No matter where we hike, how long we go for, how (or whether) we train, or how much or little weight we carry, there’s one thing all hikers need: strong legs. On the trail, legs help you keep up the pace, , and maintain your balance on everything from uneven treadpath to tricky creek crossings. Ensuring yours are ready for your next adventure could be the difference between having a fulfilling trip and spending more time thinking about your aches and pains than the scenery.

Need a primer on the science of stems? We’ve collected some of our best writing on it, plus a couple of personal trainer-backed exercises to help you get yours ready to tear up the trail come spring.

The problem with “hiking your way into shape”: Those first couple of trips aren’t much fun. If you’re looking to maximize your trail time, then doing some pre-hike training is one of the best investments of your time that you can make. We’ve collected six of our favorite leg workouts—including an off-the-couch conditioning plan, plus workouts for steeps, endurance, and overnight trips—in one convenient place so you can find the routine that works for you whether you’re starting from zero or trying to take your fitness to the next level.

Of course, getting strong is only half the battle: Leg injuries are an ever-present hazard for hikers, ranging from minor inconveniences like sore feet or quads to season-ending injuries like ACL tears. Learn the anatomy behind your leg pain and get mobility exercises to help you prevent and deal with it in this expert-written primer.

If you mostly spend the colder months on other pursuits, hitting the trail in spring can be a shock to your hammies. These workhorse muscles keep your knees aligned and stable, especially on downhills and uneven terrain, and play a key role in helping to support your pack weight. This three-exercise, three-times-a-week routine is designed to work your hamstrings into shape over six to eight weeks, allowing you to feel more confident tackling your first big trips of the season.

You’ve probably heard the term “trail legs” before; for those of you who aren’t up on your long trail lingo, it’s the state thru-hikers reach where their muscles handle the daily stress of of the trail well enough that they’re able to keep going day after day. Turns out there’s some pretty serious science behind why it happens. In this piece, fitness columnist, personal trainer, and physical therapist assistant Lee Welton went long on how your body adapts when you hike dozens of miles day after day, and whether it’s possible to keep your trail legs after the hike is over. (Spoiler alert: It’s not.)

3 Leg Exercises Every Hiker Should Know

Kickstart your fitness routine with these exercises from ‘s Six Weeks to Trail Fit class, taught by coach and guide Jason Antin

Leg Blasters

Combining several different exercises into one, this circuit is a great base to build your leg conditioning routine around.

Goblet Squats

These modified squats are easy to do with any heavy object from a kettlebell to a dumbbell to a weighted pack.

Walking Lunges

Trail your glutes, hamstrings, and more with this exercise—no weight necessary.

The post Strong Legs Are a Hiker’s Secret Weapon. Here’s How to Get Them. appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Editor’s Note: We first published this story in January 2019 in the wake of the Camp Fire, the deadliest in California history. With the Palisades, Sunset, and Eaton Fires now raging across the Los Angeles area—and discussion about the role that U.S. forest policy might have played in creating the conditions for them following in their wake—we feel it’s as relevant as ever.

Fire ecologist Chad Hanson is standing knee-deep in downed trees and charred stumps when he spots what he’s been searching for: a pine sapling. He’s spent this sunny September day touring the burn scar left from the 2011 Las Conchas Fire, when a conflagration roared through northern New Mexico, torching 43,000 acres in a single night.

After that apocalypse, who would expect a pine forest to come back? Hanson does, and all day, he’s braved the thorny limbs of locusts and meandered among aspens just tinged with yellow to find it.

Hanson, who holds a Ph.D. in ecology from the University of California and co-authored the book , has built his career around fighting the notion that intense wildfires are wholly devastating. He argues they play a vital ecological role that starts with beetles and woodpeckers and spreads throughout the food web, and that when forest managers try to substitute fires with logging, they do real and lasting harm to the environment.

In the wake of 2018’s devastating wildfires, the upper echelons of the Trump administration have called for increased timber harvesting as a remedy. In public statements, the president blamed California’s deadly fire season, in which nearly 100 people lost their lives, on rivers being “diverted” to the Pacific Ocean and poor forest management.

In rebuttal, the California Department of Forest and Fire Protection’s Scott McClean told the Los Angeles Times there’s no shortage of water, adding, “The problem is changing climate leading to more severe and destructive fires.”

Like the president, former Interior Secretary Ryan Zinke blamed environmental activists for wildfires’ increased intensity.

“Every year we watch our forests burn, and every year there is a call for action,” last August. “Yet, when action comes, and we try to thin forests of dead and dying timber, or we try to sustainably harvest timber from dense and fire-prone areas, we are attacked with frivolous litigation from radical environmentalists who would rather see forests and communities burn than see a logger in the woods.”

But Hanson and other fire ecologists caution that the administration has it backwards: More logging can actually make wildfires burn hotter and faster. Instead, they say, it’s well-placed, smart management that will reduce the impacts to communities from wildfires—and unchecked logging is neither.

To understand scientists’ objections, there are a few important facts you need to know about last fall’s blazes in California.

“Most of what burned wasn’t forest,” says Matthew Hurteau, a professor at the University of New Mexico who studies forests, fires and climate adaptation. Instead, the fires burned mostly grass and shrubby chaparral. That’s been the case in several of the state’s most damaging fires: the Woolsey and Camp in 2018, Thomas and Tubbs in 2017, and even back to the Cedar Fire in 2003.

Creating varying tree densities and providing anchor points for wildland firefighters could reduce wildfire risks, as could prescribed burns, Hurteau says. But, he adds, “logging operations can actually increase the rate of speed at which fire moves across an area, depending on how the logging operation is conducted.”

Opening the canopy dries out the forest floor and increases wind speeds, both of which accelerate fire. Logging can also leave behind more combustible species like cheatgrass, an opportunistic invasive that thrives in disturbed areas and is near-impossible to eradicate. There’s also the simple fact that much of the densest forest is on terrain so steep that loggers’ machines couldn’t even access it.

“The idea that we’re going to mechanically thin our way out of the high-severity fire risk that we face on the west slope of the High Sierra is uninformed,” Hurteau says. “I don’t know any federal land managers—like the actual people working on national forests—who argue that timber extraction is really the way to modify the way fire interacts with the forest.”

Developing and implementing wildfire mitigation strategies is a challenge in and of itself. Each treatment program is designed for a purpose and with certain conditions in mind, says Chad Hoffman, associate professor of fire science at . Forest managers have to think about everything from funding to topography to social tolerance in surrounding areas.

“All treatments have some conditions in which they’re just not going to work the way we think,” he says. “When I explain this to students, I say it’s like the seatbelts in my car are not the same ones we use in NASCAR.”

Thinning and burning projects have a top limit on their effectiveness. If the forest is particularly dry or the wind particularly high, a wildfire could still run right over that preventive work. And while logging sometimes gets conflated with fuels treatment projects, Hoffman adds, they have very different goals. If logging efforts are leaving piles of “slash”—downed trees, limbs and other brush—or cutting all the big, market-ready trees and sparing only the little ones that are less likely to survive a conflagration, they’re not actually reducing the severity of wildfire.

“Sometimes those objectives do align with mitigation, but sometimes they don’t,” he says. “This really comes down to being purposeful and understanding the local scenario, and being clear with what those objectives are and what we believe we’re accomplishing.”

There’s also a question of basic math: The Forest Service alone manages 193 million acres; In any given year, thinning and burning projects reach less than 2 percent of that. And that doesn’t include additional lands overseen by the National Park Service or Bureau of Land Management.

