They may be backpacking鈥檚 most notorious do-it-yourself job: the duct-tape shoes Cheryl Strayed听made after watching one hiking boot tumble into oblivion and chucking the other after it (because what good is one boot?).

鈥淚 wrapped my socks and sport sandals in duct tape and I had a pretty darn GOOD听pair of boots,鈥� Strayed听told me via email. 鈥淚t still makes me laugh to remember them.鈥�

The hack was born of catastrophe, as are many awkward and unlovely鈥攂ut useful and necessary鈥攈omemade backcountry items. It鈥檚 one reason hikers make their own gear, but it鈥檚 not the only one.

Given backpacking鈥檚 glaring absence of luxury, one might be forgiven for thinking it鈥檚 a cheap hobby. It鈥檚 not. Just setting听yourself up听for a comfortable听overnight trip in the woods requires, at minimum, a sleeping bag, sleeping pad, tent,听and backpack. If听you select for average quality, buying these four foundational items could lighten your wallet by at least a thousand dollars. Throw in trekking poles, a stove and cooking equipment, raingear, a tent footprint, stuffsacks, trail runners, a base layer, a top layer, a puffy coat, a water-filtration system, a headlamp, a paracord, and a first aid kit, and there goes another grand.

But spend any time in the woods or in online backpacking forums, and it won鈥檛 escape your notice that backpackers听hail听from more than one socioeconomic stratum. Sure, rich folks backpack. (On long-distance trails, we call them 鈥減latinum blazers鈥� for the credit cards we presume they use for their Dyneema tents, custom-made quilts, and ultralight backpacks.) But ordinary people find a way to get out there, too. How?

Strayed was taking a great leap of faith into a healing journey. 鈥淚 had a mission, so I spent all the money I had on gear,鈥� she says.听But if long-distance hiking isn鈥檛 a question of life or death for you, or if you don鈥檛 want to spend all your cash, you can save听some money with a bit of ingenuity and pluck. Backpacking as a hobby self-selects for hearty souls鈥攑eople willing to endure its rigor and general unpleasantness hardly lack motivation or self-sufficiency. Making your own equipment听and knowing how to fix听gear that breaks or goes missing while you鈥檙e on a hike only听reinforces this self-reliance and builds听confidence.

Triple crowner Joe Brewer (who completed the Appalachian Trail in 2012, the Pacific Crest Trail in 2014, and the Continential Divide Trail in 2015) turned crafty when his first thru-hike was just a twinkle in his eye in 2011. The problem was, he says, 鈥淚 really just didn鈥檛 have the money to buy new gear.鈥� So he summoned the skills he learned in a middle school home-economics class. 鈥淚 slowly dabbled with making gear, borrowing my mom鈥檚 old sewing machine and figuring it out as I went.鈥� Brewer stitched himself a hammock, a tarp, and an underquilt using synthetic fabric, 900-fill-power down, and cord and cord locks that he purchased from online DIY suppliers such as ,听, and . All three items lasted him from Springer Mountain, Georgia, to Mount Katahdin, Maine. He had had no idea whether his homemade gear would work, 鈥渁nd then I鈥檓 hanging in a tree and I鈥檓 not falling out,鈥� he recalls.听Brewer鈥檚 YouTube channel, , now听brims with more how-to videos.

Even hikers who don鈥檛 have a sewing machine or the desire to build major items themselves can save money and dial in their kit to more precisely match their needs.

While I was hiking part of the AT in 2016, by far the most common handcrafted item I encountered was an alcohol stove. You can basically make this tool听,听and听at under two ounces, it weighs less than anything commercial. By cutting the bottom 1.5 inches off two soda cans, punching burner holes in one of them,听sliding the one with burner holes into the other one, pouring denatured alcohol into the resulting vessel, and lighting the alcohol, you have a basic stove.听Be mindful of the open flame.

Another common DIY item is a protective ground cover. Tent manufacturers sell footprints that match the dimensions of their shelters, but these are often听heavy and expensive (for example, the Big Agnes Copper Spur UL1 footprint weighs four ounces and costs $60). Instead, I bought a length of Tyvek, a high-density thermoplastic material听used in everything from house insulation to protective suits, which is waterproof and puncture resistant, from , the first outfitter that northbound hikers encounter on the AT, at buck-fifty a foot. (A note about Tyvek: it鈥檚 extremely noisy, especially when new, though it softens over time and use, a process you can speed along by running it through the washer without soap and letting it air-dry.) Amazon and eBay carry various sizes as well. Even lighter鈥攁nd, accordingly, flimsier鈥攊s Duck or Frost King window shrink film.

