Water Bottles for Backpacking: An Overview

In the world of outdoor recreation, gear is a hobby unto itself. Almost without exception, the most-read posts on my little blog are the ones that focus on gear. Gear posts are relatable.

But although they're technically "gear", water bottles are a pretty banal subject. Nobody is writing a "Top Ten Water Bottles of 2019" piece of clickbait. But, because the topic is so boring, many hikers don't think very carefully about their water bottle strategies. Yes, water bottle strategies. I'm about to spill a thousand words about water bottle strategies. Brace yourself.

PC: Justin Swason

Like most beginning hikers, I carried Nalgene bottles on the Appalachian Trail in 2013. They served me well, but weighed nearly a pound. As part of a general purge of unnecessary weight, I threw them in the trash somewhere in central Virgina. With one notable exception, that's the last time I've carried a Nalgene for three-season use. Among long-distance backpackers, the Nalgene is dead. In its place, lightweight bottles reign.

But there are many different kinds of lightweight bottles. Some are containers made specifically for outdoor adventures, while others are re-purposed "disposable" bottles bought at a gas station. What's the best kind of bottle for lighweight backpacking? As usual, there's no one right answer to this question. Different water bottles have different strengths and weaknesses, and it's important to choose the right tool for the job. 

A few notes before we proceed: 

• There are a few commonly-used bottles that I did not review because they are obviously inferior to the bottles I did review. These include pop bottles (ungainly and hard to pack), Listerine bottles (too brittle), and 1.5 liter airline water bottles (too thin). Any of these would of course work, and I've used all of them before in a pinch. But given the opportunity, I'd use one of the bottles below over pretty much anything else. 
• I also did not consider hose-based hydration systems (i.e. the Camelbak). Some very experienced hikers love their hydration systems. But I've generally found that, as folks gain experience, they tend to ditch the Camelbak for a simpler bottle system.
• I made no attempt to quantify the weight of the bottles. Except for the Nalgene, all of them are very similar in weight - within fractions of an ounce. I firmly believe that choosing the right bottle for the job - in terms of capacity, collapsability, mouth size, etc, is far more important than choosing the absolute lightest thing. But if you want to know exactly how much they weigh, Google is your friend.

	Nalgene	Gatorade	Smartwater/Lifewtr	1-liter Platypus	Nalgene Canteen	2-liter Platypus
Capacity (Liters)	1 Liter	0.95 Liter (1 quart)	1 Liter	1 Liter	3.78 Liters (4 quarts)	2 Liters
Soft/Hard Sided	Hard	Hard	Hard	Soft	Soft	Soft
Mouth size	Very Wide	Wide	Narrow	Narrow	Very Wide	Narrow
Weight	1	5	5	5	5	5
Durability	5	4	4	2	3	2
Sawyer Filter Compatibility	1	1	3	5	1	5
Side Pocket Packability	3	3	5	4	1	2
Internal Packability	1	1	2	4	4	5
Shallow Source Performance	2	1	1	5	3	5
Dripping Source Performance	5	4	2	1	1	1
Flowing Source Performance	5	5	4	2	1	1
Best for...	Hot water	Dripping sources	Side-pocket compatibility	Packability	Long water carries	Long water carries

For a copyable version of the chart, click here. These evaluations are admittedly subjective and are on a 5-point scale.

The Nalgene – a classic backpacking item. But it's completely pointless except for deep winter use. The Nalgene weighs many times more than every other bottle on this list. While the Nalgene is a great water bottle, nearly all of its good features are shared by the Gatorade bottle, at a fraction of the cost and the weight.

However, you may still find a use for the Nalgene if you need to make a hot water bottle to throw in the foot of your sleeping bag. The Nalgene is the best choice for safely containing boiling water. But to be honest, the best use of the Nalgene is to cover it in outdoors-related stickers and put it on your desk at work.

The Gatorade bottle – the Nalgene, but on a weight-loss program. The Gatorade bottle is a great all-around bottle and a classic favorite of lightweight backpackers. The wide mouth makes it easy to fill up from painfully slow, dripping sources – particularly useful in desert environments. Its short and squat stature means that it doesn't fit into the side pockets of your backpack quite as well as the Smartwater bottle. A Gatorade bottle will fill the entire pocket, leaving very little space for other items (say, another water bottle).