Some research has suggested that, given the scale of the area with the potential to burn in a wildfire and our inability to actively manage every square mile, there are ways of assessing highest priority areas.

“If we could treat 20 percent and it’s the right 20 percent, that’s almost as good as treating much more of the landscape,” Hoffman says.

Hanson suggests concentrating thinning projects and prescribed burns around communities.“Any effort to focus more attention, more resources, more activity, more funding on forests distant from homes is going to divert finite resources away from true home protection,” he says.

Protecting communities also means building homes and businesses with fire-resistance in mind, using materials like metal rooftops and cement composite siding. Often, homes are lost to embers ahead of “the flaming front” by up to 10 miles, Hurteau says. Once one house starts—with a spark that catches on dry leaves in a rain gutter or drifts into an attic through a vent—the fire spreads house to house.

There’s also a need for improved warning systems to give people earlier notice to evacuate and more assistance with getting out of their homes. By most accounts, many residents of Paradise, California, were signaled to leave only by neighbors honking car horns and yelling.

One of the most pernicious factors in last year’s wildfire season is the one that the federal government has tried the hardest to ignore. In the midst of climate change, some of the worst-hit parts of California had seen barely any rain for months prior to the biggest blazes.

“When fire weather is high and extreme, the weather is going to be, overwhelmingly, the factor that drives how fast the fire spreads, not the type of vegetation or how dense it is,” says Hanson. In fact, an analysis of 1,500 wildfires over three decades that he coauthored found the forests with the least environmental protections and the most logging burned most intensely, all other factors being equal.

As tough as it may be for hikers and homeowners to accept, some forests might simply have to burn. Doing so would naturally reset the density of foliage and improve ecosystems’ overall health

“I don’t think there’s any way that we cut our way out of wildfires,” Hurteau says. “These are flammable landscapes. A lot of the species evolved with fire as a disturbance process, and we’ve been intervening in that with fire suppression for a long time. It’s critical that we actually begin to restore fire to these ecosystems in an ecologically appropriate manner.”

The Forest Service seems to be taking this science into account. During a conference on wildfire in May, Victoria Christiansen, the Forest Service’s interim chief and a career forester and firefighter, pointed to fuel buildup, drought, and climate change as drivers behind worsening fires. But the most significant component, she said, is the 120 million people who currently live in the wildland-urban interface—the area most at risk of wildfire. Protecting those residences and businesses has driven up fire suppression costs to the point that they currently consume more than half the agency’s budget..

The US fire season is now year-round, and fires are burning at greater frequency, size and severity than they did half a century ago, Christiansen added. Twenty years ago, it was rare to see a wildfire grow to more than 100,000 acres. In 2017, more than 12 fires burned that much acreage.

The agency plans to respond by helping to create fire-adapted communities, Christiansen said. Prescribed fires, and even allowing unplanned wildfire to burn, will simply be part of the future.

For logging companies to be effective partners in the fight against wildfire, some may have to rethink how they do business—and pull themselves out of a slump. The last three decades have seen a sharp decline in the number of board-feet coming out of national forests—.

In response, the Forest Service is extending “stewardship contracts” from 10 to 20 years in an effort to increase the market for wood products in areas where mills are scarce. Categorical exclusions available for wildfire mitigation projects, allowing them to speed past environmental reviews, have also increased.

Finding new uses for slash piles and other leftovers will be key to creating a more sustainable industry. Products made from the “woody biomass” removed in thinning projects could include vineyard posts, animal bedding, firewood, or laminated wood used in flooring and occasionally in construction as a replacement for concrete, says Kim Carr with the National Forest Foundation, the nonprofit partner of the U.S. Forest Service.

“If we can create a market for that, then we wouldn’t have to resort to piling it and burning it, and it could start to pay its way out of the woods,” Carr says.

Large thinning projects could create enough of a supply to build small-diameter sawmills, according to Russ Vaagen, of . The Washington-based company produces cross-laminated timber and glue-laminated beams from smaller trees. “It has the opportunity to not only offset some of the cost, but make the whole process of forest restoration profitable” he says. “Most importantly, it can be done without harming the aesthetic of the overall forest if done appropriately.”

Some outdoor advocates, however, still argue that the current push for wildfire mitigation is first and foremost a smokescreen for logging interests. And the battle shows no signs of letting up: In late December, the president issued an executive order seeking to open 3.5 million acres of national forest to timber harvest.

“The need for some active management in some places as a way of addressing fire risk is a real thing,” says Louis Geltman, policy director with the , a coalition of outdoor sports groups. “But there’s also a dynamic of proponents of the timber industry and members of Congress on the right who really want to just use fire as a reason to get the cut out.”

The post Why We Can’t Log Our Way Out of Wildfires appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Calling all wildflower wanderers, leaf peepers, and winter hiking warriors: 2025 is here. And you know what that means? Another year of hiking—in every season. Some backpackers and dayhikers find that planning out their next adventure spot is almost as much fun as going on the adventure itself. No matter if you have your sights set on a long backpacking trail or a dayhike tour there’s a perfect trail (and perfect time of year) to explore.

It’s a time to dream big, manifest memories, and refine your New Year hiking resolutions. To inspire your travels, we’ve rounded up our favorite wilderness areas, tried-and-true national park hikes, and lesser-traveled trails you might not have heard of before. Here are a dozen Backpacker-approved destinations to hike in 2025.

January: Fiordland National Park, New Zealand

Swap your winter woes for summer backpacking on the in New Zealand’s iconic . The route is the country’s 11th , a collection of treks that show off the best of the best of New Zealand’s epic scenery, diverse landscapes, and cultural history. Hikers will navigate the 38-mile, three-day loop through podocarp- and fern-filled forests, all while overlooking the Southern Ocean and Stewart Island. Instead of camping, accommodations take shape in the form of two luxe lodges—the Okaka Lodge, which sits atop the highest point on the track, and the coastal Port Crag Lodge. December is prime time for viewing lupins that bloom in a variety of vibrant purples, pinks, and blues. Plus, you’ll likely have the trail to yourself as it’s yet to catch the attention of the masses. Make note: You need to in advance to hike the Hump Ridge Track.

February: Bryce Canyon National Park, Utah

Most hikers flock to Bryce Canyon National Park for warm-weather hiking in spring, summer, and fall. And there’s good reason why—prickly pear cactuses sprout fuchsia blooms in spring, warm desert nights radiate in summer, and you can soak in the sight of changing foliage sans shivering in fall. Despite its in-season perks, Bryce Canyon also boasts advantages in the off-season like snow-blanketed canyons, cascading frozen waterfalls, and much lighter foot traffic. Piece together several days of winter hiking at popular spots like the short yet stunning Mossy Cave Trail (0.8 miles) to view the frozen falls, or the Fairyland Loop (8 miles), which is as magical as it sounds. Looking for a slightly longer route? Try the Peekaboo Loop (5 miles) that shows off hundreds of the park’s signature hoodoos—thin, towering spires that rise from the desert floor. Be sure to check conditions and pack crampons for hiking the slippery canyons in winter.

March: Point Washington State Forest, Florida

Fend off chilly weather in a hidden gem of northwest Florida. Point Washington State Forest is home to an extensive network of interconnected trails like the Longleaf Pine Trail (8 miles) and Eastern Lake Trail (11 miles) that wind through serene pine flatwoods with rare biodiversity like carnivorous pitcher plants and coastal dune lakes. Fun fact: This state forest is the one of the few places in the world where you can find coastal dune lakes. Keep an eye out for rare species like the American kestrel, gopher tortoise, and the flatwoods salamander. Point Washington State Forest is also one of 500 wildlife viewing areas that make up the 2,000-mile , a point-to-point collection of trails and scenic stops across the Sunshine State.

