My first impulse was to rationalize: surely no self-respecting outdoorsman would design a backpack this way. But they did. Now I'm I'm staring at the re-taped Gossamer Gear box, debating the next step and rehashing that old truism: you know it is real when you can't wish it away.
![By C m handler (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqkXbWE64HB8YddHGQNMLrmga8jJ-VNpR5zFw8LLwnICcrkMcIp6yGlD_GD6lW2JTGrUqpp7v6MWeEQHRwncn8ibFXgQAy6fbXFgKmYpZhcpt1cXD9D67Tq3L55CCgQT4WKfBN4YQFGM/s1600/2048px-Meteor_Bolide+%25281%2529.JPG "By C m handler (Own work) [CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)], via Wikimedia Commons")
The morning was bright and blue and fresh air slid down from the mountains. I was itching to get up there, but the months have been slipping by and I was determined to finish the chapter on how Grant beat the bureaucracy and won the Civil war. 1
At least I was determined until I heard the UPS truck turn up the block. The sound of an approaching UPS always holds such promise — the promise it will stop here. It's hard to think of anything else until it passes. Today it stopped.
I dashed down just in time to see the man-in-brown gracefully spring into the truck and pull away to spread his material joy elsewhere. He left a box on the mat with the big letters "Gossamer Gear. Do not cut with a knife." From that instant, my plan for the day was scrapped.
 |
| Gossamer Gear Mariposa |
I ran my hand inside the 65-liter Mariposa. Roomy. The 140-denier Dyneema Gridstop fabric felt crinkly and looked stylish. The seams were dotted with handy "D" tabs. The back pocket was a stretchy mesh. The side pockets stayed closed with snappy elastic. There was no bladder pouch or other interior structure. It was just a big cloth bag with big pockets. This would be different from my old-reliable Osprey.
I was ready to assemble. I studied the directions for guidance. They were written in an indecipherable, vendor lingo that I believe is based on English. Impatience got the best of me. I struck-out out on my own.
I started with the internal-support stay. It slid into a stitched interior sleeve and was secured by a heavy velcro tab. The fit was tight, like a size-10 foot in a size-9 shoe. Worrisome, but nothing ripped. I pulled the empty pack over my shoulders. It pushed in the wrong places like a right shoe on a left foot. The stay was in backwards. It was a slow start.
I slipped off the pack, fixed the stay, wrestled the hip belt in place and affixed the sternum strap. Lastly I bullied the foam back-pad that into a stretchy mesh that held it in place. I slipped my arms through the straps again and fastened the belt. Wow! There it was: all 27 ounces. It was like nothing.
I went to the mirror and twisted about like a haute model (albeit a bald, soft-belly one.) The straps rested nicely on my shoulders, the sit-pad curved nicely into my lumbar and the hip belt set perfectly on my hips. So far so good. Time to fill the Mariposa with my stuff.
I dug the backpacking boxes out of the closet. They were untouched since last Fall. I poured the contents into a jumble and sorted them into familiar piles: tent parts, sleeping bag, pad, bear canister, cook kit, water bladder, water bottles, purifier, clothes, ditty bags, freezer-bag cozy, maps and electronics. It was still second nature. I have organized my pack the same way for years; I hate spending most of my hikes looking for things.
I compressed the sleeping bag and stuffed it in the bottom. Then the bag of clothes. Then the bear canister filled with 7 pounds of weights and held in place by ditty bags. I wedged the cozy behind the cannister as a cushion and slipped a filled 3-liter bladder down the the back. The Gossamer Gear braintrust had engineered away the bladder sleeve and provided a useless little "D" tab for suspending the bladder. Hooking the bladder to the "D" tab was about as easy as maneuvering a sofa around a stairway landing. This would never do on the trail.
Fortunately, many of the world's engineering problems can be solved with duct tape or braided cord. I was up to the challenge. I cut a 6-inch piece of cord and ran it behind the velcro strap on top of the stay. I then hooked the bladder to the cord and secured it with a genuine square knot. Not fancy, but it would do. While I was at it I added a extra cord for for a key leash.
I pressed on with a renewed faith in my engineering prowess and a diminished regard for the geniuses at Gossamer Gear. The tent snuggled nicely into the large side pocket. The cooking gear and water filter and bottles fit conveniently in the small side pockets. Rain gear, camp shoes and leave-no-trace kit in the back pocket. As a finishing touch, I cinched the sleeping pad under the shockcord atop the fold-over cover. I stood back to admire the result. It looked ready for the Sierras.
I eagerly hoisted the pack. The bear cannister careened about inside the pack and I nearly toppled. In my haste, I had forgotten to tighten the tension straps. I slipped off the pack and realized why. There were no tension straps! I looked twice, three times, to be sure. Sure enough, no tension straps. This was a big problem.
Being inspired by first success, I hatched a solution: lace the pack up like a shoe. In fact there were four "D" tabs that appeared to be put there for that purpose. I sliced off another length of cord threaded it through the "D" tabs. It proved to be a one-eye closed, breathe-out operation and a humbling reminder why I was never suited to be a surgeon. Despite the struggle, the operation was a success; the pack was now stable.
