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03.2014 BACKPACKER 9 By Dennis Lewon Editor’s Note I’d known the weather risks when I planned a month on the route in winter, but I wanted to hit the trail out of season, which would make “wild” camping easier (backcountry camping in the U.K. is a gray area in most places, but usually discouraged, especially when trails are busy). Still, I didn’t think it would be this bad! Except when I was in my tent, I was wet. I woke up each morning, put on my soak- ing trail clothes, and hiked hard enough to keep hypothermia at bay until I climbed back in my tent at the end of the day. I considered abandoning the hike after just three days. After five days of nonstop rain, I was past considering—I was ready to quit. But even in my soggy state, I convinced myself to finish out a week. So I pushed on, another day, and vowed the seventh, Sunday, would be my last. Sunday dawned with the same gray light as all the previous days, like the sun had gone south for winter and left the moon in charge. The rain came down as hard as ever. The wind had not let up. But on the west coast of Cornwall, on a stretch of trail that was exposed to the full meteo- rological assault, I encountered a hiker going in the opposite direc- tion. I watched the figure mate- rialize out of the sheeting water. I expected a farmer on an emer- gency mission, perhaps going to rescue some stray sheep. But no. It was a woman who appeared to be in her 60s, wearing high rub- ber boots and carrying a sturdy black umbrella, which she had to keep angled into the wind so it wouldn’t collapse. She smiled, and told me she never missed her Sunday hike. She didn’t even mention the weather. How could I quit? I kept hiking north along the storm-lashed coast. The weather didn’t get better, but I slowly got better at coping with it. I learned a lot of the tricks you’ll read about in this issue, from keeping water out of your sleeves (page 35) to protecting a tent in howling wind (page 37). Most importantly, I learned that a little know-how can make any trek better, which is why we’ve collected dozens of tips to help you prepare for adverse conditions, whether it’s a broken zipper (page 38) or a broken ankle (page 43). But, before my English sojourn ended, I learned something else you won’t find in this issue. When that intrepid, gray-haired dayhiker shamed me into stick- ing it out, she also showed me how much attitude matters. She wasn’t enduring the weather, she was enjoying it. And that’s some- thing that requires no skill at all. How to Do (Almost) Everything You’ll find a ton of useful tips in this issue—but some things you have to learn for yourself. Want to help a good cause while having a life-list experience yourself? Last month, I announced a special fundraising climb on California’s Mt. Shasta next June (two trips: June 5-7 and June 7-9). Join me, and you’ll score free gear, attempt one of the country’s classic volcano routes, and raise money for Big City Mountaineers, a nonprofit that mentors teens on wilderness trips. Details: back- packer.com/shasta. What do you love about backpacking? How can we help you do more of what you love? Share your vision for BACKPACKER and help us make the magazine even better. Join our Reader Advisory Panel, make your opinions count, and be entered for a chance to win a $200 Visa card. Sign up at backpacker.com/ readersurvey. Join Me On Mt. Shasta Tell Us What You Think Hike it The South West Coast Path lived up to its rep. I recommend going spring through fall (southwestcoastpath.com). P H O T O S B Y ( C L O C K W I S E F R O M T O P ) ; A N D R E W B Y D L O N ; C H R I S B O S W E L L / A G E F O T O S T O C K ; A N D R E W B Y D L O N ; I M A G E B R O K E R S / P H O T O S H O T England’s South West Coast Path is said to be absolutely stunning. It hugs the shoreline of Cornwall and Devon for 630 miles, tracing rugged bluffs and rocky coves and passing through picturesque seaside villages. At least that’s what I’d heard; I didn’t actually see any of it my first week on the trail. Rain blew sideways so hard I had trouble looking beyond my feet. It was late January, and the wind and wet rolled across the Atlantic and pounded the coast with a force that threatened to flatten my tent.
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