April: Kii Peninsula, Japan

If Kyoto and Osaka are on your bucket list destinations, you’ll also want to trek around the Kii Peninsula while you visit Japan. Take a bullet train south to the foothills of the Kii Mountains to hike the thousand-year-old spiritual (80 miles). The region’s main connector trail links some of Japan’s most sacred shrines, including the notable three Kumano Grand Shrines—Kumano Hongu Taisha, Kumano Hayatama Taisha, and Kumano Nachi Taisha. April is prime time to see apple blossoms burst from their winter dormancy. Delicate blooms of white and light pink light up the Kii Peninsula region by mid-April. Don’t miss out on hike up Mount Yoshino via the Mount Yoshino Tour (3 miles) where more than 30,000 blooming apple blossom trees engulf the mountainsides in early April.

May: Santa Fe National Forest, New Mexico

Trade mud season—that yucky, transitional time between winter and spring when snow, rain, and melt create wet (and muddy) conditions—for drier trails in New Mexico this spring. By mid-May, high-desert flora such as red-flowered hedgehog cactus, white-flowered yucca, and yellow-flowered crimson columbine reach their peak. You’ll spot blooms on Tesuque Creek Trail (3.5 miles), Nambe Lake Trail (6.5 miles), and Aspen Vista Trail (8.2 miles). Keep an eye out for the native boreal owl and the transplant population of Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep that call the Pecos Wilderness home. If it’s a particularly snowy winter, head further south to the . Its southern location yields less snow than its northern counterpart. Top trails here include Argentina Canyon Trail (2.5 miles), the longer Big Bonito Trail (4.6 miles), and the even longer Rim Trail (31 miles), which is a popular point-to-point backpacking route.

June: Arc Dome Wilderness Area, Nevada

Head to the heart of Nevada’s Arc Dome Wilderness Area, a 65-mile rugged and remote spine of mountains in the southern Toiyabe Range. Take a multiday journey on the lesser-known, 60-mile  The best time to explore the Toiyabe Tail is between May and October, where you’re less likely to encounter snow. Despite its desert trail status, you’ll find plenty of natural springs to refill at along the way. Locals recommend hiking north to south to get the steepest of the trail’s inclines (the brutal 3,000-foot vertical climb from Groves Lake) out of the way. On this climb and many other spots along the route, you’re rewarded with sweeping, 100-mile-long views of the southwest’s illustrious basin and range country.

July: Bob Marshall Wilderness, Montana

Tired of dodging and weaving crowded trails in the middle of summer? Try the instead—a lesser-hiked and spectacularly remote backpacking spot in northwest Montana. By July, the snow will have melted in the Bob and Montana’s temperate climate and long, sunlight-steeped days make for ideal summer backpacking. This wilderness area is the third-largest in the lower 48 with more than 1.5 million acres of land for hikers to explore. The 72-mile Chinese Wall Trail features some of the most striking rock formations you’ll find beyond Glacier National Park. Simply put: The 1,000-foot-high and 22-mile-long limestone escarpment is unlike any rockwall you’ve ever seen. Backpackers can trek the out-and-back trail in three days or link up with the Continental Divide Trail to extend their trip further north.

August: Theodore Roosevelt National Park, North Dakota

The buttes, bluffs, and pinnacles of the North Dakota badlands make for desirable backpacking come summer. Give hiking the 144-mile Maah Daah Hey Trail through Theodore Roosevelt National Park a go in mid-to-late August—especially if you want to cherish the canyon landscape with more manageable daytime temperatures and before overnights get too chilly. Compared to the desolate, almost alien landscape of South Dakota, the North Dakota badlands are flush with vibrant vegetation: Rocky Mountain juniper woodlands, cottonwoods that thrive in the Little Missouri River basin, and sunflowers, asters, and rabbitbrush that bloom in the late summer months. As for wildlife, watch for wild horses and bison that roam free in the Theodore Roosevelt prairie lands.

September: Pisgah National Forest, North Carolina

In 2024 caused sweeping devastation in and around Asheville—including in Pisgah National Forest. But hiking in this gem of Appalachia and surround wilderness areas are back in full swing. Pisgah is a dayhiker’s paradise full of short (and long) trails to explore during every season. But September shines as a quieter time to travel here. You’ll have missed the NOBO Appalachian Trail thru-hiker traffic and snuck in before early-season foliage draws crowds. An over 60-mile-long segment of the Appalachian Trail—Spivey Gap to Hotsprings—makes a perfect bite-sized portion of the longer thru-hike that runs through the heart of Pisgah. Or you can opt for a shorter, 30-mile segment—Max Patch to Hotsprings—if you’re newer to backpacking or want time to visit Asheville as a bookend to your travels.

October: Cuyahoga Valley National Park, Ohio

Try leaf-peeping on lesser-traveled trails this fall season. Nestled in a region of Ohio that looks more like than the middle of the Midwest, transforms into autumnal paradise by mid-October. Thick forests of sugar, red, and silver maples shift to shades of yellow, red, and orange. It’s also an ideal time of year to avoid ticks and mosquitoes known to plague this region between April and September. Popular trails like Ledges Trail (2.2 miles), Blue Hen Falls Trail (3 miles), and a stunning segment of the 1,447-mile Buckeye Trail (6.7 miles) show off the glacial-carved gorges, roaring waterfalls, and striated sandstone cliffs that make up the best of Ohio’s natural world.

November: Rouge National Urban Park, Toronto

Want to get in some in 2025? Head to the on the eastern edge of Toronto. This 19,500-acre urban wilderness area hardly resembles a city park. Yet it’s one of the largest urban parks in North America. Get lost on longer dayhikes on the Northeast Trail (6.6 miles) and Central Trail (6.5 miles), or opt for the Orchard Trail (1.2 mile), a rugged apple treelined path through a remnant orchard. For the best aerial vantage point of the fall foliage, hike the Vista Trail (1 mile) and the Mast Trail (1.5 miles). These are characterized by temperate deciduous forest species such as tulip trees, oaks, and hickories.

December: Giant’s Causeway, Northern Ireland

While wet and gloomy weather looms over Ireland in winter, you’ll savor the solitude at some of the country’s most popular spots—including —in the off-season. Located on the seacoast of Northern Ireland, this UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of seven natural wonders of the United Kingdom is otherworldly. Hexagonal basalt columns shaped by cooling lava that erupted over 60 million years ago shape the dramatic coastline.

You can walk on the rocky basalt shoreline that resembles natural staircases on the sea’s edge or stand at the base of some columns that rise 330 feet up towering cliff walls. Choose your own journey along five-plus miles of well-marked trails that range from scenic clifftop walks to accessible shoreline strolls. Backpackers can opt for the longer Causeway Coast Way that connects 32 miles of coastline between Ballycastle and Portstewart, which passes Giant’s Causeway, Dunluce Castle, the Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, and Bushmills Distillery.

The post The Best Hiking Destinations for Every Month in 2025 appeared first on șÚÁÏłÔčÏÍű Online.

Author’s note: I do not mean to minimize the negative effects that actual cults have had on many people. Please take the following with the levity with which it was penned.

