If you followed our blog last year, we thank you. We also apologize. What we expected would be only a short break beginning last fall has ended up being a four-month hiatus.

We won’t burden you with a mundane, tediously long explanation for our absence from the blogosphere. Broadcasting the minutiae of our personal life isn’t our purpose when blogging, and we trust it’s not what you’re seeking when you visit hikingcamping.com.

The intent of our blog is to inspire you to hike and camp by providing you with specific, practical, albeit enthusiastic suggestions based on our recent ventures, many of which are beyond the scope of the guidebooks we write and publish.

Now that we’ve resumed blogging, we hope you’ll hang with us again in 2011. We’ll do our best to post once a week.

Just bear in mind, hikingcamping.com is a molecule of a company. The entire full-time staff comprises just two people: me (Craig) and Kathy. And our goal has always been to spend maximum time outdoors, hiking and camping. So it occasionally becomes impossible for us to maintain a quality, reader-focused blog.

At the moment we’re in southern Arizona, near Tucson, camping beneath the Santa Catalina Mountains. When not working on upcoming books, we’re hiking. Though it’s mid-January—the heart of winter—the weather is warm enough that we can stride all day in T-shirts and shorts.

So far, we can strongly recommend several hikes in the Pusch Ridge Wilderness:

• a 17-mi (27.4-km) round trip gaining 3200 ft (975 m) to Romero Pass via the Romero Pools in Romero Canyon

• a 10-mi (16.1-km) round trip gaining 4000 ft (1219) to Mt. Kimball via Five Finger Canyon

• an 18-mi (30-km) loop gaining 1600 ft (488 m) up Sabino Canyon to Hutch’s Pool, then returning through Bear Canyon past the Seven Pools

• the 6-mi (9.7-km) Phoneline trail gaining only 600 ft (183 m) while traversing the east wall of Sabino Canyon between the visitor center and the final tram stop (end of paved road)

And—presuming you’re a camper, not a hotel softie—we can say with certainty that the ideal place to base yourself here is Catalina State Park, in Oro Valley, just off Oracle Road. It’s big, well organized, not overly refined thus reasonably priced, and located at the mouth of Romero Canyon, where a trail network begins at the campsites.

Catalina State Park is also a short drive from a dizzying array of shops and restaurants, which to us seems bizarre but is, we confess, convenient and enjoyable. Whole Foods Market, and Sprouts Farmers Market, Trader Joe’s, all of which are natural-foods grocery stores, are nearby.

Mexican food, our favourite cuisine, is ubiquitous, excellent, and temptingly affordable. After a big day hiking the Catalinas, we beeline-it to a unique Mexican grill called Chipotle (www.chipotle.com), or to a contemporary tacqueria called Rubio’s (www.rubios.com).

Heck, winter hiking can be such a hot, sweaty activity here, we’ve even patronized Orange Leaf Frozen Yogurt.

You’re a fellow Canadian, and you’re in Canada right now? We hope you relish winter, as most Canadians do, and therefore don’t feel taunted when we rave about winter hiking in Arizona.

You’re a genuine, snow-lovin’-and-proud-of-it Canadian? We urge you to consider a mid-winter vacation to this exotic land of saguaro cacti. It’s dreamy this time of year. Hiking opportunities are abundant and superb.

We’ll be back soon with continued hiking/camping advice we hope you’ll put to use when you come down here to thaw and explore.

Regardless where you’ll be hiking, here’s to a high-mileage 2011.

Does this describe you?

(1) You hike frequently, so you spend a lot of time driving to trailheads, many of which are remote, some of which are accessible only via unpaved roads. You ask more of your vehicle than do most people. You either own a vehicle with high clearance and perhaps 4WD, or you often wish you did.

(2) You backpack as well as dayhike, so you’re not just a hiker, you’re a camper. You enjoy frontcountry camping (between home and trailhead) as well as backcountry camping. If you don’t own an RV, you often wish you did.

If our assumptions about you are correct, you’re much like us, so perhaps the research we’ve recently done on tow vehicles (TVs) and travel trailers (TTs) will interest you. First, however, we’ll explain our background so you’ll understand our subjective commentary.

