if you experience serious changes, take them seriously.

Lewon says he isn’t sure if he has good luck or bad, but this was actually his second close call in the backcountry. To hear about his first, listen to of the Out Alive podcast.

The post I Had a Heart Attack While Running. This Is What It Felt Like. appeared first on şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Online.

The central train station in Mumbai is one of the busiest railway hubs in India. Moving through it, visitors are easily pushed and pulled off course by the human tides, especially if it’s your first day in the country. So I felt victorious when I made it to the correct platform comfortably ahead of my train’s departure time.

I had arrived in Mumbai (at the time still called Bombay) early that same morning, solo, on a flight from Cairo that I had taken on a whim. The fare was cheap and India sounded exciting. That was the extent of my planning. I didn’t even have a Lonely Planet guidebook, just a map of India (this was pre-internet). I had just turned 21 and over the previous few months had discovered the joys of traveling more by feel than plan.

I didn’t need advance planning to know my first move after landing. I loved traveling, but much preferred exploring rural areas over big cities, so I didn’t waste any time getting out of Mumbai. I had a vague notion to head generally east and north, angling for the Himalayas, where I hoped eventually to go trekking. I consulted my map and bought a ticket on a train heading inland, to a town about 200 miles from the crowded west coast.

I picked up some spicy lentil mix from a snack wallah, found a patch of unclaimed cement on the platform, and sat on my pack, content to watch the swirl of families, commuters, and who-knows-why travelers.

The cavernous station afforded a good view of trains coming and going, so I saw mineĚýrolling toward me when it was a few hundred yards away. The locomotive slowed to a jogging pace as it neared the end of the line. I’ve alwaysĚýenjoyed that moment just before the start of a journey by rail, when you anticipate stepping aboard but have to wait a few more seconds before the train comes to a complete stop.

Except people weren’t waiting. Men in the crowd—only men, young ones—started running toward the still-moving train and diving into the open windows. This wasn’t an easy feat; the windows were not big. I watched, mystified, as more leapers followed the first wave through the openings, as ifĚýstorming a moving castle.

Men continued to climb through the windows even after the train stopped. Now I could see why. A crush of bodies jammed the doorway as passengers trying to get off the train collided with those trying to get on. Slowly, they squeezed past each other, contorting through, an arm at a time, a shoulder at a time. For the moment, at least, the best way in was through the windows.

I sat on my pack until the frenzy subsided. By the time I boarded, the train car was a cliche of overcrowded transportation: six people crammed into every three-person seat, passengers lying prone in the luggage racks, squatters in the aisles. The only space left was a small transition zone between the doorway and the carriage, where the stragglers ended up. I squeezed in, and when the train pulled away, we were standing rock-concert tight, pressed together so densely that you couldn’t fall down if you wanted to.

My immediate neighbors didn’t seem to mind being crammed up against the sweaty foreigner who took up too much space because he couldn’t squat worth a damn. A slight, twenty-something guy laughed good-naturedly at my discomfort. He said something to his friend. I couldn’t understand it, but I was pretty sure it was something like, “This tourist must be especially dumb to end up on a second-class train.”

Which was true. For just a few more bucks I could have gone first-class express with a seat of my own. But I hadn’t learned that yet. I was navigating the Indian train system by trial and error, so here I was—traveling very slowly east, on a train stopping at every village, my knees aching because there wasn’t enough space to sit or lie down, heading for a random destination I’d plucked off the map.

I don’t recall the town’s name, and it doesn’t really matter because I never made it there. It’s where I ended up that counts.

ELSEWHERE ON THIS website, you’ll find lots of great advice about planning a life-list trip. After all, careful planning can save you time, maybe money, and most importantly will result in exactly the kind of experience most travelers want—the one they’ve been dreaming of. The one they expect. Call it the gospel of travel planning. And I think it’s wrong. The best journey is the one we can’t imagine.