Some hikers punch grommets into their homemade groundsheets, which snugs听them to their tents鈥攅specially useful on rainy nights鈥攂ut I simply laid mine out and pitched my tent on top of it. A good rule of thumb is to cut the sheet a quarter of an inch smaller than the tent鈥檚 actual floor; if it extends beyond the tent鈥檚 dimensions, it will sluice rainwater right between itself and your tent floor.

A meal insulator, used for keeping food warm,听is a homespun innovation you can make. Stacia Bennett, a nurse in Asheville, North Carolina, who has backpacked more than 1,400 miles of the AT, made hers out of a cut-up car sunshade. She built it to fit around the quart-size听zipper bags she used to听rehydrate and heat听her homemade听meals. To create this听accessible DIY item, trace around your Ziploc with a Sharpie (leaving a little extra room for the bag鈥檚 eventual expansion), fold the car shade over to double the tracing, then cut the shape out, making the end of one side slightly longer听so you have a flap to fold over. Stuff your Ziploc with some balled-up paper to simulate supper, wrap the cut-out car shade around it, and duct-tape the seams. You can affix some Velcro to hold the flap closed if you want something really fancy. 鈥淚t worked absolutely wonderful,鈥� Bennett says.

By far my personal favorite hack is the hands-free umbrella rig.听Carrying an umbrella on a long-distance hike might seem silly, but everyone I met on my trek who had one counted it among their favorite items. The only drawback is that听you have to hold it, which means stowing a trekking pole and hiking with just one, and if you鈥檙e used to hiking with two, that鈥檚 a drag. One day, exasperated and wanting to attempt a rock scramble in a drizzle, I lashed the umbrella handle to my backpack鈥檚 chest strap with a bandana. The strap and handle made a cross, and I wrapped the bandana diagonally in all four directions, tied a crude knot, and tugged it tight. Presto, I was dry and using both trekking poles.

Families face special challenges in the backcountry, according to听freelance writer and mom Heather Balogh Rochfort. 鈥淲here we end up rigging the most gear is with our daughter, who鈥檚 two,鈥� she says, adding that although outdoor equipment does exist for kids, 鈥渋t鈥檚 not as technical.鈥澨齋he and her husband have a child carrier, but they customize it by draping it with 鈥渙ne of those superthin swaddles that every mother has,鈥� since the carrier does not offer 360-degree sun protection. Non-kid-related hacks that Balogh Rochfort uses include听taking a foil emergency blanket into her sleeping bag to add ten degrees of warmth and reimagining first aid applications for tampons, such as plugging bloody noses and bandaging cuts.

Bennett, the nurse, who is also wilderness first aid certified, adds that dozens of items not designed for medical care can nevertheless be put to that use. 鈥淎 trekking pole can splint a leg, a bandana can stabilize any joint, and you can use a shirt to create a sling,鈥� she says.

The world of DIY options is听great because it saves money and yields more precisely customized items, such as a sleeping bag that鈥檚 actually long or short enough for you or听a rain skirt that has pockets. More than that, it strengthens the DIYer. Bennett credits her time on the trail鈥攊ncluding having to MacGyver her way out of calamities such as a tear in a puffy coat she patched up with Second Skin听(usually used for blisters) and a raccoon-chewed hole in her pack sewed up with dental floss鈥攚ith giving her the confidence to fix her car once she got home. She听had a busted radiator but couldn鈥檛 afford a car repair, 鈥渟o I J-B Welded it back together,鈥� she says, referring to the epoxy.

Strayed echoes听the sentiment: 鈥淭he nature of a long-distance hike requires you to be innovative and to have a DIY spirit. You have to be able to respond to situations as they arise and all you have is what you have on your back, which is rather wonderful.鈥�

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Three years before the recent attacks that killed Ronald Sanchez and injured another hiker, I听attempted a thru-hike of the Appalachian Trail. I went by myself because my boyfriend didn鈥檛 like hiking and I couldn鈥檛 rope anyone else into joining me. Setting out from the trail鈥檚 southern end at Springer Mountain, Georgia, I encountered mostly solo hikers. It鈥檚 hard enough to decide for yourself to leave behind everything familiar and live in the woods for months; it鈥檚 even harder to talk someone else into doing it with you.