For most of our lives, Kath and I have owned smallish, gas-sipping vehicles. And we’ve done the vast majority of our camping in tents—not just while backpacking, but while travelling for months throughout western North America and Europe.

We briefly owned a Volkswagen Eurovan Westfalia camper but found it desperately underpowered and woefully under-equipped for long camping journeys. Then, for a few years, we owned a 4WD Dodge Ram V10 truck saddled with a Bigfoot camper. We loved having our mobile basecamp waiting for us at the trailhead after a long hike. Ahhh, we could relax. We were out of the cold, the wind, the bugs. We could cook a proper meal. We could take a hot shower while still far from civilization. And we could sleep in a real bed, off the ground, in a secure shelter heated by a furnace. That was bliss, especially at the end of a backpack trip, and particularly during long stints of guidebook fieldwork. Having a basecamp at every trailhead actually enabled us to hike more often, explore farther, and do so with greater energy and enthusiasm.

But the Ram was a thirsty beast. A nearly constant 11 mpg became financially stressful and ethically uncomfortable. Plus a truck/camper combination is not sufficiently nimble to travel the roughest roads accessing the most distant trailheads. So we temporarily scaled back to a Toyota Rav4 and resumed tent camping.

Our V6 Rav has better-than average ground clearance, 4WD capability up to 40 kph, and gets acceptable gas mileage. It also has an astonishing towing capacity for its modest size: 3,500 lbs. So our intention was to eventually buy an ultralight TT—perhaps a T@b teardrop trailer, or something similar—to pull behind the Rav.

An ultralight TT, we figured, would be the ideal, mobile basecamp: economical, arguably eco-conscious, yet vastly more comfortable than our tent. When necessary, we could leave the TT at a campground, then—unencumbered—drive challenging roads to remote trailheads.

After four years of driving the Rav and camping in our tent, we need a change. Because the Rav isn’t a serious off-pavement machine, we knew we’d have to hoof it the final (and sometimes considerable) distance up some 4WD roads to far-flung trailheads. But we’ve done that too often. Our work demands that we spend our precious daylight hours hiking the trails, not the access roads. Plus, after seriously studying TTs, we’ve begun to reconsider the Rav as a TV. Yes, there are many, small, ultralight TTs the Rav can pull, but finding one that not only has the features we deem essential but also appeals to us personally has proven difficult.

Most ultralight TTs have a cheap appearance because they’re almost universally made of white fiberglass, which undeniably looks like plastic and ages equally fast. And many ultralight TTs feel cheap because they in fact are cheap. Little or no insulation, water tanks that are neither heated nor insulated, thin mattresses, no front windows, press-board cabinetry, etc.

RV manufacturers have the same modus operandi as home developers: Use flimsy materials, poor-quality furnishings, and zero imagination to extrude a soul-deadening supply of white, seemingly plastic boxes that—yawn—all look alike. No wonder most RVs rapidly lose substantial value.

We don’t believe cheap materials are necessary to achieve light weight. Nor can we comprehend why the interiors of these ultralight TTs are almost universally bad imitations of 1970s home decor. Why can’t an RV simply be an RV? Why must it try to look like a dated, tasteless, ranch-style home, and fail to achieve even that absurdly misguided goal?

For that matter, why do most RV manufacturers persist with all those childish, gaudy, exterior graphics? And what’s with all the ridiculous names? Cutesy misspellings (Komfort, Fuzion, Kountry Aire, N’Tense, Phenix, Starflyte), pompous monikers (Presidential, Rolling Thunder, Destiny, Tsunami), and outright threats (Avenger, Prowler, Conquest, Outlaw) seem to be the industry norm.

A company calling itself Entegra Coach managed to misspell an RV name that attempts to be both pompous and threatening: the Entimidator. Riiight. I really want to tug around a giant RV, essentially a mobile billboard, announcing in bold, colourful letters that I have an inferiority complex and am laughably illiterate.