Science agrees. Research from prominent universities on the emotion of surprise makes it clear that we benefit in both immediate and lasting ways when the world shakes us loose from the routine and expected—from the planned. You may not realize it, but your brain likes to be surprised.

Neuroscientists have discovered that unexpected events trigger the nucleus accumbens, the brain’s pleasure center. You’ve experienced the effect if you’ve ever received a surprise gift of flowers, or a box of chocolates, or a raise out of the blue. You would have enjoyed those things if you knew they were coming, but unpredictability increases the pleasure. That’s because you get a shot of feel-good dopamine, according to a by researchers at Emory University School of Medicine and Baylor College of Medicine that analyzed the brain’s response to predictable and unpredictable rewards. Subsequent research has shown that surprises also generate a dose of noradrenaline, which aids focus and attention.

Boosting pleasure and focus is reward enough, but it gets better. Current from MIT scientists, published in 2022 in Nature, suggests that the element of surprise improves memory, which bolsters one of the great rewards of travel: remembering our bucket-list experiences long after enjoying them. You don’t need a neuroscientist to tell you why that’s important. The benefits of being surprised read like a tick list of what I value most about traveling: discover unexpected rewards, learn something new, and remember everything well in the years to come.

In the definitive book on the subject——Tania Luna and LeeAnn Renninger extol the many benefits of unpredictability, arguing that it improves happiness, relationships, work, mental health, and more. “We feel most comfortable when things are certain, but we feel most alive when they’re not,” writes Renninger.

Even if you accept this as true, it’s not easy to embrace radical surprise. Most people prefer a lesser variety, the kind you get from exploring a new trail or striking up a conversation with a stranger. ButĚýI’m after bigger game. If a little bit of surprise is good, then a lot of surprise must be great. And a lot is what you get when you travel with zero planning. A whole lot.

SEVERAL HOURS INTO my inaugural Indian train ride, my legs were cramping, the sweat-box air was barely circulating, and the mosh-pit remained just as crowded. During its frequent stops, the train seemed to acquire a new passenger for every one who got off. At 3 a.m., 12 hours after boarding, I reached my limit. I decided to disembark at the next station, no matter where it was.

That’s how I ended my first day in India: stumbling off the train in the predawn darkness, finding the station’s cool, spacious concrete floor all but deserted, and lying down to sleep right there. Unexpected? Yes. But also uncomfortable. Perhaps the only thing that’s not surprising about anti-planning travel is that, occasionally, it requires some tolerance for discomfort.

I woke up when the floor started vibrating with the footsteps of morning travelers. I wandered out of the station, thinking that I might try another form of locomotion. I bought chai at a stall in the street, and the shop owner asked if I was going to visit the nearby temple. “Most famous,” he said. “You must go.”

I consulted my map and saw that, indeed, I had disembarked just 20-odd miles from a site called the Ellora Caves. The shop owner pointed to an open-bed pickup truck—basically a rideshare for laborers—and helped me secure a spot. An hour later I was at the entrance of a UnescoĚýWorld Heritage Site.

The , a temple and monastery complex built between 600 and 1,000 CE, are cut from solid rock. With 34 caves spread over a mile and a half, the place is a massive piece of live-and-pray artwork, encompassing intricate decorative carvings, high-ceilinged sanctuaries, and living quarters for the monks. Every structure is carved from cathedral-size blocks of stone. The feat of construction spannedĚýgenerations, with relics from three faiths—Buddhism, Hinduism, and Jainism—commingled in one site.

I had never seen anything like these rock-cut temples. Even after hours of walking around them, I was struck by the site’s size and complexity. It was like watching a slow-motion meteor shower—a thrill every time I looked up. Imagine coming upon the cliff dwellings in New Mexico’s Chaco Canyon without knowing they existed. I was in awe, a kind of surprise that lands like a time-stopping, visceral wow.