I walked 675 miles before an injury ended my trek. During that time, I was afraid of plenty of things鈥攍oneliness, cold, rain, and bears鈥攂ut not once did I fear another human.

This month鈥檚 attacks should have changed that. They should have proved my fearlessness was naive, and that the trail is not the harmonious space I felt it to be. To be sure, I鈥檓 shaken and saddened. But I鈥檓 going to keep hiking alone.

The trail鈥檚 hodgepodge of kindred souls provides听solace and fellowship. Many thru-hikers are as I was, searching鈥攚e propel ourselves along the path in order to sort ourselves out. For some听it鈥檚 a straightforward adventure, but for others it鈥檚 more urgent. For me it was ripping off the Band-Aid of middle-class complacency and seeking deeper meaning. For Sanchez, an Iraq War veteran, it was coping with PTSD.

Hiking alone makes me like people more. Not because I鈥檓 taking a break from them, but because I connect more deeply with the ones I听encounter. Backpackers might be eccentric听and in many ways diverse鈥攙arious walks of life, various reasons for hiking鈥攂ut we mostly share a stance of openness, trust, and generosity.

It doesn鈥檛 take long for the trail鈥檚 curative solitude to twist into triggering isolation, so I typically rejoice听at the sight of another person. My trail friends did the same. This 鈥淵ay, humans!鈥� attitude is an effect of听the strain of backpacking. A close-to-the-bone, transformative experience, it sands away the guard we wear in civilization, rendering our interactions more immediate and authentic. Because merely surviving requires so much effort, there鈥檚 nothing left over to maintain a wall between yourself and others.

I cried a lot while I was on the trail: tears of joy at a vista after days of rain, tears of despair at the prospect of another frigid night wedged between snorers at a shelter.

One long, lonely afternoon, I had been sniffling off and on for hours when another backpacker鈥攁 stranger鈥攃ame along, heading south. He gave his trail name as Mountain Man. He noticed my distress, offered encouragement, and stepped closer. His bushy beard contained bits of duff. Like me, he was sweaty and stinky.

鈥淐an I give you a hug?鈥� he asked.

Imagine this on a city street! Rather than recoiling, I felt my whole body relax, realizing the welcome truth that other humans existed and cared. I nodded and stumbled toward Mountain Man and we held each other鈥攏ot the standard North American A-frame hug, but a real embrace, long enough to ignite some feel-good hormones. Everything was going to be okay.

The trail has no screening protocol or security checkpoints, so bad guys can鈥攁nd probably will鈥攇et on again. As a community, we鈥檙e mourning and lamenting the violation of the trail as a haven; we like to think of the AT as made of magic and angels, not violence. Online, backpackers have expressed fear and dismay, some have argued the merits of carrying weapons against such a threat, they鈥檝e grasped at blame. But mostly they鈥檝e vowed not to give the murderer additional power by altering their itineraries.

Sarah Ruth Bates, a writer in Cambridge, Massachusetts, explained her decision to go ahead with solo hiking the 430-mile Oregon section of the Pacific Crest Trail this summer by referencing two recent assaults on street corners in her ostensibly safe neighborhood. 鈥淕un violence is so common in America right now,鈥� she told me. 鈥淚 actually feel safer on the trail.鈥�

Statistics collected by the support Bates鈥檚 intuition; the path is relatively free from crime. There have been ten hikers murdered on the trail in 45 years, including this most recent incident, according to Brian King, a conservancy spokesman.

Even if听statistically听it鈥檚 not that risky, we never know what鈥檚 in the mind of a lone stranger approaching us on the trail, but that鈥檚 true of anywhere we go. Few places in civilization offer what long-distance backpacking does: extended time in nature, the release from digital dependence, the shearing of our defenses that allows us to be present with each other as we seldom are back home.

These truths and my memories of deep trail friendships occupy more space in my mind than the knowledge of a murder鈥攅ven one that hit so close to home. The crime was truly terrible. The loss of Sanchez is crushing. But such horror is the exception. I鈥檒l be back on the trail, alone, and when I am, I鈥檒l hug the next Mountain Man I meet.

The post The Appalachian Trail Murder Won’t Stop Me from Hiking appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.