“I don’t know what you mean by “cult,” just because I own 3 Durston tents and am saving for another 
”

— Rob Rice, posted on the Durston Gearheads Facebook group

My inadvertent interactions with an outdoor gear “cult” began innocently enough.

For the first time in more than a decade, I was searching for a new backpack. Like many of my trail-tromping contemporaries—especially those experiencing age-related knee and lower-back issues—I opted to explore the ever-expanding list of ultralight options, which eventually led me down a rabbit hole populated by —the gear equivalent of craft breweries—most of which did not exist when I last embarked on a pack hunt.

My search eventually led to , which, according to the group itself, is dedicated to “owners and fans of Durston gear products.”

As an ultralight neophyte who rarely shops for new gear, I had never heard of Durston, but as I researched the company, one word kept coming up again and again: cult. From what I read, it seemed like people who loved Durston gear were borderline fanatical.

Even though I own no Durston gear, last April I joined Durston Gearheads and, after sitting on the sidelines observing the group‘s dialogue for a few weeks (during which time the word “cult” appeared many times, mostly in self-deprecating jest), posted this: “I would like to get some ideas from members on this whole cult thing—what it is, how it got started, how it differs from devotees of other gear brands, whatever can be thought of and articulated.”

In very short order, I received 165 answers, many of which were long, heartfelt homages to Durston gear—which consists primarily of a highly regarded line of tents, called X-Mids, and several types of ultralight packs. More than that, though, commenters frequently brought up company founder and , who regularly joins the group to answer questions about his products.

There was not so much as a hint of snark, negativity, or pushback within those comments, which, as any user of Facebook knows full well, is refreshingly unusual. Still, the level of fandom on display was, let’s say, jaw-dropping.

“I don’t feel like I’m a cult member, but I woke up one morning and suddenly realized I own not one, not two, but three Durston tents,” wrote member Rolf Gunnar Asphaug.

Another wrote that she’s invited strangers from the group over to her home to check out her Durston tent before they purchased their own: “It’s like if we were luring people into vans with puppies and candy, except once you’re in the van there’s legit puppies and candy inside,” wrote Sara Ivy.

It made me wonder if these people had already emptied their back accounts, broken off relationships with family and friends, and moved into their X-Mids in a fenced compound in western Canada, next to Durston’s humble corporate headquarters.

It is unclear who first referred to Durston fans as a cult and when. Both Dan Durston and Jon Sweet, administrator of Durston Gearheads, vaguely remember—though neither can put their finger on an exact date or circumstance—when a follower of a rival Facebook group wrote something along the lines of “wow, I see Durston referenced so often, it’s almost like they are a cult.”

Sweet said the first in-house reference was in early 2021, when the world was reeling from the pandemic.

“Given the impacts to the supply chain during the pandemic, it was sometimes eight, 12, or 14 months between releases of the next batch of Durston tents,” Sweet said. “That was when the camaraderie of the group really coalesced. Members were creating memes and posting photos of their tents in wild places all over the world. Dan was ever present. That was when the ‘cult’ term really started getting used more. ”

At the center of this dedicated following stands Dan Durston, a 2017 Pacific Crest Trail thru-hiker who was the first person to yo-yo Canada’s 700-mile . Durston, a lifelong resident of British Columbia, had spent a lot of pack-toting time thinking not about the usual thru-hiker fantasies—pizza, ice cream, beer, and a hot shower—but, rather, about gear design. (For a cult leader, Durston, who has zilch in the way of formal engineering or design background, comes across as a tad nerd-ish. Fire, brimstone and doomsday prophesies are not his MO.) Instead, as he pounded out the miles, of the equipment he and his fellow long-distance hikers carried.

A long-time ultralight devotee, Durston had personally made a few pieces of gear—a tent, a backpack and rain pants—using what he calls “first principles design”—which in a nutshell means a willingness to re-envision gear from the ground up rather than making improvements by tweaking existing designs.

In 2018, Massdrop, a San Francisco-based e-commerce company provided Durston with a complimentary set of trekking poles. At the time, Durston says, he was a “minor blogger in the hiking world who was also active on gear forums like backpackinglite.com.”

His posts caught the attention of several employees at Massdrop who had been   tasked with developing unique gear for the company’s online ultralight backpacking community. They asked Durston if had any gear concepts percolating. He pitched what to this day remains Durston’s signature product: design.

“It had never occurred to me to make products for other people,” Durston told me in June. “I had an idea for what has become our X-Mid tent. It was something I had been thinking about for years—how to make a trekking-pole tent simpler, lighter, and more user friendly.”

Durston had already decided to make his own version of the tent, but when MassDrop offered to manufacture, market and distribute his design, Durston said “hell yeah,” figuring that, at worst, he would get a free tent that was professionally produced.

The X-Mid, which features an offset trekking pole pitch that requires fewer stakes than most trekking pole shelters, got great responses, according to Durston, creating a buzz in online ultralight forums like r/Ultralight.

When MassDrop (now just named Drop) exited gear-manufacturing to focus solely on electronics, Durston decided to form his own company. He had no idea whatsoever that, within a few years, his eponymous operation would enjoy cultlike popularity, or that he would be its de facto guru.

Though Durston was heartened by the sudden success of the X-Mid, there were early-era issues that were not directly related to the pandemic. First, he had a full time “real” gig, working as a wildlife biologist, who specialized in statistical analysis for fish and water quality.

The other issue—which in a circuitous manner helped establish the Durston mythos—was product availability, or, more accurately, a lack thereof. Durston was having trouble keeping his tents—then his only offering—in stock. Each updated batch of X-Mids sold out basically before hitting the Internet shelves. Part of that stemmed from the fact that he was continuously tweaking his designs pretty much in real time, and part of it was that he was in the process of learning how to set up and run a business—choosing materials, establishing reliable sources, and remembering to put a Durston sticker in every box.

People began to talk online via Reddit and Facebook about the pants-wetting anticipation associated with waiting—sometimes for months on end—for the latest incarnation of the X-Mid to drop. What is most striking is that those people did indeed wait, rather than purchasing products from one of Durston’s many rival companies.

“Because I knew I would be tweaking my designs, I did not ever want to order, say, a two-year supply of tents just so I would not run out,” Durston told me. “So, I’d order a few months’ supply, listen to input from customers, and take that into consideration before I ordered the next batch.”

That willingness to not only listen but to react accordingly did a lot to solidify the loyalty of his fan base. Dan Durston’s reputation as a human being began to match or even exceed the reputation of his products, which were selling well.

Then, in 2020, a case of brand-building fortuity dropped directly into Dan Durston’s lap: Jon Sweet, who, to this day, has no formal affiliation with Durston, the company, or Durston, the man. Sweet is nothing more than a diehard fan of Dan Durston and the gear he makes who, one day asked, via email, if there was anything he could do to help Durston grow and prosper.

Sweet is a Bay-area resident who has worked for more than 20 years as a product manager (currently for a financial services outfit called Empower), a vocation he describes as “overseeing what we’re doing, when and why.”

He first became aware of the X-Mid when it was still being sold via MassDrop.

“I was instantly intrigued,” he said. “The design was revolutionary. I began to investigate the company and Durston himself. I was very impressed by both. Dan came across as a very humble guy who was passionate about his tents.”

Sweet, an avid runner who has completed the , ordered an X-Mid.

“The last time I was that enthusiastic about a new product was when Apple came out with the iPod,” said Sweet, who admits to owning three X-Mids, which I’m certain remain permanently erected in his man cave. “At the time the iPod was released, it was underappreciated how far ahead Apple was compared to the other companies. It was sort of the same when I got my first X-Mid.” So, he contacted Durston.

