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A year ago

It’s what you do right now: someone comes to visit, so you ride the closed road and hike to Avalanche Lake.

McDonald Creek is going full bore, a kayakers impossible dream due to the Harlequin Duck closure April-September.

Some horsing around was done.

Compared to a year ago, conditions are impressively different. The trail up to Avalanche has only a modest amount of snow near the very top.

The lake itself is almost fully thawed.

And the high country is just beginning the long process of drying out.

Last winters avalanche destruction.

For my own part, the legs are coming back around from last weekend, and I’m excited to get out deep into the rewarmed landscape.

Posted by DaveC | April.29.2012 | Categories: Bikes and biking, N.O.S. | Leave A Comment »

Flooding

M’s sister is here visiting. She got sun for the first few days, but rain and cloud today. I’ve been swamped myself at work, which is a good excuse because I cannot begin to keep up.

The last weeks very warm spell has meltoff at full bore. The main Flathead a few miles from our house almost hit 50,000 cfs today, setting an all time record for this date in the process and hitting a mark it often never reaches in a year. Flood stage is right around the corner with rain in the forecast, but I do love just sitting and listening as it churns by.

Bill is glad the race was last weekend, as the Blackfoot is now at 12,200 cfs! This trend may not continue, and there is still plenty of snow yet to melt, but I feel confident enough to say that the high country will be snow-free early this year. What this means for the Bob Open is much harder to say.

The first Tulips are blooming, and we had to cut the grass a few days ago. I saw a few Glacier Lilies up high during the race last weekend. It is spring now.

Posted by DaveC | April.27.2012 | Categories: N.O.S. | 3 Comments »

Rossignol BC X11 v. Fischer BCX 675

I’ve discussed the conundrum that is nordic backcountry ski boots before, and no doubt will again. I’ll reprise my wish list for such a boot at the end, but given that it does not yet exist, comparing these two will have to suffice. Refer to my thoughts and pictures of the Fischer boot in this post for comparison.

A good nordic BC boot should stride very well, have enough support to (survival) turn and edge 70mm waisted skis in most all conditions, and be able to hike for miles in varied terrain with no blisters and modest efficiency. It should be warm, waterproof, absorb minimal water when soaked, and dry fast. It should also be light.

The balance between hiking/striding and turning/stopping will be a continually negotiated problem for as long as skiing is skiing. There will be better or worse solutions for various skis and skiers, but few inherently wrong answers. The rest of the qualifications listed above can already be answered by existing technology, and thus both boots failures to fit these criteria is merely a subject for excoriation. I realize most users are probably taking these on day trips, but that is still not a good excuse for makers to not have their shit in order.

The 675s were 2 lb 7 oz a foot in size 45. The X11s are 2 lb 12 oz a foot in size 45, which is totally ridiculous. Boots in this category, especially those with the less beefy performance of the X11s, should be sub 2 lb a foot. Putting fit issues aside (read about my irreconcilable differences with the 675s here), the 675s are a substantially beefier boot. The sole is stiffer and much more resistant to twisting flex, and the upper is both taller and more supportive. Compare the photo at left, of the X11, with this photo of the the 675. The former is soft and easy flexing all the way down to the stitching below the R, allowing the plastic cuff to pivot and the whole thing to move freely. The 675 has fiberglassish reinforcement in the upper heel (white material), and thick pleather all around the ankle. The cuff of the 675 is less substantial than that on the X11, and it lacks the ratcheting buckles, but the stiffness in the soft material of the 675 means it strides worse and controls skis much better than the X11.

Different users will prefer one over the other. I like the enhanced striding on the X11, though I didn’t find the sole stiffness of the 675 problematic for hiking. I’d prefer the X11 was more like the 675 in this respect. Softer uppers can be compensated for, to a certain extent, by strong legs, but only if the sole is decently stiff. Adding to my displeasure, most of the weight in the X11 seems to live in the sole, without adding the benefit that it should. Boo.

The ratcheting upper buckle on the X11 is no better than the velcro strap on the 675, and I’d probably prefer the latter for the sake of simplicity and weight savings. Neither boot has enough structure that high to make a ratcheting buckle worth much. The lower buckle on the X11, however, is eminently worth a ratcheting buckle, and this feature is a highlight of the boot. In my book laces don’t provide enough resistance against foot movement when schteming for all you’re worth down a narrow trail, or straining to turn skinny skis in deep snow. The lower buckle on the X11 does a fantastic job of keeping the foot locked in under duress.

