Get Out!

The problem with gear reviews is that, with a brand new piece of gear, you can’t apply perhaps the most important test: the test of time. I’d like to re-review a selection of products from the last couple of years to report how they’ve fared: The Good MBT anti-shoe . After a year, this shoe looks practically new and still provides a supportive, comfortable stride for my (often aching) back. Worth the $250 you’ll have to kick down if you’re willing to take care of these shoes. Sierra Designs Spark 15 sleeping bag . I had sworn off Sierra Designs after purchasing a raincoat from the company that was neither waterproof nor breathable – in fact, it was the first thing to get soaked and the last thing to dry out – which I found out the hard way, hiking the Colorado Trail. But the Spark was the only 800-fill down bag I could find at the time of purchase, so I went for it. Turns out Sierra Designs knows what they’re doing with sleeping bags. This bag is so warm I’ve dubbed it The Furnace. ...

While we were reporting a destinations article on Breaks Interstate Park for Get Out!, photographer Attila Horvath and I situated ourselves at the Towers Overlook above the Russell Fork, which is the whitewater run that snakes its way through the park. As we sat at the overlook, the fog lifted like a stage curtain and it revealed a view complete with an oxbow in the river, which cuts the steep gorge. I asked Attila how deep he thought the valley was at that point. “Let’s see,” he replied, “Seneca (Rocks) is about 900 feet above the valley …” I could tell he was thinking the same thing I was. First, what’s a good point of reference? For us, Seneca Rocks, WV is a good reference point for 1,000 feet – Seneca’s South Peak is about 900 feet above the river and we are intimately familiar with the rocks, since we’ve started at the bottom, topped out, and returned to the bottom so many times. The Russell Fork Gorge was definitely less than 1,000 feet. Here’s why I asked: As I did research on ...

Last time my partner and I were climbing at the New River Gorge , we decided to try some new routes, so we cracked opened the guidebook. We wanted to hit high quality routes, so we looked for a star rating next to the route name. We chose some 5.6s and 5.7s. For those of you who don’t climb, that’s on a 5.0-5.15 scale. Routinely, the guidebook rated each moderate route – every one an aesthetic crack climb easy to protect and requiring some technical skill – “good for its grade.” Meaning: good but … But what? Good if you can’t handle the harder stuff? Good if you’re having an off day? Good enough for shitty-ass climbers like yourself? Good but I can’t admit it if I regularly climb 5.12? “Good for its grade” is never in the description for harder routes. Well I’ve been on a multi-pitch 5.6 route at Seneca Rocks that beat every single (all right, the very few) 5.11s I’ve ever climbed. And guess what? I don’t feel like I have to make excuses for climbing a route that I thoroughly enjoy, w...

I remember vividly the photo in the gear catalog: Someone cozily tucked in to their tent with the copy (paraphrasing), “You can’t get junk mail here.” That captures for many of us why we desire wilderness. No junk mail. No e-mail. No phone calls. Google recently announced that it will start taking images of bike paths and hiking trails as part of its Street View option on Google Maps. But do we really want Google taking images of trails? What’s the idea behind that? To look at the trail on your iPhone instead of hiking it? To look at images of the trail while you’re hiking it? Absurd. More importantly, what does this mean for privacy? In our regular lives, there is no privacy. A camera takes a picture of you driving or walking across the street. You can always be tracked down via your cell phone. Google knows what websites you’ve been searching, what books you’ve purchased online and who knows what else about you. I go to the backcountry (even the frontcountry) to get away from that. T...

Have you ever thought of opening your own campground just so you could do it right? I have. Too many campgrounds have been designed (if they’ve been designed at all) by people who don’t use them. I think the only perfect campground in the Ohio River region exists in my mind’s eye. Let’s start with why we choose to go to a campground. There are usually two main reasons: price and convenience. A backcountry site is often free and better than a campground, so a campground is not really competing with a backcountry site. It’s competing with and beating a hotel on price – usually. Some of the worst “campgrounds” – RV ghettoes – are some of the most expensive. I once pulled into a KOA out of desperation and a “campsite” was $54! No thanks. But really, we usually camp for the experience of being outdoors or to launch our hiking/mountain biking/rappelling/paddling/geocaching/whatever adventures. Here’s my starter list for the perfect campground: Privacy. At the perfect campground, you should ...

I had the pleasure of taking a 9-year-old girl on her first rock climbing outing last weekend at the Hocking State Forest Rock Climbing and Rappelling Area . Then I had the – well, I wouldn’t say pleasure – of seeing her Junior Girl Scout Badge Book. Flipping through the guide, I truly couldn’t believe some of what I saw. Did you know that young Girl Scouts can earn a badge for Looking Your Best? I am not making this up. The actual sew-on badge features a hairbrush, a comb and a mirror. Then here’s the badge big oil somehow managed to get into the Girl Scout curriculum: Oil Up. The badge is an oil derrick and it only goes downhill from there. (In fairness, the guide has a photo of a bear with spilled crude oil on her fur. She is definitely not looking her best.) It’s not all bad, of course. There are plenty of standard badges – Swimming, Adventure Sports, Finding Your Way (compass skills) and Being My Best. There are even some progressive elements in the Girl Scout Badge Book – the Car...

The tagline for Get Out! magazine is “outdoor adventure in the Ohio River region.” As an outdoor adventurer, I only occasionally ask myself what adventure is. Sometimes it’s like porn: you can’t define it, but you know it when you see it. According to Merriam-Webster.com, adventure is defined as: 1 a: an undertaking usually involving danger and unknown risks b: the encountering of risks 2: an exciting or remarkable experience 3: an enterprise involving financial risk It’s interesting that the dictionary definition of adventure largely invokes the word risk. If adventure were strictly defined by risk, then driving a car to the trailhead would be the most adventurous part of your trip (see What Will Really Kill You Outdoors ). But there is some truth to that – backpacking in bear country is definitely adventurous and largely because it’s so risky, or at least it feels risky. Ditto whitewater rafting, skydiving, rock climbing, BASE jumping, biking in rush hour traffic and so on. I’d like...