Studies have shown that awe has its own neurological rewards. Dacher Keltner, a psychologist at U.C. Berkeley, has demonstrated that the feeling of awe leads to greater well-being by boosting a host of desirable traits, like humility, curiosity, and happiness. It’s even good for your health. has linked awe with lower levels of interleukin-6, a chemical that promotes inflammation.

Would I have been awed by the Ellora Caves if I had planned a tour and researched them before visiting? Certainly. They are amazing. But add the element of surprise and the effect is exponentially more intense.

HERE’S AN OBJECTION I sometimes hear: what if a lack of planning leaves you unaware of some cultural site or geographic wonder? I could have easily missed the Ellora Caves altogether, of course. Then again, the temple complex is in a remote area, and advance planning might have steered me away, to more famous, more conveniently located sites. Regardless, I’ve found that locals everywhere love to show off their favorite places, and any curious traveler will be rewarded with both well-known and unknown experiences if they engage in conversation.

Plus, there’s the matter of unintended familiarity. While it’s satisfying to visit bucket-list places, you’ve already by definition heard of them. Consider the Taj Mahal. You don’t need a guidebook to know about the famed mausoleum. Most travelers who can reasonably fit a visit into their journey do. I did. And it did not disappoint—it’s a marvel to behold—but neither did it offer a surprise. My sharpest and fondest memory of that visit is from a moment after visiting the Taj Mahal, when I took the wheel of a bicycle rickshaw (pedaling one is way harder than it looks), and experienced something novel to both me and all the passing rickshaw drivers who witnessed me white-knuckling it along the side of the road, the owner of the rig lounging in the rear and waving at them like the queen.

When it comes to experiencing maximum wonder, surprise is the secret sauce.

SO WHAT’S THE catch? Not all surprises are good. Memorable, yes. But not always enjoyable, comfortable, or even safe. When you abandon planning, you open the door to the unexpected, and its cousin “unfortunate” might just slip through as well. That grueling train ride wasn’t my worst snafu. On a different unplanned trip, in the Solomon Islands, I ended up in a stranger’s boat on a long open-water crossing. The dinghy’s outboard motor ran out of gas just as a storm unleashed a maelstrom of rain and wind and waves, and we had to paddle for our lives with a couple wood planks. It was not the kind of surprise I was looking for.

But theĚý point is, radical anti-planning doesn’t come with guardrails. If the thought of waking up in the morning without knowing where you’ll be in the evening gives you hives, the approach might not be for you. But if that sounds a little bit exciting, it’s because it is.

Naysayers will complain that zero-planning travel only works when you’re young, with few responsibilities and plenty of time for miscues.ĚýIt’s true I did a lot of unplanned travel in my early 20s, roaming for months on end. But if my experience stopped there, I wouldn’t be such an evangelist. As I got older and my trips got shorter—job, marriage, kids—I still made sure to travel without a plan on occasion. It can be a challenge on a standard-issue week-long vacation when you don’t want to “waste” a single day, but I’ve learned it’s the only way to invite real surprise.

Once, on a short trip through Europe, before we were married, my wife and I left Barcelona on a train heading west. We had Eurail passes and no plan (not her travel style, but she humors me). When the conductor checked our tickets, he asked where we were going and we said we didn’t know. He was perplexed and determined that we needed a destination for his stamp of approval. “Where should we go?” I asked.

Now he was truly flummoxed, so he enlisted the whole carriage, and after a flurry of conversation in Spanish, the consensus was Miravet, a small village on the Ebro River. Only one problem: the train didn’t actually stop there. No matter, a middle-aged woman offered a ride in her car, which was parked at the nearest station. That led to three days in a town with no hotels and one cafe. Vineyards surrounded the village, and a castle-fortress, originally built by the Moors, overlooked it. We found a room in a sprawling hacienda that had served as a hospital during the Spanish Civil War. I’d never heard of Miravet before, but we couldn’t have found a better place with all the planning in the world.