The X11 seems about as warm as the 675 but has ‘thermo-moldable’ material inside which is much less squishy than that in the 675. This stuff is supposed to mold under body heat, a claim I very much doubt and thus far see no evidence of, but it’s perfectly comfy and absorbs a lot less water than that in the 675. Both boots are mostly waterproof. I sealed all the lower seams of the X11s once I decided to keep them, but haven’t put this to a rigorous test yet.

Fit of the X11 is fairly middle of the road. My heel stays put well enough, and unlike in the 675s my forefeet have enough room, and there is no pinching or other nonsense. The inner bootie and lacing is secure and adapts to a wide range of feet. The vibram sole of each boot is, as far as memory tells me, identical and quite functional for hiking on rocks and dirt. The X11 is far from a perfect boot, but because it fits and hits a decent performance balance it will be my main nordic boot until something better comes along. It matches well with my Outbound Crowns (70/60/65), though due to the softer sole I’d hesitate to use it with anything much wider. I would not use it with my Guides (109/78/85) or Hoks (120/109/120) save in close to ideal powder. The later would be manageable due to the short length and easy turning design. The 675s, being substantially beefier, could ski the Guides in corn, though not on resort hardpack.

The ideal nordic boot with be a synthetic, primarily soft fabric double boot with a thermo liner from a company like Intuition. The outer would match a sole like that of the 675 with a cuff like the X11. The taller liner would provide a bit more support while still allowing good flex. Most importantly, the design would be warmer and much drier under real backcountry conditions. Especially in the spring, keeping boots totally dry is not realistic. Designs ought to start addressing this.

Posted by DaveC | April.26.2012 | Categories: Skiing, Tech | 6 Comments »

Grizzman recovery and tech

No recipe here: just a ribeye, hot grill, and a bit of salt and pepper after.

I’ve mentioned before that recovery is not only important, but something many athletic adventurers seem quite bad at. I only have a layman’s grasp of how connective tissue and muscles interact, but my sense is that strength in the former often caps the extent to which the latter can be used. Last week, I was increasingly concerned that the run of activity starting with the Craters trip had left me behind the recovery curve, with little time remaining. My calves and ITBs were creaky and tense and in need of regeneration. I pointedly dialed back the weekend, only riding hard for around 2 hours that Sunday, and only rode to work all week (with an extra opener ride on Thursday evening to make sure my legs hadn’t fallen too deeply asleep). The strategy worked, though I put off the substantial soreness in my legs today in no small part to imperfect recovery.

The next question is then how much recovery I’ll need in the next ten days, and when can I start ramping things back up again. The first two weekends in May will be crucial, with the Bob Open on the 26th and a taper weekend before that. Another ~10 day recovery period leaves three weekends in the middle of June before a taper for the Classic in early July. This sort of simplicity in athletic progression can be both reassuring and frightening; I’m nowhere near acceptable Classic shape, but I know that six well-placed weekends and enough rest is all I need to get there. So long as I can make those trips count.

Nutrition is a big part of the recovery that will let that happen, but the mental game will be even more important in the next two months. The forthcoming trips will be really stressful, and without sufficient mental recovery maximal physical effort, the cornerstone of this whole process, will not be possible. For me, having a happy and satisfying leisure and work life outside of training is critical, and something which needs to be planned along with everything else. The other side of the mental game is that I’m immensely excited to get out and do these training trips, which will be destination events in their own right. One huge benefit of living where we do.

All that said it’s worth mentioning a few nuts and bolts from the race this weekend, for the record. I ate 8 gels, 3 snickers (1 reg and 2 peanut butter, which are more moist and thus faster to chew), some jerky, and a redbull. I had a bit of Heed in the 3 liters I started with, but drank straight water for the second half. A few more gels would have been welcome late, but overall this got the job done.