The Smartwater/Lifewtr bottle – the undisputed gold medalist in the Bottle Olympics. The tall, slender shape makes it easy to fit into any backpack's side pocket, and many packs can hold two of these bottles in each side pocket. Among hard-sided bottles, Smartwater has the narrowest mouth and consequently the longest fill time. But it does use a standard pop-bottle style cap, making the cap easy to replace when you lose it. I generally wrap my Smartwater bottle with duct tape for blister care, gear repair, and muzzling chatty hiking partners.

1-liter Platypus – The most versatile and packable bottle on this list. A 1-liter Platy holds water when you need it to, and packs away to nearly nothing when you don't. In addition, it's by far the easiest bottle to draw with when dealing with very shallow sources (less than 1” deep). Again, this can be a life-saver in the desert. It tends to leak after a while, but by then, any water bottle is so grimy and nasty that you'll probably want to throw it away anyway.

The 2-liter Platypus – slightly more lightweight and compact than 2 separate 1-liter Platys. Otherwise identical to the 1-liter Platy.

The Nalgene Canteen – holds a gallon of water and has a wide mouth. Otherwise identical to the 2-liter Platy.

***************************************************************************

I generally mix and match different types of water bottles. I usually carry 2-7 liters of water storage capacity, and there's no reason that all my bottles should be the same kind. On the contrary, I frequently carry different types to draw from different types of water sources. If there's a dripping seep, I'll fill up my Gatorade bottle, and then dump the water into all my other bottles. On the other hand, if I find a shallow pothole or cattle trough, I'll use my Platypus to fill up.

As an example, consider my strategy for a section of the Hayduke trail that I completed in 2017. I had to plan for a  30-mile waterless stretch - two full days, given the rough terrain I had to contend with. I brought seven liters of capacity.

Just one problem - the tank at the beginning of that stretch had very nearly run dry. I had to fill up from a pipe that was barely dripping at twelve minutes per liter. I know this because I had to wait for an hour and a half to collect seven liters of water.

The wide mouth of the Gatorade bottle was crucial. I could set the bottle on the ground and its mouth was wide enough to capture every falling drop. Having to hold my bottles up to the lip of the pipe for an hour and a half would have been more than slightly annoying. Instead, I could sit in the shade, eat a snack, and every twelve minutes, empty the Gatorade bottle into my other Platypus bottles or my Smartwater bottle. 

Perhaps half an inch of water in the bottom of this tank. Thank goodness for the Platypus!

I generally carry two hard-sided bottles - a Smartwater bottle and a Gatorade bottle - and as many 1-liter Platypus bottles as I need. The hard-sided bottles are stashed in the side pockets of my backpack, and the Platys get moved around to wherever is the most comfortable. I prefer the 1-liter Platypus over its larger cousins because having multiple containers allow me to distribute the weight in my backpack more effectively, and because if/when a Platypus springs a leak, I've only lost a single liter of water. When empty, a Platypus is collapsible and takes up virtually no space in my pack.

Perhaps this all seems excessive. But especially when water is scarce, the importance of having the right tool cannot be overstated. And best of all, increasing water bottle diversity costs nothing and weighs nothing. Give it a shot! And if you have a suggestion for another water container I overlooked, please to leave a comment.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the NPS

 
Especially for backpackers, it's easy to take potshots at the National Park Service - or more accurately, at public lands administered by the NPS. Allow me to explain:

In 2015, I hiked a section of the Hayduke Trail in southeastern Utah. My route took me through Canyonlands National Park. I began on land administered by the BLM - wild, remote country. Beautiful canyons wore their way through a million years of sandstone, their watercourses on a path to the Colorado River. I climbed up and out of a drainage, onto a beautiful mesa that jutted into the sky, adorned with rock pyramids that more than slightly resembled chocolate layer cake.

At some point on my walk over the mesa, I crossed into Canyonlands National Park. And I didn't care. You see, the canyonlands of the Grand, Green, and Colorado rivers sprawl far beyond the confines of an arbitrary line on a map. Whether or not I was inside the National Park, I was in the canyonlands. All that the NPS boundary meant was that I was required to purchase a backcountry permit, carry a bear canister, and camp in designated sites. What benefits did the Park afford me? None, other than the benefits offered by the landscape itself.

