Picky Packer

One of the first things Emily and I did once we decided we were going to fling ourselves into this mad adventure was to lick our pencil nibs and start writing a List of Supplies. Top of the list was a decent backpack.  Knowing pretty much nothing about how to choose a serious rucksack, we got recommendations from outdoorsy friends on where to find a good selection near us in Northern Italy. We headed off one Saturday afternoon with The King of Rucksacks, aka Adam, driving us to the shop.  

I like outdoor shops. They make me feel like I want to get deep into the wilderness and be at one with nature whilst wearing and using all the right gear.  However, they are also full of all sorts of baffling things that you could never imagine needing but somehow are on sale and are obviously being bought by someone.  Or several someones. Like a Solar Shower – fill up the 5L pack, hang it in the sun for hours and eventually you can enjoy a hot outdoor shower. Or Mini Dehydrated Marshmallows, anyone? Flashlights for your shoes? Who gives backpack space to these kinds of things? Not serious travellers, surely!  Anyway, I digress…

The selection of rucksacks on offer seemed manageable.  About 20 metres of wall space in double rows. By watching traveller videos and reading some good websites, we already had an inkling that we were looking for around 50-65L capacity. So in my head, I eliminated 80% of the wall and then some as they were colours I didn’t like (didn’t tell the sales assistant that though).  That left about half a dozen to try on. Seemed easy enough. Wrong!

Firstly, just undoing all the straps and buckles in order to get the pack on your back was plain baffling.  Adam was rolling his eyes and using his special mollycoddle voice as he helped us (ok, me) get a pack on and adjusted.  Then he loaded in some hefty climbing ropes to help buckle my knees nicely and instructed me to walk around and get a feel for how comfortable it was.  Or perhaps uncomfortable would be a better description. Most packs were too high or the straps were rubbing off my neck or were too heavy on the hips. After about an hour of on, off, ouf, pant, groan suddenly I found The One!  It ticked all the boxes: the right fit for my back length, had a good hip belt, compression straps, chest straps, clips & hooks, pockets & compartments and was a pretty colour to boot. Happy days. The relief on the sales assistant's face was memorable.

While I was doing all this with Adam patiently supporting the process, Emily had been quietly working her way through a selection too and had already found her Intended.  A mere two and a half hours after entering the store, we were at the till diplomatically negotiating a decent discount with the cashier and singing 'Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag…' on the homeward drive.

Le grá,
Gill