T@b

T@b (www.tab-rv.com) is a gulp of fresh air, and not just because of its original, intriguingly inscrutable name. Their ultralight TTs have a refreshing, retro appearance, and their interiors are decidedly contemporary, seemingly Scandanavian. (If Ikea designed a TT, it would look like and feel this). They’re also very light. Though construction quality seems adequate, they clearly aren’t designed to go off-pavement. (Check out the minimal clearance between the tires and wheel wells). They also have only a tiny fridge and no shower, so the T@b is not a trailer that will serve us for extended backroads sojourns. We applaud the T@b for dispensing with an onboard toilet. (You don’t need a toilet when you’re in the woods, and frontcountry campgrounds have toilets.) But the T@b is expensive for what you get. A larger, more fully-outfitted version called the T@da was briefly available, but the manufacturer (Thor Industries) has discontinued the T@b and the T@da.

Rpod

The Rpod (www.forestriverinc.com) seems to be the T@b’s successor. Its growing popularity is impressive. It’s certainly a more complete home than the T@b. The Rpod has a big fridge, huge holding tanks, a powerful furnace, a wet bath (combination shower and toilet)—everything one expects in an RV except insulated, heated tanks. Yet the Rpod is still light, with a GVWR (gross vehicle weight rating) just barely within our Rav’s towing capability. You can buy a new Rpod 171 (our favourite model) in Calgary for about $17,000. But we won’t. The Rpod just looks and feels too cheap. Yes, it has a shower, but the stall is hunch-your-shoulders narrow. Lacking a front window, the Rpod feels like a panic room. And the damn thing looks like a child’s birthday-party favour. Stepping out of it, I felt I should have red hair and a bulbous nose that honks when I squeeze it. We’ve nicknamed the Rpod the  “the beachball.”

Camplite

Another ultralight TT we’ve considered is the Camplite (www.livinlite.com), which we’ve nicknamed “the tin can” because it’s the opposite of the Rpod. The Camplite is contructed almost entirely of aluminum. It’s strong yet light. And there’s nothing cheap about it, though it remains reasonably priced for what you get. Outwardly it has a distinctive, boxy, utilitarian appearance. But the interior has an extremely cold, industrial atmosphere. It looks and feels like the rear section of a passenger jet, where the stewards load their beverage carts, and the pre-cooked meals are stored in hatches: not a place you really want to hang out. Sadly, the shower in the Camplite is as small as the one in the Rpod. And the Camplite has a fridge and heater that run only on electricity, not on propane, which severely limits how long you can “boondock,” “drycamp” or, as we call it, “free camp” in the backcountry. (With your lights, fridge and furnace all draining a single, deep-cycle battery, that battery will be flat dead too soon.) Insulated / heated tanks? Nope. The Camplite is clearly intended for use in temperate climes at commercial, frontcountry campgrounds bristling with electrical sockets. That’s just not us.

Northern Lite

Yet another TT we briefly considered is the ultralight 16-footer made by Northern Lite (www.northern-lite.com). Northern Lite makes superb truck campers. But in our opinion, they blew it when they designed their trailer without a wet bath. They offer an outside shower as an option. But taking a shower outside is not an option for most of us most of the time. You could perhaps understand an RV manufacturer in Florida making that mistake. But Northern Lite is a Canadian company. They should know that an outside shower on a crisp, fall evening in the Canadian Rockies would not be a pleasure; it would be torture. Other manufacturers fit showers into tiny TTs. Attention Northern Lite: a shower please?

Escape

Escape Trailer Industries (www.escapetrailer.com) is another Canadian company that builds ultralight 15-, 17-, and 19-ft TTs. Even the 15-footer has an optional shower. They’re a small company with a strong reputation for personal service. When you order your Escape, you can choose from a list of options, so you essentially purchase a custom TT. But the Escape isn’t the answer for us. Escape TTs have no insulation to speak of, and the holding tanks are neither insulated nor heated. Delivery can take months from the time you order. And we think the Escape is way too expensive for what you get. A neighbour who’s happy with his Escape summed up our objection to it when he described it as “a summer trailer only.” In the Canadian Rockies, summer is pitifully brief.

Casita

The Casita (www.casitatraveltrailers.com) is a molded, fiberglass TT similar to the Escape. We’ve spoken with many Casita owners who are very content. But we rejected the Casita for largely the same reasons we did the Escape: little or no insulation, holding tanks that are neither insulated nor heated, and a price that seems to exceed the value. The Casita also has a slightly less homey atmosphere than the Escape. There’s so much exposed fiberglass (rather than wood) in the Casita interior that it feels like a small, spartan sailboat. And, while not a deciding factor, we find the Casita company’s relentless, flag-waving nationalism obnoxious.