For many years, I remained skeptical about the value of NPS sites - at least for folks like me, who like solitude and venturing off the beaten path. Let's take Zion as a convenient example:

• Parks are crowded. Stand in line for two hours to get a chance to summit Angels Landing. The entire area smells vaguely from feces. There's a porta-potty right before the "chains" section but one little toilet is ill-equipped to deal with the literal thousands of people that are up here.
• Parks are trite. All those other people you watched for two hours are going to post the exact same photo on social media. But yeah, you go ahead and believe that you're a special little snowflake. #liveauthentic #optoutside #vanlife #nofilter #blessed #findyourpark
• Parks are bureaucratic nightmares. Want to hike the Subway instead of Angels Landing? Get ready to get up early and stand in line so you can get a permit. Once it's your turn, you get to try and convince the infamously cranky ranger that you do know what you're doing, you're not going to kill yourself, etc. Wait for the "don't be an idiot in the backcountry" lecture to conclude, pay your money, and maybe, if you're lucky, you'll hit the trail by noon.

Or so I thought.

Over the past couple of months, I've visited at least a dozen NPS sites. And in so doing, I've gained a new apprecition for places I had previously dismissed. Some of them are well-known, like Sequoia National Park. Others remain obscure, like Fort Bowie National Historic Site. Sure, I could list tips and tricks for improving NPS-unit experiences, but I'd rather show, rather than tell, using some of my recent wanderings:

Carlsbad Caverns National Park: This one took some planning ahead and, yes, bureaucratic nonsense. I had the privilege of joining a small ranger-led tour to an amazing area of the cave that featured tight passages and long sections of crawling on our bellies, so tight were the passages. Helmets, knee, and elbow pads required. Climb those slippery formations and please, please don't fall! A rescue back here would be nigh-impossible. And at the end, I saw an amazing active dripstone formation called the White Giant. I don't have any photos from that particular tour; my phone would have been destroyed as I wriggled through clausterphobia-inducing passageways. But believe me, it was amazing - and inspired me to do more caving. I'm no spelunker... at least, not yet!

Fort Bowie National Historic Site: Behold, the only NPS site that's accessible only by foot. I did this one on a rainy Wednesday morning in February and saw nobody. I learned about the conflict between the US Army and the Chiricahua Apaches, saw the remains of a couple of different forts, and appreciated the geology of an important mountain pass and historic travel corridor. The lack of accessibility keeps the crowds away and I could explore the area at my own pace.

Valles Caldera National Preserve: It's a completely different park during the winter. Although accessible by paved road, Valles Caldera sits at 8,600 feet and is blanketed in snowpack during the winter. We braved the cold (13F if my car's thermometer is correct) and snowshoed across the bottom of the Caldera, as well as around a resurgent dome.

Salinas Pueblo Mission National Historic Site: This site sees only 35,000 visitors per year (mostly during the summer months). And because of that, the rangers seemed happy to answer the dozens of questions that a friend and I asked. We spent all day exploring 500+ year-old Puebloan ruins, as well as the Spanish missions that Franciscans built to spread Catholicism. We learned about the oft-overlooked history of Spanish colonialism in the American southwest.

The National Park system is more than just the crowds at Yosemite, the Grand Canyon, and all the rest. It includes unique and special places, places where silence still dominates. I'm still probably not going to visit Zion again in April. But that's alright. The National Park System is big enough for all of us. I guess you can say I've [hashtag] "found my Park"!

Shuttle? Arranging Transportation on the Uinta Highline Trail

Updated autumn 2021
 

The Uinta Highline Trail is a world-class adventure and is becoming more popular every year. But, as any aspiring UHT hiker will soon find out, transportation is a problem. Those 100 miles of untouched wilderness make it very difficult to get from one end to the other. Those who live locally (Utah, SW Wyoming, or NW Colorado) can simply ask a friend or family member to shuttle them in exchange for gas money and a nice dinner. But for those who are coming from farther away will have more of a challenge. As far as I see it, there are really only three options:

1) Know somebody in Utah who's willing to shuttle you

2) Hire a commercial shuttle service**

3) Self-shuttle, using a combination of buses and hitchhiking.

**Commercial shuttles have come and gone quickly over the years - popping in an out of existence seemingly at random. Recently, multiple users reported a good experience with Mountain Trails Transport. As always, if you use have experience with a shuttle service, please share it in the comments!