I carried water, spare food, clothing, and mandatory gear in the Black Diamond Bbee (left), which has fast become my favorite little pack of all time because it fits me so well. The effect of pack width and the subtle shaping of the pack bag and shoulder straps isn’t given enough voice, no doubt because much of it is highly individual. A lot of it isn’t, and having a pack that sits between the major upper back muscles and isn’t cut along a straight line will predispose it to carry well, across load sizes and weights. In addition to that pack I used a brand new Osprey Grab Bag as a fanny pack, which held map, food, and our race passport. I spun it around towards the back on the go, and around front when I needed stuff. In the past I use less convenient and secure ways of holding the map and passport, nerve wracking when loosing the later would earn a DNF. I’m looking forward to seeing how grabbie functions when attached to a pack. My hope is to use this as a substitute for hipbelt and side pockets, which can also be used for side hikes, fishing, and worn while packrafting just in case a swim separates me from the boat and the pack tied to it. The combo of the two packs made for a fast, dialed race setup I’d use again unchanged.

Race day started coolish (40s F) and drizzling. I wore Patagonia Speedwork tights, synthetic boxer briefs, an Icebreaker 150 LS crew, a Pertex Equilibrium vest, Rab Cirrus hoody, Specialized cyling gloves, and a buff. The tights were great, and we didn’t have enough continuous bike miles to make cycling shorts necessary. The upper body system was good the first part of the day, I was always damp but never cold. I used the wool, contrary to my usual habit, when recent home tests revealed that it outperformed the entire Capilene range in terms of water absorption as a percentage of dry weight. Later in the race I was reminded why I don’t like pure wool, when the warmer temps and slow drying shirt gave me some nipple chafe. Next time I’d ditch the wool and keep everything else the same. It’s worth noting that the Cirrus just nails pocket placement; they’re both big and totally useable with a waist strap, a concept many makers find hard to grasp.

Lastly, Bill and I both rode geared hardtail 29ers and agreed they were perfect (both having used fullys last year).

Posted by DaveC | April.23.2012 | Categories: Backpacking, Bikes and biking, Racing | 1 Comment »

Grizzlyman Adventure Race report

As defending champions, Bill and I had a simple burden this weekend; anything other than a repeat would have been a disappointment. The Grizzlyman is a great race precisely because of the open course, consequent reliance on strategy, and the inherent uncertainty this creates. Points accrued from checkpoints determines finishing order, with time only used a tiebreaker. You could be beaten by someone finishing after you, and not seeing anyone else on course for hours means nothing when it comes to predicting the quality of your finish.

When I got my race number Friday afternoon, I knew it was all but a foregone conclusion.

Strategy is the defining factor at this race, and the most important reason Bill and I have now won twice. Last year we had a great strategy which played to our strengths (i.e not running), and this year we managed to do the same. While the race has been in the same area for four years, and our resultant familiarity is useful, the location of checkpoints and overall strategy changes significantly from year to year. We had 59 checkpoints again this year, and in contrast to last time they were weighted, with more remote stations being worth 2 or 3 points. Success or failure at this race begins Friday night a little after 7pm; the minute passports are handed out. We repaired to a campsite 15 minutes away, busted out our secret weapon, and proceeded to plot points with unprecedented accuracy. By 11pm we had eaten dinner, plotted our points, and had solid tactics and strategy for the next day. I slept well in the back of the truck as it kept drizzling.

Last year we had several moments which cost us time, aside from the numerous tricky checkpoints. One was my flat tire on the way back to the boating transition. I setup stout tires with lots of Stans last month. The other was Bill’s urgent use of a tree in the dark an hour after starting. This year I set my alarm for 3:50 and made potent cowboy coffee to get things moving before the 5am start.

We had decided on something of a gamble first thing; a detour in the dark on the way to our bikes to pick off a deceptive 2 pointer. It was less than a mile from the road, but placed in an area we knew to have been logged somewhat recently and thus be a perfect example of the terrain which makes the Lubrecht forest such ideal adventure racing terrain. There are enough trees left standing and shrubby new growth to limit line of sight, no distinct landmarks or handrails in the terrain, and lots of crap to trip over. Neither Bill nor I do this stuff at any other time during the year, and while I fancy myself a good navigator in the woods, the eyes-up practice of efficient off-trail travel is poor practice for precision orienteering. For this reason, we make limited use of bearings and rely heavily on our altimeter watches, hitting the correct contour and walking it to find the station. Last year this was pretty imprecise. This year greater experience and confidence in our plotting had us hitting most points quite close to dead on. That first point in the dark set the tone for the rest of the day, and we were excited and relieved to find it within 30 minutes of leaving the start.

My Karate Monkey’s drivetrain over the last 6 months: 36 and 24 chainrings, 13-17-20-25-30 cogs. Front is shifted with an X9 twistie, back with a Dura-ace/Paul thumbie.