Is it irresponsible to travel this way with young kids? All I can say is that we had no unwelcome surprises when we joined another family on a decide-on-the-fly journey through Fiji. Between us we had five kids ages 5 to 12. On a night that I can still remember like it was yesterday, we swung from mild parental panic—where are we going to stay?—to pure joy when we found a remote lodge where a group of twentysomethings invited us to join them for an evening of kava (adults only) and singing. The unexpected a capella show was better than any Broadway musical, as far as I’m concerned.

That’s not to say I never plan vacations. I’ve enjoyed a flawless Costa Rica beach getaway at a carefully chosen spot, a Baja sea-kayaking trip that’s only possible when you plan logistics well ahead, and other such journeys. I appreciated each of those experiences. But they haven’t diminished my love for unplanned adventure.

Just this year, in fact, I went on a spring-break vacation with my college-age son and three of his friends. We headed to Utah with a single goal: hike in five national parks in five days. Otherwise we had nothing planned—no campsite reservations, no trails picked out, no pre-mapped itinerary. It was a risky way to travel during prime time in southern Utah. But we could count on plenty of surprises, and they would bring their own reward.

was the longtime editor in chief ofBackpackermagazine and has traveled extensively, from the South Pacific to the Scottish Highlands. He’s now the Director of Custom Content at şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Interactive. His next trip? In November he’s leading a group doing where his family’s tradition in unplanned travel continues. His 18-year-old son is joining him in Nepal, but he’s going with a one-way ticket. Surprises are guaranteed.Ěý

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If you love travel and you love giving back, you’ll really love combining the two. That’s why we started a program doing just that. Since 2019, we’ve been bringingĚýBackpacker and şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř readers to Nepal to volunteer on projects supporting health and education, and then we go on a trek when the work is done. As Nepal continues to recover from the devastating earthquakes in 2015 and the recent pandemic stresses, we’re supporting infrastructure efforts with a Ěýthat’s half volunteer effort, half trekking, and all fun.

What’s that mean? The first week is devoted to a service project. In fall 2024, we’ll be helping a Nepal-based nonprofit build new classrooms at a school in the village of Kakani, in the hills outside of Kathmandu. No skills are required—just a willingness to roll up your sleeves and work—and we’re making a $500 donation to the project on behalf of every participant.

The second week we’ll embark on a nine-day trek in the Nar Phu valley, a remote region between Annapurna and the Tibetan border. There, we’ll stay in villages that were settled centuries ago by Tibetan communities, visit Buddhist monasteries, and have the opportunity to cross a 17,400-foot pass. We partner withĚýĚýand use Nepali guides and porters, and while Himalayan hiking is always challenging, anyone in good shape can do this trek.

It’s the ultimate win-win adventure. In fall 2024, our trip is scheduled October 12-31, and space is limited.Ěý

How can you tell if this trip is for you? Easy, just see if these apply.

You want to make a tangible contribution.

In Nepal,ĚýGDP per capita was $1,336 in 2022, according to the World Bank. That makes it among the poorest countries in the world (for comparison, Haiti’s per capita GDP was $1,748 in 2022.) With limited resources, Nepal often lacks critical infrastructure that we take for granted. In Kakani, that means hundreds of families have to travel to Kathmandu for medical services, a problem that was exacerbated by the pandemic. Last year we finished work on a new health clinic, and it’s now serving the local community. This year we’re returning to Kakani to work on a school-expansion project. There’s not enough space in the current building to accommodate the growing student population, and there’s no instruction at all for 11th and 12th graders because of lack of classrooms.

While in Kakani, you’ll meet the kids and families who will benefit from the school project and work alongside members of the community. You’ll make a real contribution to construction (get ready to roll up those sleeves), and know that every ounce of sweat and dollar donated is going directly to a project that locals have said is their highest priority.

You want to experience the world’s greatest mountains.