After seriously considering and eventually rejecting the T@b, Rpod, Camplite, Northern Lite, Escape, and Casita, we’ve turned our attention to the TT we’ve always found most appealing: the Airstream.

TO BE CONTINUED

I just posted 29 items for sale on the MEC Co-op Online Gear Swap. It’s all high-quality clothing and equipment made by Patagonia, the North Face, Lowe Alpine, Royal Robbins, Smith, C.A.M.P., Ibex, Valhalla Pure, Granite Gear, etc. And I bet all of it will be gone—purchased and in use by someone else—before Christmas.

I’m not telling you this so you’ll check out the stuff Kath and I are selling, though please feel free to do so. I’m telling you because the MEC Gear Swap is a brilliant service, and I strongly recommend it.

When you sell your un-used gear, you’re not simply recyling it. You’re doing something much better than that: You’re making sure it gets re-used.

All those recyclables that you and we take to our local recycling bins each week? How much good is that really doing? I have no idea. But ensuring that a perfectly useful item continues being used via the MEC Gear Swap is certainly worthwhile compared to keeping it in a closet until it’s so outdated nobody wants it and you end up having to drop it in a recycling bin.

Gear swapping is especially worthwhile if you price your items reasonably, making them affordable for people who might otherwise have difficulty purchasing a comparable new item. By doing so, you make the outdoors just a little more accessible to others, enabling them to get out there and hike, ski, mountain bike, road cycle, climb—whatever—with clothing and equipment that increases their safety, comfort and enjoyment. The more people who appreciate the outdoors, the more voices in the conservation chorus.

Another benefit of the MEC Gear Swap is that it can enrich your life—not just monetarily but socially, by introducing you to some good people. The prospects who contact you about the items you’re selling will probably be a lot like you: enthusiastic about the outdoors. They might be very different from you: perhaps living in a distant corner of our vast country. Either way, you’ll almost certainly find you can trust them.

Over the years, I’ve sold hundreds of items on the MEC Gear Swap. Only once was I disappointed. It happened when I sent an item C.O.D., and the person declined to accept it, which meant I paid the expensive cost of sending the item C.O.D. plus the return postage. In every other case, the people I’ve sold gear to trusted me completely and were themselves completely trustworthy. As a result, the MEC Gear Swap constantly bolsters my faith in humanity—or at least in the outdoor-oriented portion of humanity.

Gear and clothing that Kath and I were no longer using is now being used by people in numerous states, all ten provinces, and two territories. We’ve yet to sell anything to someone in Nunavut, but that’ll happen eventually. Today, someone emailed me about the SteriPen water purifier I’m selling. Guess where he’s from? Walkerton, Ontario.

Gear that Kath and I have purchased via the MEC Gear Swap has logged hundreds of kilometres with us on trails all over the world. Some of it was new in every respect other than a 50%-or-greater price reduction. (Attention frugal shoppers: Christmas is fast approaching.)

If you’ve never used the MEC Gear Swap, you should try it. Here’s the link:

http://www.mec.ca/Apps/outdoorGearSwap/gearswap_main.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=1408474396038596

MEC continues earning my patronage for many reasons, and their online Gear Swap is one of them.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

New Zealand has marketed itself to hikers more successfully than any country in the world. True, NZ is blessed with gorgeous scenery and has an enviable number of tracks (trails), but those aren’t the only reasons it ranks high on many hikers’ life lists. Kiwis are smart. Their nation’s natural beauty is an infinitely renewable resource, so they sell it—hard. In doing so, they sometimes exaggerate.

Case in point: the Tongariro Crossing. Kiwis convincingly tout it as “the world’s greatest day-trek.”

They’re entitled to their opinion. And, granted, it’s a subjective matter. But having hiked the Tongariro Crossing three times during the past 20 years, and meanwhile having also sampled a lot of the most spectacular hiking terrain elsewhere in the world (Patagonia, French Alps, Sierra Nevada, Alaska, etc.), Kathy and I can say with assurance there are many day treks more deserving of “the world’s best” label. We hiked one of them just last week: the Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit, in Yoho National Park, in the Canadian Rockies.