“We talked a lot about gear and future opportunities and, at the end of the conversation, I offered to help him with some small things like materials procurement,” Sweet said. It was then that Sweet posed the idea of launching the Durston Gearheads Facebook group, which he did in October 2020. Neither he nor Durston expected much. Sweet figured that, if he got a few hundred followers, “that would be great.”

“I got Dan to sign up, so he could add his voice, which was important,” Sweet said. “I would do most of the early posts. I tried to be witty and funny, but also helpful and encouraging. More people started signing up and posting.”

As evidenced by the request I made to its membership last April, Durston Gearheads are engaged. They respond, whether a post is about how to correctly pitch an X-Mid atop a wooden campground platform or nothing more than showing off a set of photos of a Durston tent or pack being deployed in Tasmania or the Scottish Highlands.

The responses are overwhelmingly supportive. I have combed through hundreds of Durston Gearheads posts and have seen nary a syllable that can be interpreted less positively than “Though we might occasionally disagree on proper tent guyline tension, we are all part of this cult thing.”

As of the time of publication, Durston Gearheads has nearly 14,000 subscribers, which, according to Sweet, is probably the most for any third-party group focused on a single craft/cottage outdoor gear company. (I have not been able to independently verify this.)

Sweet said he hunted down two two-month periods when Durston Gearheads had more posts than the Ultralight Backpacking group. Even if that’s a case of statistical cherry-picking, it’s still impressive.

I recently eyeballed the official Facebook group for a company that would surely be considered a direct competitor to Durston. That group has 32,000 followers. Almost all the content comes from the company itself, which makes a few posts per week, most of which are heavy with polish but short on stoke. As far as engagement, the last five posts appearing on that company’s Facebook page had only three comments. The last five posts I observed on the Durston Gearheads page garnered 247 comments, many of which were themselves responses to previous responses. It was like being part of a rambling discourse taking place in a trailside watering hole among people wearing tattered garments and battered footwear.

The dedication of the Durston Gearheads has been institutionalized by two collateral icons: the color “sage” and sometimes-elusive Durston stickers. Both are to Durston’s fans what rubber duckies are to Jeep owners or friendship bracelets are to Swifties.

According to Durston, when his first batch of X-Mids was ready to be produced, the manufacturing company told him his color choices were limited to red, blue, or sage. He thought the first two colors looked awful, so, by default, he chose sage, which has become the official color of the Durston community, with followers making frequent online reference to sage, while posting images of themselves wearing sage-colored clothes or holding sage-colored bric-a-brac.

The second icon is the Durston sticker. In the world of outdoor gear, where company stickers are handed out by the bucketful and crowd vehicles, trailhead bulletin boards, and Nalgene bottles, having a sticker would hardly seem like a cult-worthy factor. But the Durston Gearheads have turned the stickers into their equivalent of gang tattoos. Not everyone qualifies. You must purchase a Durston product. And, even then, hope for the best.

“We’re still a small company with only a couple of employees, mostly family members,” Durston told me. “We sometimes forget to include stickers in our boxes when we ship products. So people started joking about how only a select few of our customers were worthy of the stickers. They became sought-after items. People have jokingly offered them for sale on eBay.”

“One of our Facebook group members posted that, if you buy a sticker, you would get a free tent,” Sweet said. “It really snowballed.”

This is the kind of thing that companies pay good money to consultants to create, usually artificially. It is brand loyalty that can’t be bought.

A common Durston Gearhead post theme centers around what happens when one member of the cult runs into another in the wild, an event that’s becoming more common as the company’s products proliferate across the Pacific Crest and Appalachian trails.

Those posts depict scenes such as this: One Durston tent owner sees another X-Mid pitched on a far ridge and runs full throttle through a snake-infested bog to exchange a secret handshake with a fellow Durstonite. There are often photos of Durston customers congregating in backcountry settings for no other reason than they all bed down in tents colored sage.

To underscore that observation, here’s a recent quote from the Durston Gearheads Facebook page, made by an avowed cultist named Carmen Hays Brown:

In a recent post there was someone who said we should have a phrase we call out to be able to talk to other X-Mid users, My husband and I came up with this while on trail last night:

“May the Sage bless your hike” 

And the proper response is:

“Long Live the Durston!” 

I am not a member of the Durston cult. I own no Durston gear, which now includes eight varieties of tents, three backpacks, trekking poles, and some ancillary offerings. I have only ever laid eyes on Durston products a handful of times. I personally do not bleed sage.

That said, I am a big fan of the Durston Gearheads Facebook group and eyeball it on a near-daily basis: because it is fun, witty, informative, supportive, passionate, and it takes me to places I otherwise would not go. It’s not just someone trying to sell you a tent or backpack, though that is certainly a big part of it. Sweet said as much when he offered to help Dan Durston grow and prosper. And that’s OK.

Durston Gearheads reminds me, in a social-media world thick with every conceivable manner of vitriol and divisiveness, that while our choices in gear are an important part of the overall hiking experience, they are only a small component of the equation in the end. We are all members of a larger cult, one defined by a shared urge to throw upon our back a pack that is sometimes too heavy and sometimes too light and head as far as our legs will carry us into the backcountry. And whether that pack is made by Durston or someone else, it’s an opportunity for connection, a way for kindred spirits to recognize one another on the trail and say, “You are not alone.”

By the way, I guess I should point out that I have yet to decide on a new ultralight backpack.

John Fayhee has been writing for Backpacker since 1986. His latest book, “A Long Tangent: Musings by an old man & his young dog hiking every day for a year,” was released last September by Mimbres Press. He lives in New Mexico’s Gila Country.

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Now, as the leaves fall and winter looms, is a great time dial in your home gym. Spend your addressing any aches, pains, or muscle imbalances, so you can hit the trails stronger this spring. Working out at home offers loads of flexibility, and it doesn’t have to break the bank. Here are three exercises and three home gym equipment additions I’d add into a workout routine.

Adjustable step

The adjustable step is a highly versatile piece of gym equipment for hikers. Adjustable steps are usually between 3 to 4 inches on the lowest height and each additional riser adds 2 to 4 inches depending on the model. With the lower height, you can focus on form and movement control. As you get stronger, add risers to increase the range of motion and difficulty level. This will maximize your workout efforts and help reduce risk of injury on lots of different types of terrains and on-trail obstacles. One of my favorite exercises for hikers is the lateral step-down.

Lateral Step-downs

The lateral step-down will do wonders for your knee health by strengthening the hip and quad muscles. In addition, this movement can help reduce downhill hiking knee pain.

For hikers, start this exercise with three sets of 10 to 15 repetitions at the lowest step height. If you can maintain good form and control—meaning your knee stays in line with your second toe and doesn’t move inward—then you are ready to increase the step height. Add a riser, repeat sets and reps until proficient, then progress to add another riser. If you experience any knee pain during this exercise, try a lower step height.

1. Start by standing with your left foot on a step. Bending your left knee, slowly lower the right foot toward the floor and tap your heel. Try not to reach for the floor with your right foot; instead, lower yourself only with the left leg.
2. Press through the left foot to return to the start position. Slow and controlled is the key here; fast reps won’t do you any good. Aim for a three-second lower. Do 10 to 15 repetitions, then switch legs.

Try to keep your hips level during this exercise. Imagine two flashlights on the front of your hips, one on each side. As you raise and lower, you want the flashlights to shine straight forward during the exercise. By keeping your hips level, you will engage your side hip muscles, which are essential for healthy knees.