The remainder of this article will focus on Option #3 - the self-shuttle. It requires some hitchhiking, along with the use of two different bus systems. 

The Direction: These directions are intended for a westbound hike, which is the more common direction of travel for scenery-related reasons. There's no reason you can't do it in the opposite direction though. 

The Route: The instructions are for the 105-mile version of the hike, from McKee Draw on US 191 to the Highline Trailhead on UT 150 (Mirror Lake Highway). It would be very difficult to do the 70 or 80-mile versions of the hike using the method described below; the trailheads for those versions are located on seldom-traveled dirt roads. If you want to do the 70 or 80-mile versions of the hike, the only real option is to know somebody who will shuttle you. For a fuller description of the various route options, please see my UHT Overview page.

Disclaimer: These directions involve hitchhiking. The legality of hitchhiking in Utah is a bit of a touchy subject. As a practical matter though, despite being technically illegal, it's generally tolerated by the police as long as you're not being dangerous and/or a nuisance. Retract your thumb when the cop drives by and you'll almost certainly be fine.

On a several occasions I've gotten rides from police officers in Utah. Only one of them informed me that hitchhiking was illegal - and then drove me where I needed to go! In my experience, hitchhiking in Utah isn't any different than in any other state. Still though, don't complain to me in the extraordinarily unlikely event you get robbed and/or ticketed.

Planning ahead: Before you leave the comforts of home, you'll want to make sure you have your ducks in a row. There is no cell service (for any carrier) at the western terminus or along the vast majority of the UHT. The eastern terminus has marginal Verizon service, and may have AT&T as well. Don't wait - save down all the transit and hitchhiking info before you leave home!

From Civilization to the Eastern Terminus (McKee Draw):

1) Fly or take the Greyhound to Vernal, UT. 

Fly: Incredibly, the Vernal Regional Airport (1) actually exists, and (2) as of 2020, has regularly scheduled flights, connecting through Denver. These flights will generally be $60-100 more expensive that flying into Salt Lake. You'd expect ticket prices to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to be absolutely outrageous, but Uncle Sam subsidizes air service to many small towns in very rural areas, which reduces fares.

Greyhound: Greyhound stops in Vernal once per day in either direction on a Denver-to-Salt Lake City route. From Salt Lake, tickets are as cheap as ~USD $20 if purchased far enough in advance. 

 

NOTE - Greyhound discontinued its SLC-to-Vernal route as part of a larger wave of service cutbacks during the Covid-19 pandemic. As of this writing (fall of 2021), it is unknown when/if Greyhound will resume serving this route. Another option is the Salt Lake Express, which stops in Salt Lake, Park City, Heber, and Vernal. However I've not used this service personally. A report would be appreciated, if anyone uses it.

Unless you're desperate to save a few bucks, I'd recommend flying into Vernal, rather than flying into SLC and taking the Greyhound to Vernal. Though slightly more expensive, flying directly to Vernal is far less complicated and quicker than trying to sync your flight to SLC with the Greyhound schedule. Also, Greyhound has a well-deserved reputation for being sketchy, and often runs many hours behind schedule. 

2) Hitchhike north to the trailhead on US 191.

Both the airport and the Greyhound stop are on the south side of Vernal, whereas the most logical hitching spot is on the north side of town. You should be prepared to walk a couple miles through town to get to the north side where you'll more easily catch a ride. From Vernal, hitchhike 38 miles north on US 191 to the trailhead. Most traffic should be going all the way through, so you'll likely get a one-car ride to the trailhead (40.7894, -109.4708). MAP

From the Western Terminus (Highline Trailhead) to Civilization:

1) Hitchhike southwest to Kamas, UT on UT 150.

From the Highline Trailhead, hitch 29 miles southwest on UT 150 (aka Mirror Lake Highway) to Kamas, UT. This is the world's easier hitch. All of the traffic on the road is recreational; and you are likely to catch a ride with a kindred spirit who is returning home after hiking, fishing, or camping. MAP  

2) Catch the free bus to Park City, UT 

From the Kamas Park 'n Ride (40.6396758, -111.2837887), catch the free Summit County Bus #11. It's the only bus that serves Kamas so if you see a bus, it's the right bus! The bus makes two runs in the morning (7:17 & 8:06) and three in the afternoon (4:08, 5:08 & 6:08).