Is the Alpine Circuit the best dayhike in the world? Perhaps. It certainly ranks among the supreme ten.

Compare the photos above. The top six are from the Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit. The bottom three are from the Tongariro Crossing. Where would you rather hike? We believe most hikers will agree the Alpine Circuit offers a scenically superior experience. So why doesn’t Canada market the Canadian Rockies with anything approaching the cunning and savvy with which Kiwis market New Zealand?

We hope the Lake O’Hara Alpine Circuit is on your radar. Before you go, read Trip 14, page 89, in Don’t Waste Your Time in the Canadian Rockies, the Opinionated Hiking Guide. Meanwhile, here’s our advice…

If you’re reasonably fit, begin the day by ascending to Wiwaxy Gap. Next, follow the Huber Ledges to Lake Oesa. From there, descend back to Lake O’Hara. Allowing plenty of time to gaze and take photos, this abbreviated loop will take you about three or four hours.

You’re fit and keen? Continue from Lake Oesa, onto the Yukness Ledges, then down to Hungabee Lake. From there, descend the East Opabin trail to the south shore of Lake O’Hara. Total hiking time: five to six hours.

You’re very fit and super keen? Proceed west along the north shore of Hungabee Lake. Work your way onto the All Souls’ Traverse, beneath Schaffer Ridge. Ascend to All Souls’ Prospect for a new panorama of the entire region. Then descend the Big Larches trail to Lake O’Hara, arriving there about seven or eight hours after you began hiking.

Click on “comments” (below) to see what others are saying, then join the discussion.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

Though the Canadian Rockies have received significant snowfalls recently (late April and late May), and the high ridges and passes—even in the front range—remain white, several hiking trails in southern Kananaskis Country are now snow-free. Raspberry Ridge, for example, is topped with an active fire lookout from which you can marvel at a 50-km (32-mi) chunk of the Great Divide—a continuous wall of peaks comprising the backbone of the Rockies. We hiked there just a few days ago.

From Highwood Junction, where Highways 940 and 541 intersect, the Raspberry Ridge trailhead is just 11 km (6.8 mi) south on unpaved Highway 940. It’s a 9-km (5.6-mi) round-trip hike to the ridgecrest. The 653-m (2142-ft) ascent is comfortably gradual much of the way, then steepens sharply for the final approach. Still, it’s a relatively easy hike, ideal for your first mountain venture of the season as long as you’re reasonably fit. From Calgary, the Raspberry Ridge trailhead is a mere 1.5-hour drive.

For a full description of the Raspberry Ridge hike, as well as all the other premier trails in Kananaskis Country, purchase our guidebook Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies (http://www.hikingcamping.com/hike-locals-rockies.php). It includes several early-season hikes near Raspberry Ridge, such as Mt. Burke, Junction Hill, Grass Pass / Bull Creek Hills, Hailstone Butte, and Windy Peak Hills. The trail to the defunct fire lookout atop Mt. Burke will soon be snow-free if it’s not already.

Until June 15, Highway 40 is closed to vehicles between Highwood Junction in the south and King Creek (Smith-Dorrien Hwy 546). So, to access the early-season hikes listed above, you must drive Hwy 22 to Longview, then proceed northwest on 541 to Highwood Junction.

This annual highway closure, though annoying if you want quick access to early-season hikes in southern K-Country, presents an exciting opportunity if you’re a cyclist. That’s because Highway 40 is snow-free well before vehicle traffic resumes, which essentially makes it—if only for a few weeks—a paved cycle-path traversing a huge swath of spectacular, mountain wilderness.

The ascent to Highwood Pass (the climax between the two gates blocking vehicle traffic) is longer and more gradual from Highwood Junction. On this leg, the Highwood River is often nearby, and you’ll pass several picnic areas. The advantage of starting at King Creek is that after completing a shorter, more grueling ascent, you’re rewarded with a sustained, exhilarating descent. Bear in mind: We’ve encountered grizzlies while cycling on both sides of Highwood Pass, so bring a cannister of pepper spray and keep it within quick, easy reach on your bike.