Nothing against the Rockies or Alps, but the Himalayas start where those mountains end. On the Nar Phu trek, we’ll stay in villages above 13,000 feet, in the shadow of 20,000-foot peaks. On an optional day hike to Himlung Himal base camp, at 16,000 feet, we’ll walk above a massive glacier. But it’s not just the scale that makes the Himalayas so unique. It’s also the people, who have mastered the art of living in some of the world’s harshest conditions.

You want to experience teahouse trekking.

We won’t be sleeping on the ground or cooking dehydrated meals on this trek. Nepal’s famously hospitable teahouse culture is something every hiker should experience. The Nar Phu Valley, which was off-limits to trekkers for decades, is relatively undeveloped, so lodging is basic compared to popular routes like Everest Base Camp and Annapurna. But you still get cozy rooms, homemade curries and momos, and hot tea morning, noon, and night.

ĚýYou want to challenge yourself.

For most North American hikers, climbing a fourteener is about as high they’ll ever get without boarding a plane. On this route, legs and lungs willing, we’ll go more than 3,000 vertical feet higher. The 17,400-foot pass comes near the end of the trek, allowing plenty of time to acclimatize, but it’s still a challenging day that takes most hikers 12 hours (there’s an optional lower route if needed). The reward? Atop the pass, you’ll come face-to-east-face with the Annapurna Range.

IfĚýthis sounds like you, join us October 12-31 for the trip of a lifetime.

SpecialĚýthanks to , which equipped our team with water filters.ĚýTraveling in a developing country requires constant care when it comes to drinking water. Both in town and on the trail, water could be contaminated with any number ofĚýpathogens (such as viruses, bacteria, and protozoan cysts). TheĚýĚýeliminates those contaminants and filters pesticides, chemicals, heavy metals, and microplastics as well. Equipping our team with Grayl purifiers made it easy to treat water in every situation.ĚýĚýĚýĚý

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If your ultralight pack gets kicked around like a stray dog, buy this Rottweiler. The tough-skinned Endeavor Summit is made with VX07 sailcloth, which is incredibly abrasion- and tear-resistant for the weight. (For the price, the bottom should be similarly reinforced.) The stiff single-stay-and-framesheet suspension is mated to low-bulk padding for a back-hugging, stable carry with moderate loads. Climber-oriented features like ice-ax attachments (the smartest we’ve seen) and hipbelt gear loops make this a good choice for summer trips up peaks like Rainier and Shasta. Our minimalists liked the simple top-load compartment, but organizers lamented the lack of storage options. 3.2 lbs, 3,100 cu in; www.jansport.com

Bonus: The detachable lid converts into a daypack.

Bummer: The quick-release buckles are hard to operate in cold weather, especially with gloved hands.

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TAKE IT ANYWHERE

Small enough for short jaunts, cool enough for the heat of the desert, and tough enough for the mountains. The Direct 28 does it all, and for a sweet price. The abrasion-resistant 210-denier nylon body—and doubly reinforced bottom—is made for alpine abuse, while an aggressively arched frame keeps your back air-conditioned in the heat. Smart features include an integrated rain cover, trekking-pole attachments, and a compartmentalized interior that keeps your lunch from getting scrunched. 3.2 lbs, 1,700 cu in; mammut.ch

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Bonus: Don't worry about overloading this pack. Its overbuilt frame can handle any extras you lash onto it.

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Bummer: It's a little overweight for the capacity. And the deeply arched suspension cuts into the pack's interior (trading space for that back-cooling breeze).