Adjustable Weights

Arguably one of the most versatile additions to any home gym would be a set of adjustable dumbbells. There are numerous brands available that allow for weight ranges from 5 to 90 pounds, and they don’t take up as much space as non-adjustable dumbbells.

There are no shortages for exercise options using dumbbells. There are lots of variations of squats, deadlifts, carries, presses, rows, and lunges to help you get stronger for both hiking and life demands.

Goblet Squats

Goblet squats are friendly for beginners and advanced gym-goers alike, and they offer many benefits for all skill levels, especially strengthening muscles in the torso, improving posture.

The goblet squat offers a slight variation on the traditional squat. Keeping your feet about shoulder width apart, grab a weight and hold it close to your chest as you perform a squat. Use a weight that allows you to complete the reps with good control. As you squat, keep your core engaged as you unlock your knees, bringing your rear toward the floor.

Maintaining an upright torso and engaged core, squeeze your glutes to return to standing. Avoid letting the knees move inward during the squat throughout the movement. By keeping the weight close to your chest, you engage more muscles in the mid-back and core, which will help you carry a loaded backpack on the trail.

Begin with three sets of 15. If you can complete the reps with ease, increase the weight until you find the last two to three reps more challenging.

Suspension Trainer

A suspension trainer or similar brand is another valuable piece of home gym equipment. There are so many benefits to suspension trainers: They’re portable, making them great for travel, and they’re quite versatile. Suspension trainers generally come with a door attachment that allows you to anchor the trainer in any room of the house.

With the suspension trainer in place, you can perform a variety of squats, lunges, rows, and presses. There are also a number of great core exercises you can add in such as fall-outs and plank variations. One of my favorite exercises for hikers are reverse lunges. Suspension trainer lunges are the same as a standard reverse lunge but your arms can now take some of the load as you descend and rise. With help from the arms, you’re putting less . Using the suspension trainer to modify the reverse lunge, hikers with ache-prone knees can build strength without adding too much pressure to the joint.

Reverse Lunge

, hold the suspension trainer straps so they are taut in front of you, keep your core tight and take a big step backward, lowering your hips to bring your back knee toward the floor. Keep your back knee directly below the hip in the bottom position of the lunge. Make sure your front knee stays stacked over your ankle during the lunge—it shouldn’t push forward.

Return to standing by squeezing the glute on your front leg while pressing through the front foot. Avoid leaning forward as you do so; keep your torso upright, your core engaged, and the suspension trainer straps taut the whole time.

Perform a set of 10 on each leg before switching to the other leg. Repeat three times.

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Violet “Nena” Kelty was born in 1922. It was the end of World War I. Something called “jazz” was playing its first few notes. Americans debated whether to teach Charles Darwin’s theory of natural selection in schools. Over the next century, Nena, along with her husband helped shape a revolution in backpacking gear and had a pretty wild ride along the way. We sat down with Nena Kelty to look back at biggest moments of her life.

As told to Kelly Bastone

I knew nothing about backpacking [as a child.] I was born in England, and not a lot of people were doing that kind of hiking there. But I was very athletic, and . England had so many outdoor swimming pools. When I was 16, I saw that a water show wanted girl dancers who could swim well. And I thought, that’s me! Without telling anybody, I went into London from Wimbledon, where we lived, for the audition. We performed at outdoor swimming pools, and whenever they had a little pause in the show or an interlude, I’d do a solo dance for distraction.

During [World War II], dad said, I’m going to form an act. I was 16. My brother was 15. I could dance and play the piano. Uncle could play the guitar. He figured out a 15-minute act with my brother and me. We worked continuously through the war, with ENSO—the Entertainment National Services Organization. Until one month, when Germany was getting very close to where we were on the border with Belgium, we tried to get across the [English] Channel but couldn’t because everyone was too busy getting ready for Germany. We found a fisherman and got in his boat.

During the war, Dick was stationed in Blackpool, which had a huge theater with a cinema, restaurant, ballroom—everything under one roof. We had a [performing] contract there, and my parents had rented a house. Dick was the liaison between the Lockheed [Martin] base in Ireland and Wharton RAF base in Blackpool. I was sharing a dressing room with three girl dancers, and to get out of their way, I would and a cup of tea. One night an American asked me if I could do him a favor. He said, “I met this very nice girl in the show named Margot. Could you take a note to her?” I said sure. That’s how I met Dick.

We got to know each other, and one day, he asked me out for a rum coke—hat was the new drink. He was good-looking and very friendly. He came [to the show] one night and I got on the stage and there he is in the front row! We stayed in touch by writing letters.

After the war, and after working for Lockheed in Ireland, he moved back to California. We got married [in 1946] and Dick built our house. But he was longing to go up into the Sierra. Dick was an avid backpacker ever since he was a little boy.

He found an old Boy Scout backpack and took it for a hike and was absolutely miserable with the quality of the backpack. A lot of people back then had Boy Scout gear, and it was very uncomfortable. Backpacks actually had wooden frames. But at Lockheed, he was exposed to lightweight materials, such as aluminum and nylon, which were new. I had a sewing machine. So both of us, in our spare time, set about making a backpack.

Dick was a very good designer. Everything we saw, he’d see how it could be better. He had a good brain for problem-solving. Dick was working as a carpenter, and he was gone all day. But I could see the improvements he was making, and he needed help. I learned to sew in elementary school, so I helped. But I think my encouragement was just as important as anything else.

We learned that you couldn’t just cut nylon with scissors, or it would fray. You had to cut it with a hot knife so it would seal itself. Dick visited factories that made things using nylon fabric, which nobody knew too much about, to find out what the problems were.

We also needed someone to weld aluminum frames. Aluminum is not like other metals; it takes a special technique. Dick knew a man who worked for Lockheed and he would come and weld the frames in the garage.

Finally, we had made a model in each size, Small, Medium and Large. One day, I got a call from a doctor in Pasadena who had read an article that the Sierra Club had written about our packs. He came and bought all three, and when Dick got home and found out that I had sold our whole inventory, there was shock on his face. He was in awe that somebody liked these packs.

It was a very personal business. Some of [our customers] came to our house to try the packs on. Dick’s old school friends were into backpacking too, and they were more than eager to wear his packs and tell him what they didn’t like. That’s how we changed the weight from the shoulders to the waist: [One of Dick’s friends] wore our pack and said, “My shoulders were killing me until I stuck the pack [frame ends] into my back pocket and I didn’t feel the weight. It was a miracle!” Dick thought, we could put a belt on the backpack.

I had three children at that time, so I wasn’t able to go backpacking at first. But later I went with Dick. I was always athletic, and I enjoyed it. Around that same time, food became easier to take on a backpacking trip: Suddenly there was dried food that had not been available before.

Soon we needed more than one person at the sewing machine. We moved into a proper factory, on Victory Boulevard in Glendale. Dick no longer needed me, because all I was doing was sewing. That’s when I started to step away from the business, and it just got bigger and bigger.

I don’t know how the word got out. Dick never wanted to advertise, but the Sierra Club really liked our packs and wrote glowing articles. Movie stars were wearing our packs, and firemen.

Dick did not enjoy the constant responsibility of everything. He knew that he didn’t want to be a big businessman. He really was a very good designer; he had that eye that knew what an item needed. But he was no Henry Ford. [Kelty sold the business in 1972. Today, Dick and Nena both have Kelty backpacks named after them.]