In Park City, get off at the Fresh Market/Park Avenue Condos stop, and catch free Summit County Bus #6 (local) OR #10 (express) bus to the Kimball Junction Transit Center. These buses run constantly throughout the day on a 30-minute schedule.

3) Catch the UTA SLC-PC Connect bus to Salt Lake City

From the Kimball Junction Transit Center, catch the UTA SLC-PC Connect #902 bus down to Salt Lake Central Station. During the summer, it makes one run in the morning and one in the afternoon. From Salt Lake Central Station, you can connect with one of several different shuttle/bus companies (Salt Lake Express, St George Shuttle, Greyhound) or Amtrak, and the airport is just an easy light-rail ride away.

Note 1: This entire process is pretty tough to pull off in a single day. In order to catch the afternoon SLC-PC connect, you'll have to catch the morning #11 bus from Kamas. And in order to catch the morning bus from Kamas, you'd have to get a hitch from Hightline Trailhead really early in the morning - say 5 or 6 AM, when there's basically zero traffic on the road. You'll therefore probably spend a night in either Kamas or Park City, depending on which AM or PM buses you take. That's not the worst thing in the world though, as you'll need a shower and laundry anyway before getting on a plane full of people who aren't amused by hiker funk. 

Note 2: From time to time, both the Summit County buses and the UTA bus schedules get tweaked. Schedules also vary by season - as befits a ski town like Park City. A few weeks before you leave for your UHT hike, it's probably smart to check the schedules to make sure they haven't changed.

Note 3: Greyhound used to stop in Park City between Salt Lake City and Vernal, however, this is no longer the case as of 2020. The only intercity transit currently available in Park City is that UTA SLC-PC Connect bus. 

Got a car?

The big advantage of having a car is that you can eliminate the need to hitchhike after your hike, when you smell bad and have a deadline to be back at work/school. Things are a little different logistically if you choose to use this method.

1) Drive to the western terminus (Highline Trailhead) and park there. 

2) Hitch down to Kamas as described above.

3) Hitch to the Greyhound station in Heber City, UT.

4) Board the Greyhound and take it to Vernal.

5) Hitch to the eastern terminus as described above.

6) Hike the UHT! When you finish at the western terminus, your car will be waiting for you.

If Greyhound ever reinstates its Park City stop, boarding it in Park City would be preferable so you can do less hitchhiking - take buses from Kamas to Park City rather than hitching from Kamas to Heber City.

 

Helpful Links:

Pack City Transit Routes & Maps
Greyhound Booking

UTA SLC-PC Connect

On Living in a Car

Over the past decade, I've hiked three long-distance hiking trails, spent more than a year's worth of nights in a sleeping bag, and walked enough miles to stretch a quarter of the way around the globe. I wouldn't consider myself an expert backpacker, but I'm certainly on that track. Ask again in a couple decades.

By contrast, I suck at car camping.

I have friends who are excellent car campers. One friend brings the kitchen sink - the 80 liter cooler, the giant airbed, the even larger tent to contain said airbed - you know, the works. Sure, the stuff for a 2-day weekend fills the entirety of his full-sized pickup, but when I go car camping with him, we live large. Another friend goes a lot more basic, but has a vast assortment of different tents and stoves and puffy jackets and knives - always armed with the perfect piece of equipment that befits the desired camping-to-adventure-ratio.

In their own ways, both are skilled car campers - certainly better than me. But I'd like to think that, over the last few months of living an itinerant lifestyle, I've found a camping mojo that works for me. 

Ultralight Car Camping 

Take my sleeping nest as an example. Sleeping in the back of my car has always been pretty uncomfortable (the seats didn't lay all the way flat) and the thought of getting terrible sleep every night for several months was pretty unappealing. So I designed a little platform to sleep on. My initial designs were quite intricate. Plans included some integrated shelving, piano hinges, peg-fit removable components, the works. The more I thought about all the features I wanted, the more complicated the project became.

Then it came to me - this trend of increasing features and creature comforts (along with their associated cost and complexity) was completely antithetical to lightweight, minimalist ethic that I had espoused for years in the context of backpacking. Maybe that same philosophy could work for my car camping.