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Aigle Shems – Midweight Jackets: Reviews

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With a soft fleece interior and warm, durable merino wool/nylon exterior, this jacket combines our favorite fabrics in one versatile top. 1.9 lbs; aigleusa.com

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Patagonia Pau – Footwear: Reviews

The coolest mocs we’ve ever laid eyes on or stuck feet in. Construction is superb on the utilitarian, sustainability, and aesthetic levels, and wool innards provide serious cush. A travel-day dream. patagonia.com

GoLite Wisp – Hard Shell: Reviews

Soft Shells

There’s not much here—a half zip, no hood—but that’s the point. At three ounces, the Wisp weighs less than a kiwi and scrunches into an integrated stuffsack that fits inside your palm. Bring this DWR-coated pullover with you on every mountain-bike ride, hike, or even run (it’s that light), and the next time you’re hit with the inevitable surprise storm, you won’t be shivering all the way back to the trailhead. The Wisp also has a trim, athletic fit that doesn’t flap around in the wind. Its side stash pocket is just big enough for a key, credit card, and Gu (smart) and has a fabric loop for attaching to a carabiner (even smarter). 3 oz;

Atomic Coax – Alpine Skis: Reviews

Good for Big Mountain

Our testers expected the Coax—like the Kästle, another Austrian-made tip-to-tail wood-core ski—to go like a runaway train, with about as much control. They couldn’t have been more wrong. Thanks in part to its twin-tip construction, the Coax was nimble, light, and loose in everything from trees to bumps. And while the hold was unwavering on harder snow, it’s a natural round-turner that loves wide-open slopes. All it takes is a little bit of pressure and the Coax turns as quick as the mountain demands. 139/105/128;

Thule Double-Decker Surfboard Carrier

There isn't anything wrong with simply lashing your boards to your roof rack. It's just that the Double-Decker makes doing so easier and faster. But the best part: you can lock them up once they're there. Fits two boards up to 26 inches wide.
TAGS: lockable, multi-board storage

Granite Gear Escape AC 60 – Weekend Backpacks: Reviews

Multi-Day Marvel

Yes, the AC 60 is impressively light (3.2 pounds) and streamlined for a 3,660-cubic-inch pack—note the p-cord and locks instead of the traditional webbing and buckles. But it’s tougher and more user-friendly than it looks. Thanks to the high-density polyethylene back panel, it hauls 40-pound loads just as well as packs with much beefier suspension systems. “It’s light enough for weekend trips,” said one tester, “but just big enough for longer ones.” Bonus: There’s an inconspicuous pocket for an ultralight removable rain fly (sold separately, $34). 3.2 lbs;
Versatility: 3.9
Comfort: 4.6

The North Face Single-Track – trail-running shoes: Reviews

Picking a road shoe is all about how you run. But getting the right trail runner is about what you run. You’ll see a lot of heavily engineered shoes with hard rubber toe bumpers, underfoot protection, stiffer midsoles, and powerful lateral stability—which you can test by twisting the shoe from heel to toe. Those are best for steep, rocky, and rooty trails, but they’re overkill for mellow everyday workouts. And watch the weight: Anything over 14 ounces (for a single men’s size 9) is a hiking shoe masquerading as a trail runner. If you stick to even, dry terrain, look for a comfy, more efficient low-profile tread and road-shoe characteristics like flexibility in the toes and lots of cushioning. Technical trails or mud? You’ll appreciate a really toothy tread.

Imagine a shoe that feels right whether you’re running three miles around the park or all day in the mountains. Fantasy? Nope. Everyone on our team—from hardcore ultramarathoners to high-cadence 10K trail racers to casual runners—fell in love with The North Face Single-Track almost from the beginning. A minimalist upper keeps the weight competitive—and the comfort ranking high—without feeling flimsy, thanks to well-placed overlays. “This shoe hugs my foot better than any others,” said one tester. A form-fitting heel cradle made of firm EVA foam helps stabilize the shoe when you’re barreling down technical trails. “It’s extremely nimble and agile on a variety of terrain,” another tester said. The thin plastic plate under the forefoot offers protection from rocky jabs, and neutral cushioning and good forefoot flexibility allow a smooth turnover, even if you run pavement to get to the trailhead.