To learn more about the Highway 40 cycling trip, purchase our guidebook Done in a Day Calgary—The Ten Premier Road Rides (http://www.hikingcamping.com/cycle-rockies.php). It will also point you to other, magnificently scenic stretches of pavement including those near Waterton, Red Deer, Drumheller, Canmore, and Banff.

Ideally, load your daypack and your bicycle into your car, along with your tent and sleeping bag. Then drive into southern K-Country for the weekend. Hike Raspberry Ridge on Saturday. That evening, pitch your tent nearby at Cataract Creek campground. On Sunday, drive back to Highwood Junction, get on your bike, then ride to and from Highwood Pass. Sitting down at your desk on Monday morning will then be a welcome experience. Plus you’ll have something genuinely interesting and impressive to tell your officemates when they pose the inevitable question, “How was your weekend?”

Cataract Creek Campground has more than 100 sites. Our favourites are the first six or so on loop A, where the creek is clearly audible. These sites also afford views beyond the lodgepole pines, across a nearby meadow, to the mountains beyond.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

The Hole-in-the-Rock Road (HITRR) departs Highway 12 near Escalante, Utah. Running southeast into the desert, below and parallel to the Kaiparowits Plateau, it slices through Grand Staircase – Escalante National Monument and probes Glen Canyon National Recreation Area.

Where the HITRR departs pavement, it looks like any of the hundreds of humble dirt roads in Utah. But for canyon-country hikers, this is THE road, because it leads to trailheads for numerous premier hikes. Along the way, it provides access to lots of unofficial but superb campsites.

In May, while on a backcountry-research trip to update our book Hiking from Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country, we once again drove down the HITRR. We re-hiked…

Trip 23  Peek-a-boo, Spooky, & Brimstone Gulches
Trip 26  Willow & Fortymile Gulches
Trip 27  Davis Gulch

We also re-hiked the actual Hole in the Rock: from road’s end, down to the shore of Lake Powell. It’s a hike that, for various reasons, we did not include in Hiking from Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country. Now we can supplement the book with this up-to-the-minute field report.

As of last week, a low-clearance 2WD vehicle can negotiate the HITRR to Dance Hall Rock at 36 mi (58 km). In a few places, you’ll have to cautiously work around minor obstacles, or keep your speed up through sand. Beyond Dance Hall, you need a high clearance vehicle. Beyond Davis Gulch, 4WD is advisable.

We comfortably drove our Toyota RAV4 (7.5 inches of clearance) to about 51 mi (82 km), just past Davis Gulch. A steep slickrock ramp discouraged us from driving farther. We parked, resumed on foot, and soon encountered a patch of deeply corrugated slickrock we definitely would not have driven. It didn’t matter. We enjoyed hiking the final 4.5 mi (7.2 km) through desolate high-desert.

The panorama was engaging. Fiftymile and Navajo mountains are the dominant sights. Still draped with snow, Navajo was especially dramatic. Not a single vehicle passed us. We saw no other hikers. The solitude was delicious.

The road is obvious, and there are no forks, so navigation is not an issue. Just keep walking, or driving, to road’s end: 55.5 mi (89.2 km). Immediately ahead is a prominent cleft in the sandstone cliffs. Hike into it. This is where Mormon pilgrims in the Hole-in-the-Rock Expedition built a “hanging road” and safely, miraculously, lowered all their wagons and stock to the Escalante River.

Read a description of the expedition (pages 140 through 143 in Hiking from Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country), and you’re in awe of their superhuman feat. Stand here, and see how impossibly vertical, rough, and forbidding their ascent route actually was, and your response soars beyond awe into speechlessness. This is where Mormon missionaries, keen to up their success rate, should bring their conversion prospects.

It’s a moderate scramble (no exposure, but frequent hands-on moves) most of the way down to Lake Powell. The final descent to the lake is on a steep, sandy trail strewn with loose rock. Distance from the top of the “hole” to the lakeshore: 1 mi (1.6 km). Elevation loss: 800 ft (244 m). Even in May, it’s hot, thirsty work. Carry at least three quarts (liters) of water per person.

Lake Powell remains cold until June. We “swam” for all of about three minutes. But after May, the weather can be too hot (90° F / 32° C) for hiking. So it’s best to wait until late September to hike here. The weather will be cooler, the lake warmer.