Columns: OF MOUTHS & MONIES [DAN SLATER]
DOUBLE DUTY Remembering that your outdoor gear can often serve not one but multiple activities can help your wallet and the environment.
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hen I first started this column back in 2016, it was to discuss the ethics and responsibilities of outdoor-gear manufacturers, and the ways in which they could lead the way in environmental practises. In effect, how they should put their money where their mouths were, hence the column’s title. Having exhausted my planned list of topics after about three years, I moved onto more general gear-related chit-chat. It’s been fun, but this month’s subject is a bit of a throwback to those mouths and moneys days. A few years ago I went snowboarding in Japan. (If you haven’t been—yes, it’s as amazing as everyone says.) It had been a couple of seasons since my last trip, on which my ancient skiwear, purchased for my first-ever ski holiday twenty years previously, had finally given up the ghost. Without any ski-specific clothing, I was basically starting from scratch. Now the conventional approach to taking up a snow hobby is to purchase a specific waterproof, insulated ski jacket and pants, and if you’re otherwise not an outdoorsy person that may certainly be the best way to go. If, however, you’re a dedicated lover of all things hiking, and you have a couple of grand’s worth of bushwalking gear, it seems silly not to make use of it. In essence, skiing or boarding requires almost exactly the same clothing systems as trekking: insulation, breathability, weather protection and comfort. In fact, a well thought-out layering system is superior to all-in-one skiwear in one very important respect—flexibility. Adjusting your temperature based on a change
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in activity or weather is far easier with a series of layers than with a single bulky item. The basic components are a nextto-skin base layer, one or more insulation layers, and a shell layer. Sunny day? Just wear a light insulated jacket and leave the waterproofs at home. Warm but windy? Reverse the system and go with hard shell only. Arctic blizzard? Throw the lot on and dive in. No, I didn’t fancy dropping a couple of grand on some new puffy threads when I had a closet full of winter-hiking and
SO RATHER THAN GO ON A SPLURGE WHEN TRYING OUT A NEW DISCIPLINE, HAVE
A LOOK AT WHAT YOU ALREADY HAVE.” mountaineering apparel sitting at home. So, I press-ganged my regular outdoor gear into service. Base layer: merino thermals and boxer shorts. Socks: thin toe-socks with thick hiking socks. Torso: lightweight polyester wicking t-shirt with a breathable synthetic jacket. Legs: hard-wearing softshell pants. Waterproof layer: hard shell jacket and pants. Gloves: down mittens with waterproof shell mittens. Head: ‘Buff’ neck gaiter and woollen beanie. Goggles: my mountaineering ones. Pack: 20-litre daypack. Safety: lightweight PLB rescue beacon. On my trip, I enjoyed a range of conditions from bluebird days to rain to frozen ice to deep powder to puking snow, and I
survived. I was never cold, never wet and never uncomfortable (except when sliding head first down black mogul runs and crashing into trees). This is just one example of using what you already own to do the same job for which society, and marketing agencies, are telling you to buy new, specific equipment. It may seem obvious, but not to some. That includes me, because in the past, I too have been guilty of pigeonholing my clothing and equipment. If I buy, say, a dry bag that’s designed and marketed for kayaking, it slots into my headspace as a kayaking accessory. I’ll store it with my kayak gear and use it exclusively for kayak trips. Then, if my hiking dry bag has delaminated, or somebody wants to borrow one, I won’t even think of my kayaking dry bag. It’s just not on my radar; that’s the way my brain works. So I’ll use an old, non-waterproof one and all my clothes will get wet and my head torch will drown and I’m suddenly $80 down. So rather than go on a splurge when trying out a new discipline, be it bike packing, trail running, canyoning or snowboarding, have a look at what you already have. My canyoning wardrobe (save the important safety equipment) consists entirely of old, on-its-last-legs bushwalking clothing. I think of it as a reward for particularly well-loved pieces, a chance to enjoy a last hurrah before passing on to gear heaven. Pivot, reuse, upcycle, call it what you will. Save money and resources, plus enjoy that little flash of pleasure that comes with identifying an object’s dual purpose. A spork with a bottle opener? Winning!