11.5 oz;
Traction: 4.8 (out of 5)
Stability: 4.6
Speed: 4.7

Smith Touchstone – Sport Sunglasses: Reviews

Eco-Resorter

You can just about taste Smith’s grapey Ignitor lens tint, in delicious polarized, photo­chromic, optically ground glass. Pinkish in low light, like rosĂ© wine, it deepened to pinot in bright sun. Acuity was as good as it gets: easy on the eyes, for all-day wear. The Touchstone was easy on greener consciences, too, with some frame material sourced from castor bean plants, of all things. The style statement is big, solid, macho. All-around excellent frame, but also a slight puzzle: The reddish tint screamed action and speed, but the glass said no. So we went easy, while looking really hard—and were especially wild about the Touchstone for training runs on quiet streets. Rx-able.
Value: 3.5
Sport/Street Crossover: 4.6

MSR XGK EX – Camp Stoves: Reviews

After 30-odd years on mountains the world over, this roaring Old Faithful gets updated with a flexible fuel line, retractable legs so it can pack smaller, and stabler pot supports. The flamethrower still won’t sautĂ© shallots, but for boiling gallon after gallon of water—even with dirty gasoline straight from a pump in Tibet—this is the most reliable stove we’ve used. Fuel: white gas, kerosene, unleaded gasoline, diesel. 11 oz; www.msrcorp.com

VonZipper Rhombus – Sunglasses: Reviews

Why They’re CoolWear these street shades to look like a player and/or to play; the design is surprisingly apt for light sport. » The view is sharp and unobstructed through the big rhomboid (hence the name) poly lenses, which have a striking two-tone tint. The upper half of each lens is a darkish, color-neutral gray, shifting to orange down low. This scheme blocks harsh light from its major source—the sky—while amping up depth at ground level. » Slick nylon and a lack of sticky patches notwithstanding, the grip from the springy frames and temples is solid enough for rec-level action—say, jogging or bike riding or general-purpose scoping.

Hmmm . . .The uptight won’t want to look so louche. » Sport these for low-impact action only.

RX-ABLE?Not a chance, sweetheart.

Gordini Warrior – Gloves: Reviews

Simple, warm, and sturdy. The mostly leather Warrior has a drawstring at the wrist that keeps the snow out.

BonusGordini processes the leather without using toxic heavy metals.

Rab Women’s Atlas 750 – Sleeping Bags: Reviews

With more than a pound and a half of 610-fill down evenly distributed in arced baffles, this bag has serious loft and feels like a feather bed. And it’s equally toasty: The external draft collar is plush, while the articulated foot area allows ample wiggle room to warm up your digits. 10^°F, 3.7 lbs; rab.uk.com

CamelBak Omega HydroTanium Reservoir – Hydration Systems Reviews

The Omega HydroTanium Reservoir comes in six sizes, and is so tough that as of last year it comes with a lifetime guarantee. 35–100 ounces; camelbak.com

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Eddie Bauer First Ascent Mountain Guide Jacket – Lightweight Jackets: Reviews

Lightweight Shell

We were skeptical, but Eddie Bauer’s new technical apparel is legit. This water-resistant, quick-drying shell is lightweight but still roomy enough to layer underneath.

MSR Sweetwater Purifier System – Water Treatment (Filters & Purifiers): Reviews

For sheer pumpability, the SweetWater is our favorite filter. It moves the wet stuff smoothly, with heaps of mechanical advantage. A clever adapter fits the 11-ounce filter directly to Nalgene and Platypus bottles and bladders. The SweetWater pump is not strictly a purifier, but it stakes a claim in that direction because it’s packaged with a bottle of chlorine dioxide drops, hence “system.”

Patagonia Ultralight Down Shirt

Made from ripstop nylon with a water-repellant finish and stuffed with 800-fill goose down, Patagonia’s five-ounce (yes, five-ounce) Ultralight Down Shirt will keep you toasty on summer nights. Plus: it squashes down to the size of a Nerf football in its stuffsack.

