The Last Adventurer

Despite the perfect surroundings, there was one problem in the organic emerald world we were traversing. As we passed milepost five, I could tell that my wife’s shoulders were hurting. The constant shifting, shrugging, arm swinging, and odd pack movements were a dead giveaway. When we stopped, I checked her load, adjusted her straps, and offered to carry her pack for a while. My offer was flatly refused. We continued on, and during the next mile, the trail began to slowly head upward. At the three hour mark of trekking, we stopped, and I had her put the pack on the ground to relieve the discomfort it was causing her shoulders.

I knew what the problem was. While ultra-light gear was easily transportable, and less burdensome, it was not ultra-comfortable, nor ultra-contoured to fit my wife’s back. There was nothing structurally wrong with her daypack. The designers had clearly sacrificed lumbar and shoulder support to make the backpack lighter. As a serious outdoor enthusiast, I had seen my wife’s problem countless times. In order for a backpack to work effectively, it, at a minimum, needed to be fitted somewhat to the carrier’s body. The fitting allows the wearer to bear the majority of weight on their hips and lower back through the backpack’s waist belt. If the bag is fitted properly it does not pull on the shoulders, and does not cause discomfort and extra effort to carry.

Unfortunately, there is no real way to “fit” a daypack. A daypack has more fixed pieces than a multi-day backpack, because it is designed to be the “one-size-fits-all” item of wilderness travel. I again looked at the belt as she tried to massage her bruised muscles, and again realized that the belt was unlikely to bear and transfer weight correctly. The only thing that could have made it look more ineffectual was a sticker plastered on it that stated “Not a load bearing device”.

I had known that the belt was probably ineffectual before we left. It was the main reason I had initially opposed the move to an ultra-light bag because I feared that it might cause her discomfort. But, I also had been open minded about the situation, because I understood that she didn’t want to carry an excessive amount of weight. Therefore, I had viewed the training hikes as a “trial run” to see if her pack caused her any discomfort. Nothing serious had happened in the preparatory hikes to suggest to me that we needed a change. I had thus ignored my misgivings, and gone along with her idea to carry the bag.

On the trail, everything that had happened was useless information. What I had to do was devise a solution for my wife to continue hiking and hopefully lessen her discomfort. The first option was to lessen her load. My bag was packed to the maximum. There was no way for me to carry more inside. Moreover, I had her carrying all of the food and not much more so that her bag would get progressively lighter throughout the trip.

The other options were equally weak. The second option was to re-pack her bag to re-balance the weight; but as I had helped her pack her bag in a balanced manner that morning, that seemed silly. The third option was to switch bags, but while my bag had greater potential for adjustability, and a higher amount of padding, it also had a lot more weight, which would quickly tire her out. I quickly realized that we were left with one option: either I carried her weight, or she continued on in extreme discomfort.

I offered to carry her bag. I knew that to me, it wasn’t that heavy, and I also knew I could take the extra weight and make it to our destination with no problems. She refused. I stared at her, puzzled, and offered again. This time, my offer was decidedly rejected. Surprised, I explained the particulars of my logic to her. Again, she refused and told me that she had come on the trek because she wanted to do the hike, and that no matter how difficult or painful it was, she was going to persevere, and carry her own weight, unless she absolutely needed help.

Faced with such determination, I let the subject drop for half an hour, upon which I asked her again for the third of many times if she wanted help. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect her wishes. I had the utmost respect for someone with that much fire and vigor and motivation. My constant propositions were based solely on the fact that I wanted her to be able to enjoy the hike as much as I was. Again, I was firmly rebuffed as we walked on.