Backpacking was a very central part of our lives. Richard [Kelty, the couple’s oldest child] loves to go. And we all go every September, and spend a few days together as a family, in memory of their dad [Dick died in 2004]. His ashes were scattered outside of Yosemite. Many of our equipment testers hiked the Pacific Crest Trail, and they were so grateful to Dick for making this pack, because there wasn’t anything like it on the market.

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Last week, California charter school teacher Elaine Salmon left her classroom for a few minutes to make some copies. When she returned, there was a pupil behind one of the desks that she hadn’t counted on: A young black bear. Worse, the bear had located the kids’ earthquake crisis kits, which contained snacks. When Salmon discovered the bear, it was midway through one of the emergency granola bars.

Salmon quickly called her husband, Ian Sawrey, who happens to be a bear removal expert. (The charter school is located in Pine Mountain Club, a rural part of the state north of Los Angeles where bear encounters are common.) Sawrey was able to escort the bear out of the building without issue. No one—including the bear—was harmed in the incident.

Over the last year, Sawrey has responded to hundreds of bear-related incidents and break-ins, he told news outlet . In some cases, the bears have broken into homes in broad daylight while the occupants were home. Some of these nuisance bears are so desensitized that they don’t respond to shouting, loud noises, or any other common bear-deterrent methods. Some bears are even repeat offenders. In Lake Tahoe California, one bear, dubbed for his rotund figure and 500-pound frame, was linked to nearly two-dozen break-ins. In Lake Tahoe, Pine Mountain Club, and other mountain towns, residents have gone so far as to lock doors and windows, carry airhorns, and place alarms and spiked bear “unwelcome mats” near entryways to help .

“Yes, we do live with nature. Yes, we do live with bears, but the bears have crossed a line,” Sawrey told KGET.

However, it’s likely that the bears aren’t consciously aware of such lines. Instead, they’ve become trained over months or years of experience to (After all, it’s much more energy-efficient to obtain a meal by eating some trash than wandering for miles in search of a berry patch or carcass). Over time, these bears have also been trained to associate human beings with minor nuisance—not real danger—which is why they learn to ignore noises and waving arms.

The result is dangerous for humans. It’s also dangerous for bears. Bears who get into trash sometimes ingest non-food items, which can result in intestinal blockages. In severe cases, such blockages can cause a bear to . The other issue is that just one good trash meal (or, say, delicious emergency granola bar) is enough for a bear to begin associating human homes with food rewards. If the bear becomes overly habituated, it has to be euthanized.

If you live in bear country, Kara Van Hoose, public information officer for Colorado Parks and Wildlife, recommends doing as the residents of Pine Mountain Club are: Making town as inhospitable for bears as possible.

“Bears are really resourceful and know how to open cars. They can open doors into your home. The best way to keep them out is to keep those doors locked,” she told ”țČ賊°ì±èČ賊°ì±đ°ùÌęin a recent interview about bear safety. She also recommends carrying bear spray, even if you’re in your own yard, if you live in the heart of bear country. That sends a strong physical message that bears aren’t welcome.

“We want bears to stay wild,” Van Hoose says. The secret, she emphasizes, is constant vigilance. “When you leave out bird feeders or your trash, you’re contributing to the habituation of that bear, and when bears become comfortable around humans, that leads to conflicts.”

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Fifteen years ago, ultralight hiking gear was truly edgy. Every cottage brand had a 12-ounce silnylon pack. Half-length pads and body mapped designs were a compromise between full-on misery and smart packing. (or better yet, ) instantly marked you as a hardcore ounce-cutter. Critically, these experimental kits allowed thru-hikers astonishingly low baseweights.

. Ultralight hiking gear is still at the bleeding edge of the industry, featuring fancy new fabrics, bold innovations, and plenty of carbon and titanium bling. For the most part, it’s more durable, easier to use, and more comfortable. But is it actually lighter?

Those silnylon packs, so popular in the early 2000s with brands like Gossamer Gear, Six Moon Designs, and Mountain Laurel Designs, have been wholly replaced by heavier, more durable fabrics like (though a few products like are keeping the tradition alive). Minimalist pads are a rarity these days, with Therm-a-Rest cutting production of its lightest inflatable pad, the Uberlite. (Dedicated tinkerers sometimes cut and resealed the 8.8-ounce pad to save further weight.) The brand’s NeoAir Xlite weighs 4 ounces more, but is far more durable and warm enough for fall backpacking. Ultralighters have spent decades slowly boiling water with , but the best “light-enough” canister stoves now perform so well that methenamine cubes are little more than a sideshow.

Does that mean we’ve moved beyond the uberlight experiment? I think so. The industry has shifted in a way that mirrors the average ultralight hiker’s own experience dialing in their kit. I know my own experiments with gear followed a similar path. When I first decided to “go ultralight,” I focused on a 10-pound baseweight as an easy-to-track goal. Once I achieved that, I set my sights lower. Could I swap out a lighter sleeping bag? Yes, but some nights I would get too cold. A lighter pack? Sure, but it wasn’t as comfortable. A lighter pad? No—I slept terribly. After a few years of trial and error, I had cut weight in a few places and added it back in others, and ended up roughly where I started. For me, more experience didn’t mean a lighter kit, after all.

Writ large, we’ve all cast our votes for what is worth going ultralight for, and it turns out many of us have the same preferences. For most of us, it’s not silnylon packs. It’s not sleeping pads with cutouts to save weight. It’s not rain gear that can unfold into a tarp.

With the ultralight industry more competitive than ever, it seems like fewer brands are willing to experiment out on the fringes. A likely culprit is the growing size of the average ultralight gear company. When you’re a one-person operation making gear for a handful of dedicated customers, taking chances isn’t that risky. But if you have a dozen people on the payroll and a well-honed production line, a product that doesn’t land is a serious misstep. A bigger customer base comes with less patience for gear that breaks—and more warranty claims.

To be clear, this is largely a good thing. The fact is, today’s ultralight gear is so good that most attempts to reinvent the wheel are going to fail. But that also means that in a decade’s time, we might see an industry that’s mostly unchanged outside of newer, even more expensive fabrics and materials.

As a longtime ultralight gearhead, I’ll be disappointed if that future comes to pass. I grew to love the ultralight community for its bold personalities who were more comfortable charting their own path than following trends, even if some of those paths were dead-ends.

Maybe it’s inevitable that there’s less room for wild ideas as the community matures. But if the door to technical innovation is closing, that could mean other doors are opening. Maybe the way for a modern ultralight company to take risks isn’t with featherweight fabrics, but with , an ambitious sustainability goal, or engaging the community in a new way. Personally, I trust that the cottage ultralight community is creative enough to figure it out.

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At the southern terminus of the Cotswold Way, a 102-mile trail through the English countryside, there’s a beautiful sight for sore legs: the Roman Baths.

is a time-honored tradition in the U.S. and beyond, and not just because soaking feels good after a long walk. Many hot springs enthusiasts also claim that the waters themselves have healing properties. The Romans were no different: They believed Bath’s springs, which are today cordoned off as a museum exhibit, could and other afflictions. And now, recent science shows that they might have actually been right.

Bath’s Bacteria-Fighting Microbes

Scientists from the University of Plymouth recently analyzed Bath’s spring-fed waters and discovered 15 different types of microorganisms with the potential to fight human pathogens. These microorganisms have natural antimicrobial properties that could be , including E. coli infections, staph infections, and others.