ASICS Gel-1140 – Running Shoes: Reviews

Moderate Stability
The Gel-1140 gives you 90 percent of the performance of ASICS’s top-shelf shoes for about two-thirds the price, and our testers found this bargain just too good to pass up. The Gel-1140’s ample heel cushioning and substantial medial post stood up under heavy mileage. Yet it still felt snappy during tempo efforts, making it one of our most versatile picks this year. “It’s one of the few shoes I would consider using for just about anything,” said one tester. All this in less than 12 ounces—how do you say bravo in Japanese? 11.8 oz;

Patagonia Footwear Maha Breathe Shoes – Urban Wear: Reviews

Breathable mesh makes these ballet flats as airy as flip-flops, while an anatomical EVA footbed gives you enough support for a day’s worth of post-yoga adventures.

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LIGHT AND VERSATILE

Consider the Talon an experiment in reduction: Every detail has been whittled down to bare essentials, making it a great warm-weather ultralight. But it's no one-trick pony. Thanks to a stiff aluminum/composite suspension, smart external lashing options, and a large stretch-woven shove-it pocket, one tester was able to overload it for two nights of winter camping in the Tetons. “My friends laughed,” he says, “but it swallowed a zero-degree bag, layers, down booties, cooking gear, food, fuel, and thermos.” And after he off-loaded the extra gear, the Talon “felt compact and stable while ski touring.” 2.7 lbs, 2,600 cu in; ospreypacks.com

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Bonus: The large hipbelt pockets are the best we've seen—big enough for a digital camera, snacks, and more.

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Bummer: Buckles are a bit flimsy; we broke one on a smaller-volume Talon (it comes in four sizes, but only the 44 has a rigid frame).

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This pack manages what politicians can only aspire to: It really is all things to all people. Numerous testers praised the AT 55 for apparently conflicting benefits, but they were all correct. It carries comfortably even when overpacked for a long weekend yet is compact and light enough to deploy as a catch-all daypack; it boasts a simple design yet an abundance of features. The stiff frame is complemented by a perfectly padded hipbelt, which wraps snugly for a no-slip fit and rotates slightly to match your stride. Only a suitcase has easier packing: A panel zip accesses the AT 55’s main compartment; four stretchy sleeves hold water bottles, layers, and fuel; and hipbelt pockets stow snacks and sunscreen. 4.1 lbs, 2,838 cu in; www.mountainsmith.com

Bonus: A white internal coating makes it easier to fish through contents in low light.

Bummer: Mesh on the hipbelt shredded easily.

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BEST FOR HOT WEATHER

Beat sweaty-back syndrome with the Z 55's ventilated suspension. The frame's concave shape creates a pocket of cooling air between your back and the pack. Most impressive: There's zero drop-off in load support. The perforated framesheet efficiently transfers weight to a perfectly sculpted hipbelt, and a no-slip lumbar pad keeps the load locked in place. It's ideal for a weekend trek but can handle a fair-weather week (about 40 pounds) as well. 3.4 lbs, 3,350 cu in; gregorypacks.com

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Bonus: Stash snacks and sunscreen in the two large hipbelt pockets, and access the main compartment through a sneak-zipper on the side.

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Bummer: The large shove-it pocket absorbs plenty of overflow, but there are no dividers for the side pockets—items can migrate around.

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The company that helped bring ounce counters out of the closet has struck a sweet balance between low weight and high value with the Intuition. The key is matching the stiff suspension—a polystyrene framesheet and aluminum dowels—to a lightly padded hipbelt and shoulder straps, providing all-day comfort with a 30-pound load. The pack’s durability and features are also a smart compromise: The fabric shaves weight without crossing the line into the tissue-thin zone, and panel and lid pockets rescue it from grocery-sack organization. 2.8 lbs, 3,300 cu in; www.golite.com

Bonus: With pack on, I could reach the full-size water-bottle pockets without dislocating a shoulder.

Bummer: Those mesh water-bottle pockets will be the first thing to surrender when ultralight meets ultra-rough.

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