So I started over. I scrapped the complicated plans and kept things basic, even austere. My nest was built with half a sheet of plywood, a pair of 2x2s, a RidgeRest sleeping pad, and some cushy foam rescued from my parents' church. My outdoor gear fits into a standard-sized tote, my cooking stuff fits into a smaller tote, I've got my cooler, a thrift-store camp chair, my laptop bag, and that's it. It's nothing complicated or fancy. I'm maybe not quite as comfortable as I could be with a more complex setup. But this setup is elegant in its simplicity, and without a ton of stuff, it's easy to keep organized. After all, the emphasis isn't on the tool itself, but what the tool allows me to do - to access adventure.

It's not as fancy as many of my friends' setups. It's certainly a far cry from the picture-perfect Instagram #vanlife folks with their solar showers and battery banks and propane heaters. But it works for me. Low cost, low complication. My kind of style.

The Best Job Ever

When you have four inches of foam underneath you, a sleeping bag rated to -20, and an honest-to-goodness pillow, it's easy to get pretty comfortable. And I do love those lazy times - fold out the camp chair, prop my feet up on the cooler and read a good book (recent subjects have included Belgian abuses in the colonial Congo, the American Civil War, an Arizona hiking guide, and a truly terrible thriller novel that pulled a fast one on me and turned into a sappy romance novel by the end). But I'm very aware that my road trip won't last forever. Next year at this point, I'll probably long wistfully for the days when I could hike every day. So I need to keep getting out and getting after it, even when I really want to just relax for a while. In a sense, it's a job - the best job ever, but a job.

Getting the Info

It's nearly impossible to plan a multi-month road trip in exhaustive detail - and even if it were possible, the schedule would only last a day or two before falling apart completely. The vast majority of the planning for this trip has happened when I'm on the road (er, safely parked - don't text and drive, kids!). Obviously a smartphone is invaluable for getting the scoop on pretty much everything, but I'd like to highlight a few specific resources that I use:

• Backcountry Navigator Pro (app): Allows me to download topos of an area, add GPX tracks, and the whole nine yards. I don't have access to a printer on the road, so the ability to download electronic maps for the places I'm going is critical
• Caltopo (app): Caltopo is similar to Backcountry Navigator Pro. It's still in its beta phase, and it's not nearly as powerful BCN is - yet. But it has one crucial feature which I love: Land Management maps. With Caltopo, I can see who owns any given parcel of land, which makes finding legal campsites much, much easier. And as Caltopo matures, it will probably supplant BCN as my mapping application of choice. The desktop/web-based version of Caltopo is already the gold standard in backcountry trip planning.
• Bivy (app): This app makes it easy to find quick and easy dayhikes - and if you're into it, mountain bike trails, technical climbs, anything. Whenever I need to stretch my legs, I open up Bivy and find something to do.
• Benchmark Atlases (print): Yep, I carry and love my old-school print overview maps. Each state is roughly $20 on the Ama-zone. In addition to having accurate coverages of roads (everything from Interstates to Forest Service two-tracks), it shows state parks, Wildlife Management Areas, trailheads, and all sorts of useful information. Useful not only when out of cell range, but also shows the "big picture" far better than a 3x5 smartphone screen can. 
• Freecampsites.net (website): Exactly what it sounds like. Crowdsources free and legal places to spend the night. While you can legally camp nearly anywhere in many states in the Intermountain West, things get a lot more tricky once you get east of the Rockies or west of the Sierra - and this site comes in very handy! Perhaps I'll write an abstruse post about public lands, the BLM, and the history of land conflict in the Mexican cession... but probably not. But if that's the sort of thing that interests you, let me know and maybe I'll cobble something together!

Embracing the Unexpected

Notwithstanding the above advice about preparation, part of the fun - perhaps the defining feature of the classic American road trip - is being able to stop and explore things that catch one's eye. Whether it's rolling into a diner in a small town, pointing at a peak and wondering if I can climb that, or making friends along the way, part of the fun is the spontaneity. One of the coolest things I found on this trip was a roadside warm springs in the middle of the Mojave desert, near Lake Mead. In a harsh environment, lush palm trees had sprung up around the little oasis. I didn't take a dip, as signs warned of brain-eating amoebas (seriously!), but it was beautiful and green, almost tropical. And then I did a little hike up a trail that I found behind the springs.

