What’s the difference between all these two-person backpacking tents?

October 16, 2006
What’s the difference between all these two-person backpacking tents?

Question: There are so many backpacking tents out there; can they all be that different? What is a solid two-person tent for $250 or less that best combines light weight with durability?

— Bill
Columbia, Missouri

Answer: Indeed, there are many, many two-person backpacking tents on the market. But if you look carefully, you’ll see that most of them are remarkably similar. They typically have three poles, usually two that run from corner to corner, and one that is mounted transversely to help balloon out the fly. They usually have two doors, placed either at the centerpoint of each side, or toward the “head” of the tent. Materials tend to be very similar, although higher-end tents may use some of the newer alloys in the poles.

So what to look for? If I were to go out and buy a new tent tomorrow, my considerations would be, in order of importance:
Weight: I’d want it to be under five pounds.
Door placement: I like two doors, toward the head of the tent.
Ease of setup: If I need the directions, it’s too complicated. I prefer clips to sleeves for holding up the canopy.
Size: I’m of average height so all tents fit me and most of the people I hike and bike with.
Price: Within reason, which is somewhere around $300.

Based on those parameters, what would I buy? Probably Black Diamond’s Firstlight (www.bdel.com), one of a new generation of single-wall tents that use coated Epic fabric to create a tent that’s light (three pounds, three ounces), tough, and rainproof in all but heavy, extended downpours. It does, however, cost $300, so that’s outside of your announced budget. And the Firstlight isn’t for everyone. Because it lacks a fly, you’re going to get wet when you open the door in the rain. And two sleepers under certain conditions are probably going to create a helluva lot of condensation.

My second choice would be Marmot’s Nyx (www.marmot.com), a traditional canopy-and-fly tent with lots of mesh, light and tough DAC poles, and a very reasonable trail weight of just under five pounds. It’s $275, but if you move RIGHT NOW you can find it on a couple of different websites for $240. It’s a good tent with state-of-the-art technology—and a little more conservative pick than the Firstlight.

In the absence of sales, and with budget a genuine constraint, then REI’s Quarter Dome (www.rei.com) likely is the winner. It’s light (just over four pounds), has a weather-resistant canopy-and-fly design, and uses good-quality materials. It’s a tad small (28 square feet), so not ideal for big campers. But it’s a great buy at $209.

Days abroad blend into everyday life

Words, customs, flavors linger upon the return home.

By Terry Ward
Columnist
Posted October 1 2006

I can't say if it's jetlag or some form of post-travel blues, but for the first few days after returning from a long trip abroad, I am always slightly disoriented stateside.

It could be my tendency to operate on autopilot when I revert to the comfortable surrounds of home. That heightened sense of awareness I experience while traveling sometimes adapts blinders in my day-to-day life.

On the Indonesian island of Sumbawa, maneuvering a car required the attention of an air traffic controller. The roadside, even the road itself, doubled as everything from a convenience store and a neighborhood gathering spot to a makeshift mosque. I often felt like the frog trying to cross the road in Frogger -- even inside my car.

But back in Orlando, marginally aware that I am operating a motorized vehicle, I will find myself idly flipping through familiar radio stations while cruising through electronic tollbooths on super smooth highways.

Often, it's English that finally jolts me with a loop of reverse culture shock.

Last year, the day after I returned from a summer in France, I found myself eagerly turning into the parking lot of a chiropractor's office after spotting a large sign labeled "Pain?" Yeah, I wanted some pain. I could almost smell the pain au chocolat baking, flaking off in sweet papery layers. My brain, still stuck overseas, had misread the sign as the French word for "bread."

Another time, after a year living among low-key New Zealanders and backpacking around Southeast Asia, I spent my first weekend home at a bachelorette party in South Beach. The Southern sorority girls gabbed about people I had never heard of transitioning from B-list to A-list (celebrities climbing the tabloid fame ladder, it turned out) and a new Oprah Winfrey-inspired diet involving "bad whites." After a few puzzling moments, I realized they were preaching against eating white-hued foods, such as pasta, potatoes and rice. "I'd like to see Oprah try that sort of anti-rice proselytizing in Vietnam or Laos," I said with a laugh.

Alone.

It is always fun to come home to new slang. Learning new words -- "peeps," "deets" and "bling" after one trip -- feels like a crash course in cool.

Even my gut instincts take a while to adjust, especially when it comes to the rules of the road. And in America, as opposed to many racetrack countries, there are many.

Recently, after two months in Indonesia, I was pulled over by a state trooper on I-95. As he sidled up to my car in that slow, deliberate, I've-got-all-day manner, I was thinking this: "In Bali it would take about $5 to get this guy off my back. Factor in America's higher cost of living and the current exchange rate, and what should I slide this dude -- a $50, perhaps?" Fortunately, I snapped back to where I was before I could pull my wallet from my purse and attempt bribing an officer.

After spending weeks touring Vietnam on a scooter, I had to make a conscious effort to lay off the horn when I returned home. In Ho Chi Minh City, there is nothing rude or aggressive implied in incessantly tapping one's horn. Knowing how to manipulate the little button coaxing long brooding beeps or short insistent toots, depending on the situation, is essential to surviving the death-defying insanity that passes for driving in the former Saigon.

American food usually takes some adjusting to again as well -- particularly the SUV-sized portions -- though you'll never find me complaining about free refills and safe tap water that arrives tableside automatically. Whenever I am outside of America, it is margaritas, Tex-Mex and fresh Florida sushi that I miss most.

Nevertheless, after returning from France, I refused to shop anywhere but the cheese case at Whole Foods for a week. Just the smell of imported stinky brie and oozing epoisse brought me back to languorous lunchtimes in my Toulouse flat in a way that Kraft Cracker Barrel just can't.

Following travels in India, I boiled milk, Assam tea and cardamom buds for chai in the mornings, temporarily abandoning my a.m. coffee habit. And when I returned home from Vietnam, I sweetened my morning java with condensed milk instead of sugar, often lobbing in a few ice cubes (yet stifling the urge to sip the coffee from a plastic bag, as is the handy to-go custom on the streets of Hanoi).

Before long, however, such attempts at sustained cultural immersion become impractical and I revert to my American staples: Publix subs, takeout sushi, copious amounts of chips and salsa, and drip-style caffeine injections that come in large foam cups.

As easily as my tastes adjust to being home, it seems, so do I. But just the chance to return to a familiar place and see it in a new light is already worth the journey away.