Nov 06, 2024
How Much Clothing Should You Bring on a Long Hike? Less Than You Think. - Backpacker
Trying to stuff too many layers into a pack for an overnight trip. Photo: Evan Green Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members!
Trying to stuff too many layers into a pack for an overnight trip. Photo: Evan Green
Heading out the door? Read this article on the new Outside+ app available now on iOS devices for members! >","name":"in-content-cta","type":"link"}}">Download the app.
Earlier this summer, I went backpacking in Idaho’s Sawtooth Mountains with a good friend. He’s what you’d describe as an “old-school” hiker: a former Boy Scout who grew up using external frame packs and hasn’t been on a proper backcountry trip in years. Given that he didn’t have a modern backpacking kit, I hooked him up with some favorites from my own overstuffed gear shed. He was stoked about the new gear—even the one-person trekking pole tent, with its tiny footprint and puzzling set-up, got the thumbs up.
Even though the weight of his “Big Four”—sleeping bag, pad, tent, and pack—was legitimately ultralight, his 55-liter loaner pack was weighted down and filled to the brim. The main culprit was a bag of spare clothing the size of a watermelon. Inside were two spare hiking shirts, a full set of baselayers plus sweatpants for camp, four pairs of socks, a fleece to go along with the seven-ounce down jacket I had given him, and more.
My friend, already thrilled with the relatively lightweight setup, wasn’t interested in parting with his watermelon. I didn’t press the issue. But it was a crystal-clear example of something that I’ve known for a while: for many new backpackers, clothing is the last and hardest hurdle to clear before reaching an ultralight load. Here are the biggest misconceptions that lead backpackers to overpack time after time.
In daily life, we change clothes without even thinking about it. Go to the gym? Take a shower and pull something fresh from the dresser. Thinking about wearing the same shirt twice in a row? That’s a cultural no-no. But while you’re backpacking, there’s little reason to change clothes. Dirt, dust, stains, and smells are all issues to be solved when you get back to civilization. If your shirt is drenched in sweat, the fastest way to dry it out is to keep wearing it. And no one is around to judge you for repeating outfits. There’s really only one answer when it comes to how many T-shirts to bring on a trip: one.
That’s true even for long-term adventures like thru-hikes. Countless hikers (myself included) have hiked for months on end in just a single pair of shorts. Hiking ultralight requires a change of perspective: Pack extra clothing based on the conditions you’ll face, not the length of the trip.
Now that we’ve gotten our hiking clothes down to a single outfit, let’s talk about layers. Staying warm is a valid concern. Hypothermia is certainly no joke. And if you’re new to backpacking, it can be tough to look at just a few thin layers of synthetic fabric and think they’ll keep you warm in frigid temperatures.
That’s because they don’t have to, at least not in the way we normally think about it. When we go out in cold weather in our daily routines, we’re not always super active. If you’re waiting at the bus stop in the winter, you’re probably bundled up in plenty of warm layers. But if you’re on a strenuous hike in the same weather, the body heat you generate could mean you’re comfortable in just a long-sleeve tee.
Sure, you’ll need some extra layers when you stop moving to set up camp and make dinner, but you also have a dual-purpose layer hidden in your backpack: your sleeping bag. If you’re drenched to the bone and starting to shiver, stripping off your wet clothes and crawling into a dry sleeping bag will be far more effective than simply putting on some dry layers.
If you can’t bring yourself to leave extra layers behind on your next trip, try to take mental notes of if and when you end up wearing them. Did you pack them out of an abundance of caution? Was there anything that stayed in the pack during the whole trip? What about something that was nice to have, but wasn’t totally necessary? Consider these questions and re-evaluate for future trips.
When performance T-shirts cost over $50 and down jackets can run $300 or more, it can be hard to outfit yourself in outdoorsy apparel, especially if you’re already spending money on a new tent, sleeping bag, or pack. Ultralight gear in particular has a (well-earned) reputation for being expensive, but a simple and lightweight clothing system doesn’t have to be.
For one thing, clothing is a good place to forget about brand names. The synthetic shirts, shorts, and leggings that most people wear to the gym work just fine on a hike. So do the merino shirts and socks sold at Costco. Rain gear can be expensive, but the Frogg Toggs Ultra-Lite 2 set certainly isn’t. There’s a good chance you have some clothes stuffed in your closet that would work just fine, like gym shorts or a fleece or wool sweater.
Secondly, going ultralight is all about simplification. Once you’ve done away with redundant clothing, you might be surprised by just how little you need to pack (and buy) to stay safe and warm—even on a six-month thru-hike.
If you simplify your clothing system and scrimp on some of the basics, you can spend money where it really matters: down insulation. There’s a few reasons why a high-quality down jacket is worth the money. For one, it will last years if you take care of it. Two, it’s a big weight-saver. Upgrading to the loftier down found in more expensive jackets (look for 850 fill or better) could save you half a pound or more compared to synthetic insulation or 550-fill down. (If your budget is still tight, decent down isn’t always pricey. Decathlon’s MT100 down jacket is 800 fill, RDS-certified, and $100).
The Ultralight Apparel Basics
For a summertime hike of any length on the Appalachian Trail, an ultralight clothing list might include:
For three-season or summer alpine hiking, add:
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Nathan Pipenberg