Et Cetera

In addition to the big-picture stuff, just a few helpful tips if you're planning your own #crappybeatupsubarulife adventures:

• McDonalds has the best free Wifi alround. Reasonably fast and it works 90% of the time, every time. Make sure to buy something, of course - even if it's just a drink.
• Truck stop showers! Private, hot, and sometimes even clean! But you should probably wear a pair of a flip flops, just to be safe.
• Texas has scads of random roadside picnic areas - at least one every 30-40 miles. These are clutch, as you can legally sleep there, as long as you don't set up a tent or stay for more than 24 hours. Most have trash cans, little picnic pavilions, and barbecue grills. Given the dearth of other public lands in the state, picnic areas are a dirtbagger's best friend
• In many parts of the West, two-lane roads are nearly as fast as freeways, often more scenic, and always more conducive to stopping and seeing things. In every way except for gas prices, two lane is the way to go.
• America the Beautiful passes. Get one. A flat $80 fee covers admission to pretty much any federal recreational facility. If you only visit two or three parks, you'll probably still save money. And you don't need to feel guilty about sneaking in when the entrance station isn't staffed because you've got a pass.
• A first aid kit for your poor car. Tire chains, extra coolant, and a shovel, for starters. I had to dig one someone who slid off the road in Sequoia National Park.

That's it! A life on the road, simple and fun.

West Texas: Sky Islands and a Rowboat

Over the past week or so, I've been been visiting some of the so-called "sky island" ranges of the southwest. Specifically, I've been to the Chisos, Davis, and Guadalupe ranges.

Sky islands are interesting. Dozens of isolated mountain ranges rise several thousand feet above their desert surroundings, creating environments that are radically different from the surrounding lowlands. These cooler, wetter climates support many interesting species of plants and animals, some found nowhere else on earth. 

I saw this phenomenon first-hand in the Chisos Range, the centerpiece of Big Bend National Park. On a quick three-day backpacking trip, I started at 5,000 and quickly climbed to nearly 8,000 feet, surrounded by lush pines. As I dropped to 3,800 feet, the vegetation changed - becoming more thorny and scrubby. Ocotillo and its prickly cousins predominaated the landscape. I passed through various geological layers: sandstone, limestone, and I don't know what else - I'm no geologist! 

On my final night of the trip, I had the opportunity to camp right on the rim that forms the southern edge of the Chisos escarpment. As I ate supper, I watched the sun set from the top of the world, three thousand feet above everything else.

No trip to Big Bend would be complete without a trip down to the Rio Grande itself. My campsite, a stone's throw from Mexico (I know this because I threw a stone and hit Mexico), was prime for dew and condensation as temperatures dipped overnight - but the incredible night sky and the sound of the tumbling river made it more than worth it. The next morning, I crossed the international border on the "ferry" (yes, it's officially sanctioned, but it's really just a dude in a dilapidated rowboat) and popped over to Boquillas, in the Mexican state of Coahuila. I had a great meal (goat for breakfast!) and a little walk around town before returning to Texas on the ferry. Boquillas is a total tourist town (the nearest real civilization/grocery store on the Mexican side is about a 4 hour drive) but it was interesting to walk around anyway.

My visit to the Davis Mountains was quite different. I struck out on visiting the really neat observatory operated by the University of Texas - it required tickets, which were sold out months ago. But, a few miles down the road, I found a terrific little campsite (not easy in Texas, which is almost entirely private land) and to boot, a little 2.5-mile hiking loop starting from the parking area where I was camping. Truthfully, it wasn't a particularly spectacular hike. But it was nice. And just as importantly, it was quiet and peaceful. It was mine. A nice little discovery. Even in 21st century, there's such thing as spontaneity.

My visit to the Guadalupe Mountains consisted mainly in seeing them from afar. There are plenty of trails in the National Park, and easily available backcountry permits. I planned to climb the highest peak in Texas (Guadalupe Peak, 8,700+), but with winds already gusting to 40 mph and forecasted to increase to 60 mph, that seemed unwise. So I didn't do that. 

Oh and I went to White Sands National Monument and that was cool too.

What's next: I actually did some advanced planning and got myself a ticket for the "you're gonna get dirty" ranger-led tour to an otherwise closed-off part of Carlsbad Caverns. After that, it's back west a little ways to meet up with my sister in Phoenix  area. More adventures await!

The Good, the Bad, and the Sketchy

It's been a lot of driving, and a lot of walking. In the past three weeks, I've put approximately 5,000 miles on my vehicle and 200 on my legs.