While doctors currently have treatments for many of these infections, the rising threat of antimicrobial resistance could render some of them ineffective over time. If that proves true, then Bath’s waters could be the secret to finding new, more effective antibiotics.

By 2050, “antimicrobial resistance is predicted to be , maybe even more so,” says Dr. Lee Hutt, senior author on the research paper published in the journal The Microbe. As bacteria grow more and more resistant to antibiotic drugs, we may soon find ourselves at risk of dying from infections we see as minor today. And as hot springs are literal hotbeds of microbe activity, they could hold many more opportunities for potentially life-saving antibacterial microorganisms.

Healing Lore in Hot Springs Around the World

Interestingly, Bath’s hot springs don’t have the best track record for good bacteria. The Roman Baths were closed for swimming and bathing in 1978 after a girl died from a bacterial disease contracted in the pool. However, other springs have more consistent reputations. Tennessee’s , for example, were long thought to cure rheumatism, tuberculosis, and other ailments. And many of Colorado’s were used by Native Ute people for centuries as a source of healing and medicine.

Across cultures, hot springs have held similar allure. Perhaps it’s no wonder. Hot springs are a very unique environment, Hutt says, and he thinks they have a lot of potential, worldwide, to harbor other interesting microbes—including bacteria with possible medicinal uses.

Another recent study in Japan supports this idea of healing potential. Research published in January by Scientific Reports found that visitors to hot springs in Kyushu, Japan, after soaking for at least 20 minutes per day over the course of a week. Just by soaking in the hot springs—not drinking them—they experienced significant increases in certain types of gut microbiota.

Most notably, participants saw an increase in B. bifidum concentrations. That bacterium has been linked to improved glucose tolerance, relief from constipation, and better gut immunity overall. A limitation of the study, however, was that it didn’t involve a control group or compare results with a test group that experienced the heat of a sauna, for example, without the presence of the bacteria. So, it’s still possible that it’s the heat of the hot springs—rather than what’s in the water—that facilitates a beneficial environment for your gut. Scientists will need to conduct more research before we can say for certain.

So—Do Hot Springs Really Have Healing Properties?

Hutt said it’s important to note that you won’t cure diseases just by soaking in the hot springs alone. Significant research and testing still needs to be conducted in order to figure out how to make these microbes work for us in a medicinal capacity. There is a slim chance, however, that the Romans might have experienced the benefits of antibiotics in the water if they soaked in the pools while suffering from some kind of skin infection, he said. But he emphasized that that’s a stretch.

Of course, it’s hard to deny that soaking in hot springs can also make you feel better immediately. According to the Aspen Valley Hospital, a relative neighbor to the famous , soaking can , improve flexibility, and help you sweat to clear clogged pores. Minerals in some hot springs can also decrease stress, the hospital said, but we’d venture to guess that the simple fact of sitting in a natural hot tub with a stunning mountain view is pretty relaxing in itself. Even better, perhaps, if you’ve hiked there yourself.

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After thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail, I thought the would be a breeze. I could hike it in a month instead of four and a half; it’d be way less committing, allowing me to stretch my legs without causing complete upheaval in my off-trail life. Sure, the elevations would be higher, and conditions could be more extreme as a result, but I felt confident enough in the skills I’d acquired on my previous hike to begin at the end of August—a late start for the Colorado Trail. Despite my confidence, there were a few surprising discoveries I made along the way.

Water Sources Can Be Gross and Unreliable

After where water is plentiful and often pristine, I was shocked at the quality of Colorado’s water sources. Within the first few days of my hike, I encountered a raging river that smelled like cow excrement and a muck puddle that doubled as a water source if you were lucky enough to find it. I’d packed a filter, but even after using it on those questionable sources, the water often had an unappealing color and flavor. As I hiked further south, conditions only became more dire. It was late in the season, which meant that some sources that were previously fueled by snowmelt were suddenly dry, so there were a few sections of trail where I had to investigate two or three potential sources before actually finding water. While I never ended up in a precarious situation, my unfamiliarity with western water sources resulted in a few thirsty miles.

Pro tip: Starting earlier in the season makes it much more likely that water sources will still be running. Just keep in mind that the earlier you hike, the more likely you are to run into snow at high elevations.

Bear Hangs Are Nearly Impossible

On my first thru-hike, I got used to bear bagging. A proper bear hang for your food should be the ground, 5 feet away from the trunk of a tree, and 5 feet away from the branch on which it hangs. In places with large deciduous trees like the AT, this is a relatively feasible challenge, but in Colorado where the majority of trees are pines, it’s near-impossible. As a result, you either have to get really creative with your bear hang (which takes a lot of time and effort), or you need to use a different system to protect the local wildlife. I settled for a rodent hang, placing my food far away from my campsite and a few feet off the ground to keep wildlife away from my tent, but it was less than ideal.

I ran into a lot of hikers on the CT who chose to hike without bear-resistant food storage since they’re not legally required, but the idea of sleeping with my food made my skin crawl. Some hikers carried puncture-proof sacks like the Ursack AllMitey paired with odor-proof Opsaks. The ultra-rare hiker , but these were few and far between due to their weight. If I were to hike the CT again, I’d carry an Ursack for peace of mind.

Afternoon Storms Are Common in the Alpine

When I made it to Twin Lakes, two weeks into my thru-hike, I had the option to hang a right and hike above treeline for a few days or dip down into a valley. I already knew which way I was going to travel. The west offered stunning vistas, solitude, and 360-degree views in spots, and I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see them. But on my first afternoon above the treeline, I looked up and realized that lightning was flashing all around me, and I was pretty much the highest object around. After my heart stopped in my chest, I scrambled down the side of the peak and found cover amidst a grove of trees. The storm eventually passed. I didn’t get burned to a crisp, but I had a newfound appreciation for lightning while hiking above 10,000 feet.

Mail Drops Are Irreplaceable in the South

Towns like Breckenridge and Salida make it easy to resupply without issue on the northern section of the trail. However, as you travel south, as most hikers do, the food options become more and more sparse. South of Salida, hikers should expect limited convenience-store-like food options which usually come with a hefty price tag. Fortunately, in towns like Lake City where hikers might post up for the night at a hostel, mail resupplies are simple and straightforward. Some hostels and stores even hold packages for the whole season, making it easy to time their arrival with your crossing. So, you could theoretically mail them to yourself before you even start the trail. I researched local hostels and stores that would hold mail for me before I left. Then, I mailed myself a weekly drop before leaving for the trail. Unfortunately, I found that mail drops were unnecessary for the first two weeks. This meant that instead of eating whatever I wanted in town, I had to stick to my previously chosen meals. But late into the trail, I was really grateful to have my mail drops because food options had become scant.

It’s Not the Rain That Will Wreck You—It’s Hail

Before beginning the Colorado Trail, I worried about late-season monsoons. I knew Colorado was famous for its arid climate, and that my gear would dry out quickly if it got soaked, but the thought of torrential rains kept me up at night. It was just a matter of time before I got caught in a storm, but it was actually the hail—not the rain—that was most catastrophic. On one stretch of trail, marble-sized pieces of ice rained down on me for about an hour. I found shelter beneath a sturdy pine tree, but days afterwards, I ran into a group of hikers who said that the hail had shredded their tents, and they had to find the nearest road crossing to hitch into town once the weather passed. I found that the best way to approach hail was to keep myself updated with the latest weather reports and try to keep myself at lower elevations when inclement weather was expected. In cases where I couldn’t predict the forecast, I took shelter as soon as conditions became unfavorable.

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