The bulk of the day was nondescript in its efficiency. We got our bikes and spent hours in the fog and drizzle riding to a corner in the road, hiking up or down (usually up) to punch a station, then hiking back down to repeat. We fueled well and kept a steady pace with no futzing or downtime. It was consistently damp, and had the wind picked up modestly would have been quite cold. My sore shins remind me that many of the hikes through the woods were, up and down, impressively steep. We played to our strengths, namely not running, and got the job done.

As the day wore on we had only three navigational complications. Towards the early afternoon, as the sun came out and things warmed, we cut sideways across a steep hill, riding an old logging road and deer trails to set up for two more checkpoints. Hiking up for one, we realized we were on the wrong ridge. Cutting over without loosing or gaining any elevation, we hit the correct ridge at the right spot and spent perhaps an extra 2-3 minutes on our detour. The second mishap was the only point we had to look for twice, and (in contrast to last year) the only point which was in an outright sneaky location. We could have found it with a bit more time the first go, but needed to get in our boat before 2pm (the river section is only open for 4 hours, and being worth 10 points is essential for success).

Two years ago the Blackfoot was running very low (~800 cfs), and I paddled solo in a canoe, working hard to dodge rocks but making up lots of time with my faster hull speed. Last year we rented a tandem ducky and had an innocuous run at slightly higher (~1300 cfs) flows. This year the river was rocking at 4000 cfs, and the main rapid was big enough that I would not have run it in a packraft. We kept the ducky pointed straight and had a clean run until the last wave of the last rapid, when my laziness let the back end get tugged briefly by the hole which put Bill and I in the water. I popped up to see Bill right in front of me, also holding the boat in one hand and the paddle in another, and we were back in and paddling for the takeout before we had drifted 20 feet. It was a good way to get the salt off my face.

After we took out it was back on the bikes to get the checkpoint we had missed earlier, and as many more as time allowed. We had a good plan to get a solid nest of points in the final hours, but it required a grind up 1000′ on a dirt road which put me into a dark and slow place. We topped the climb and got several more stations, but the watch was counting down and we had to leave ourselves a buffer for the unforeseen, and gave up searching for one and rode past another in the name of prudence. As it turned out we had enough points to win without that final jaunt, but it’s good practice to keep the hammer down all the way, and I went further into the cave spinning out my top gear trying to hold Bill’s wheel on the flat, tail-winded road back to the start/finish. One 300 meter section turned 90 degrees into a crosswind, which combined with my lack of drafting skills almost had me blow up for good. But we made it, were tired, cleaned up, had yet another memorable spaghetti dinner, and I slept very well on Mo’s couch.

While experience made the difference for us, it was less the experience of having been on the course before than the experience of working efficiently as a team and trusting each others pace and judgment. We consistently played to strengths without really thinking about it, and questioned the route when it needed to be questioned without drama or delay. It was excellent to win, but even better to finish knowing we selected the best route for us and raced it as well as we were able on that particular day.

It’s going to be a 24 hour next year, right Josh?

Posted by DaveC | April.23.2012 | Categories: Bikes and biking, Racing | 4 Comments »

Evie is the story of the day

Evelyn Stevens won La Fleche Wallone Wednesday, completing a five year journey, from Wall Street investment banker and Darmouth alum who had hardly ever ridden a bike to one of the best female road racers on earth, which has made her the perfect Walter Mitty for athletic women. What is more remarkable, especially insofar as Stevens’ promise is concerned, is that she won by out-thinking and then out-riding a women who is in the process of becoming the best female bike racer ever, the real next Eddy Merckx, Marianne Vos.

Vos is today, at 24, younger than Stevens was when she began riding seriously. In 2008 Vos won a gold medal on the track in Beijing, rounding out a run of force which also saw her win senior world titles in three disciplines (road, track, ‘cross). She was more accomplished than most top male pros will ever be by the time she was barely 22. Last year Vos blew the lid off the last apparent limit on her talents, the big climbs inherent in alpine stage racing, winning half the stages at the Giro Donne, the only approximation of a grand tour left on the women’s calendar, as well as the overall by 3+ minutes. That she did so via a foreboding duel with Emma Pooley, a tiny climbing and TT specialist who in prior years Vos could not touch in the mountains. The questioned loomed at the end of 2011: lacking any apparent weaknesses, would anyone be able to beat Vos in the years to come?