The highlight thus far was of course the San Diego Trans-county Trail (SDTCT). The SDTCT, as its name might imply, runs the width of San Diego County, from the Salton Sea to the Pacific Ocean. The Salton Sea is an inland endorheic lake that was created when the Army Corps of Engineers accidentally diverted the flow of the Colorado River into an irrigation ditch about a century ago. Talk about a bad week at the office! Over many decades, it's slowly dried up and become a stinking, nasty mess.

Over the course of 160 miles, the SDTCT winds its way through a series of badlands, up and over a couple different mountain ranges, past a bunch of reservoirs, through a deep river canyon system, and finally through a series of semi-urban open spaces to end at Torrey Pines State Beach.

The Good: The SDTCT, as outlined above, has a tremendous amount of scenic diversity. Each day brings a new ecosystem. I started in the desert, passed through the mountains, and finally through lush coastal marshlands. And ending on a sand beach is pretty great!

Even more than the natural environment, though, I appreciated the people I interacted with along the way. Undoubtedly, the best part of my trip was the opportunity to visit with my Uncle Steve and Aunt Karin, along with my cousins. It's been half of forever since I've last seen them, and never had I been out to California to visit them. They still live in the neighborhood where my Dad grew up. It was truly a blessing to sit down with them, catch up, and swap war stories. And of course, they armed me with a few excellent meals and the finest in citrus from the trees in their backyard. 

The Bad: I'm so glad I escaped the winter doldrums of the midwest for sunny southern California. Except, of course, it absolutely poured on me for the majority of my hike. I started in the rain on Day 1 and saw a small flash flood as I hiked through desert washes. It was dry and sunny on Day 2, thankfully. Because it rained on me continuously for 56 straight hours on Days 3-5. On Day 4, I reached a small restaurant just as the sun was setting. The place was completely deserted, except for the Channel 8 news crew breathlessly reporting on a half inch of snow that had already melted. Only in San Diego is that kind of thing newsworthy!

Nonetheless, the weather was truly terrible – 40-degree rain for three days with strong, cold winds. I was so desperate to sleep somewhere dry that, after leaving the aforementioned restaurant, I went and slept in a porta-potty. I mean, I've slept some weird places before, but even for me, that's a new low.

With another dousing rainstorm forecasted for Day 6, I finally caved. A long-time trail angel, Girl Scout, had posted in a hiker's forum a while back, offering a helping hand to hikers on the SDTCT. The next stretch of trail involved a gnarly bushwhack; something that's unpleasant when dry and absolute misery in the rain. So I called up Girl Scout and asked if I could sleep on his floor while waiting out the storm.

Long story short, Girl Scout is awesome, and very generously put me up for a day while the last round of storms moved through. While at Girl Scout's, I also met Sam and Gaia, hikers a few days ahead of me who had just finished up. We all met up with another SDTCT veteran for dinner that evening – a terrific hikertrash get-together.

Girl Scout dropped me back off at the trailhead the next morning and nothing notable happened for the last three days of my hike, except when my sleep was interrupted by a hundred screaming boy scouts. But that's a story for another day!

The Sketchy: On Day 7, I went through an area of private property. This is the big downside of the SDTCT. A decade ago, there was a vibrant trail organization advocating for the SDTCT and the trail had the support of various federal, state, and local land managers, who all put plans together to build the sections of trail that crossed their various lands.

But of course, that kind of thing is political, and priorities change, people retire, etc, and ten years hence, the trail remains incomplete. Suffice it to say that there are many sections where the trail isn't complete, and continuing forward entails some pretty blatant trespassing on private land. I passed a house that had a shot-up naked mannequin in the front yard – not exactly a welcome mat! I must have hopped 20 different gates on this route. As much as I enjoyed the route, I probably wouldn't do it again until the private land issues are resolved. According to an old newspaper article I read, the county was picking up the liability for hikers crossing private land while the trail remains incomplete... I'm not a lawyer, and that seems rather suspect to me. Besides, crazy coots with shotguns rarely care about whose liability is whose.

The everything else: I went to Snow Canyon State Park, Valley of Fire State Park, Sequoia National Park, and Joshua Tree National Park. But I'm not going to comment on those because only my relatives are still reading and people are giving me the side-eye at the McDonalds PlayPlace as I type this. So I should probably get going!