But, there was one minor side effect: the lacing crossed over the back pocket rending about 20% of the pack useless. After about 30 seconds of careful study, I saw a solution: cut holes in the brand-new, back-pocket mesh and pass the cord inside the pocket under the rain gear, camp shoes and Leave-No-Trace kit. Given my penchant for converting repair into permanent damage, this seemed risky.
I was out of ideas, so I just swung the lifted pack onto my shoulders. I secured the hip belt and tightened the straps. This was a realistic load and the pack felt pretty good. However, the load was canted back and I had to lean slightly forward for balance. I pulled on the lifters to shift the load up and in. But, there was no lift, just an odd snugging to the shoulders with little effect.
I dropped the pack and examined the lifters. To my astonishment, both the shoulder straps and the lifters were sewn in at the same level as the top of the stay. In most packs the stay pokes an inch or so above the shoulder straps. That's where the 'lift' comes from. Not so with my brand-new Gossamer Gear Mariposa, there was nothing to give the lifters lift. This problem could not be fixed with nylon cord or even duct tape.
This was frustrating. How could such a fundamental design flaw go unnoticed? Surely the people at Gossamer Gear had their reasons. I had to be missing something. There must be simple answers. Perhaps, after all the months of setbacks, I was just short of patience.
Every couple minutes, they interrupted Dylan's Nashville Skyline with a reassuring "we care" message. While waiting, I heard all of side 2. Meanwhile, I decided to test this new Outdoor Research dry bag. I stuffed in the sleeping bag and compressed it into a deformed block of feathers. I had just rolled down the air-tight seal when tech support picked up the call.
"Gossamer Gear tech support. Take less. Do more This is Bobcat. How can I help you today?"
"I just bought a Mariposa and I'm having some trouble."
"I'm sure we can help. What's up?"
"I think my pack is faulty. It doesn't have tensioning straps."
"Actually, that's a weight saving feature recommended by our trail ambassadors. All our gear is tested by thru-hikers."
"That's reassuring..."
"Hold on a second," he interruppted. "I just gotta to finish this text." The line stayed open. In the background I could hear the rise and fall of unintelligible talking and laughing. "Sorry," he said. "What was the problem again?"
"There aren't any tensioning straps on my Mariposa."
"Right. I can send you our guide to lightweight backpacking. It has tips on how to pack your gear."
"Well Bobcat, I don't think that's gonna help. I need to stabilize my BV 750 bear canister. It feels like a bowling ball moving around back there."
"We don't recommend a bear canisters. Our trail ambassadors recommend a food bag. It's lighter."
"Good to know. Perhaps they could explain that to the Park Service?"
"I'm sorry?"
"If you hike the Sierras, the Park Service requires you carry your food in a bear cannister."
"Really?! That sucks."
"Doesn't it." I'm not sure he sensed that my agreement wasn't genuine. "So how do you suggest I cinch down my gear without tension straps?"
During the silence, I heard a pencil tap. "Could you wrap your sleeping bag around the cannister? That could work," he said.
I admit, I don't cope well with the Bobcats of the world. Something rises up. I don't want to give in. I want to shine a bright light and call out the gods of fairness. I want a reckoning. I want to right things. I can't accept the topsy-turvy. Someone needs to stand up, even in the face of certain defeat. Even though the outcome was certain, I was determined to see this through.
"There's another problem," I said.
"I'm sure we can help," replied Bobcat.
"It's about the lifters. The shoulder straps are sewn in at the top of the stay. The lifters don't lift."
"Oh yes! That was one of the major innovations recommended by our trail ambassadors. We saved a full ounce."
At that point, I knew I'd fulfilled my duty to higher principle. I could put an end to my troubles with a clear conscience.
"One last question Bobcat."
"I'm sure we can help."
"How do you get an RMA?"2
I'm worrying my keys and rethinking the 'if-onlys.' I've put enough duct tape on the box to ensure safe shipment to Kabul, nevermind Gossamer Gear. The extra helping of duct tape was cathartic. I sigh and reach for the box. Time to move on. UPS awaits.
 |
| Dry sack in action |
Bam. It hits me. Like I've walked into a low door way. If I can inflate the pack, I don't need tension straps. If the dry bag expands in the pack, it'll wedge the canister against the top closure. The shock cord should then be enough vertical tension to hold everything still. Voila! No need for horizontal tensioning; no need for tensioning straps.
But what if the canister isn't high enough to press against the top closure?
I rip the duct tape off the box and reassemble the Mariposa. I stuff dry sack with the sleeping bag first. Then the clothes, ditty bags, bladder and cannister. Then another flash. If I put the sleeping pad against the stay on top of the canister, it effectively extends the height of the stay and the lifters will lift. I add the pad, close the top and fill the side pockets.
I breathe deeply. The moment of truth.
I hoist the full 29 pounds onto my back. I buckle in, tighten the shoulder straps and tighten the lifters. They lift. The cant is good. The pack is stable and comfy. It fits like cold beer and pizza. I slump to the floor with immense relief. It's not perfect, but it's good. My search is over.
For a brief moment, I'm tempted to call Bobcat and share my discovery. Maybe he could help others. Then, my better judgement kicks in. They already have the Trail Ambassador seal of approval.
1. For new readers, or those who have better things to do that remember entries in this blog, the chapter is a part of my unnamed opus based on Edward Casaubon's classic work,The Key to all Mythologies.
2. Return merchandise authorization.