It seems that Stevens might be the most succinct answer to that question, if she can continue with what we saw this week. There are serious obstacles, not the least of which is a flaw common to racers who come late to the game, poor bike handling. Vos put well over a minute into Pooley on one descent at the Giro Donne last year, and after almost shutting down what became Vos’s race-winning attack at this March’s Trofeo Alfredo Binda, Stevens hit a pedal and crashed (start at 42:20) out of contention on an uphill hairpin.

The larger point is that in a world of road cycling where men’s racing is increasingly (with notable exceptions) conservative, women’s racing is not. For reasons I won’t get into this morning, it’s scrappy, intense, and often unpredictable. Good entertainment that would only be better if the television coverage were less anemic. Which is a topic for another day. Check out the Podium Cafe for more.

Posted by DaveC | April.20.2012 | Categories: Bikes and biking, Cultural critique | 4 Comments »

The beach

A tip from a coworker pointed me towards a very large beach very nearby. A short drive in the early evening, minimal searching for the TH, and a ride past a gate down a dirt road brought me out onto the sand.

Massive. 200 to 800+ yards deep, dead flat, and going on for miles. Huge lake to the south, valley to the north, small mountains to the west, big mountains to the east. Firm sand, a bit of gravel, and the occasional half buried snag in the middle.

Especially relevant now that all my river gravel playgrounds are underwater. I will be back.

Posted by DaveC | April.19.2012 | Categories: Bikes and biking | 6 Comments »

Even more fatbike freeride

Vid and outstanding ride concept from Drunk Cyclist.

Posted by DaveC | April.18.2012 | Categories: Bikes and biking | 3 Comments »

Gender, grading, and the mental game

My idea was to promote this new sport by challenging climbers to improve their technical skills to the point they were capable of “bouldering level” difficulty, but discourage the degeneration of bouldering itself into a numbers-chase.

-John Gill, on his invention of the first rating system for bouldering

The logical follow up to Gill’s statement is to question why attention to grades in bouldering is undesirable. The answer is basic: bouldering is the most democratic branch of the worlds most democratic sport. Running may, for example, at heart require only a pair of shoes (if that), but performing meaningfully at the top level requires participation in meets and races. Competition remains a thriving aspect of climbing, but the most hallowed achievements will remain ascents of climbs outside. Bouldering requires the least gear and least technical knowledge, which no doubt explains its status in the last 15 years as the most popular discipline in climbing. It is not only possible for a complete unknown, more often than not from a climbing backwater, to burst on to the public scene with world-class ascents, it is common place and to be expected. Even more since the proliferation of climbing gyms. As is the case with most sports, the top practitioners today are likely but not necessarily better than the best 50 years ago, because the genetic pool is bigger and competition is fiercer. This is not to say, for reasons I’ll come to presently, that had Gill or Robbins been climbing today they would have been even better.

They may have a silly name, but Louder Than 11 does excellent work. The following is their best to date.

My theory—again, likely to be unpopular with the ladies—is that women in general lack something that seems to be more common in men: not muscles, not wingspan, and not any of the other oft-cited reasons you hear for why the ladies are a few grades behind the guys. Rather what they lack is that particular brand of male arrogance that causes us to go out on our own and conquer unknown terrain. More specifically, women lack the belief that they can do things that haven’t already been done (usually by other women).

-Andrew Bisharat

I don’t find Bisharat’s thesis enormously compelling, but I do wholeheartedly agree with the underlying premise that mental attitude has much more to do with climbing performance than is usually admitted. While competition can spur an athlete on to greater things, the presence of peers is just as likely to predefine a limit of the possible. A mental construct which becomes a physical reality with startlingly definitive ease. Gill is a perfect example. Almost without exception his greatest achievements in climbing were done effectively in total isolation from a significant peer group, and often in obscure areas with little other climbing traffic (living in an Air Force Force base in central Montana, training without other climbers present, and driving long hours to climb the Thimble).

I like Sasha’s climbing because she is both strong and skilled.

This is why the preoccupation with grades in bouldering is so unfortunate, an irony only compounded when the fact that the V system was invented at the behest of a publisher is considered. Grades make more sense in the context of the commitment inherent in climbs taller than 30 feet. More people would climb better if they were able to decide whether or not a problem was possible only after having tried it, rather than after looking at a guidebook two weeks before the start of a roadtrip.

Posted by DaveC | April.16.2012 | Categories: Climbing, Cultural critique | 3 Comments »

Trailstar v. Shangrila 2

Two justly popular ~two person (plus gear) floorless shelters. Two different sets of strengths and weaknesses. We had a Trailstar from October 2009 until last spring, when I sold it to fund the Shangrila 2 we have today. I miss the Trailstar, but do not regret the switch. Read on to see if you might feel the same.

(Both photos from Craters; first by M, second by me.)

First, weight: the Trailstar is 17 oz stock (in silnylon). Seam sealing and guylines will add 3-5 oz. The Shangrila 2 is now sold as a bundle with stakes and an inner tent, but the outer was claimed as 23 oz out of the box. It is factory taped. Mine has a bit of sealer added in strategic places for the sake of paranoia, and I cut off the buckle/webbing adjusters on the four main corners and replaced them with dual position loops of cord (short for stakes, longer for snow anchors and deadmen), and also removed the inner mesh pockets and all the loops and toggles which connect the nest. With these mods and enough extra guyline for all but worst-case pitching, my Shangrila is 20 oz exactly.

The difference here is mainly that the Trailstar uses heavier fabric (30D v. 15D), and I would imagine more of it. That the Shangrila can have the zippered door and stiffened vents it does, and end up a comparable weight with modest modification, is a testament to the difference fabric makes. I’ve used both shelters in heavy rain and had no problems with either fabric. On weight it is essentially a draw.

Ease of pitching is one of main differences between the two, and the reason I switched. While the pitch speed of the Trailstar can be greatly enhanced with practice, the flexibility inherent in the (brilliant and innovative) five sided design is by nature fiddly. The Shangrila by contrast has one pitch, and goes up faster both the first time and after extensive practice. The long, narrow Shangrila is also a bit easier to fit into tight spaces. Given that I (and judging by ‘net traffic most everyone else) pitched the Trailstar about the same almost every time (see above), the advantage here is unambiguously Shangrila 2.

On the other hand, as far as construction quality goes the MLD blows Golite out of the water. The Trailstar is both simpler and put together in a far more exact manner. When it is pitched well every inch is drum tight with exactly the same amount of tension throughout. The Shangrila 2 by contrast tends to have a bit of slack in the side walls, and the stitching and reinforcement is a bit more pedestrian overall. The Golite construction is perfectly serviceable, and in the end the only functional difference here relates to weather resistance (see below).

The Trailstar is justly famous for a windshedding ability unrivaled anywhere near its weight class, and better than many shelters exponentially heavier. Provided you can get it anchored and guyed solidly, it would take truly strong (70 mph+ in my experience) winds to do much more than get it humming. I would not want to have the Shangrila out in winds much over 40 mph. This is partly due to design, with the larger sides of the Shangrila having inherently more vulnerability to gusts. But I suspect that if the Shangrila were built to MLD quality and with comparably precise cat curves and panel tolerances, it would handle 50 mph just fine (again, assuming extensive and bomber anchoring). The Trailstar will always have the advantage in high winds, but cottage quality is almost as important as design in this regard.

Conversely, the Shangrila gets the nod for snow shedding, due to the long and steep ridgeline created by having two poles. The Trailstar can be pitched with a tall, narrow door that will greatly enhance its resistance to collapse (in contrast with the wind shedding pitch shown above), but the Shangrila is still substantially better here.

The Trailstar gets additional points for this flexibility of pitch, as well as for elegance and aesthetics, and requiring only one pole. That the Shangrila easily provides 360 degree protection is a mark in its favor. While the Trailstar can be pitched all sides to the ground, the space inside becomes tiny and getting in and out quite comical. There’s a good reason you hardly ever see this option in use. There are other points to be made comparing the two, but they’re mostly trivial details.

In summary, both are excellent light shelters that will serve most users well. Those who require wind resistance above all else, tend to have roomy places to pitch their shelter, and value beautiful gear should pick the Trailstar. Those who prioritize snow shedding and easy pitching should pick the Shangrila. Both have, as of this writing, significant disadvantages as far as actually buying them is concerned. MLD has a long waiting period, and used Trailstars are in high demand. That Golite no longer sells the flysheet separately means that many users will pay more for something they will not often, if ever, use. There might be some older flys available individually, but they’re going fast.

Posted by DaveC | April.15.2012 | Categories: Backpacking, Tech | 4 Comments »