cilogear makes packs

I just returned to the states from 7 weeks climbing in South America, where I put CiloGear’s 45L and 30L worksacks through numerous ordeals. I was especially impressed with the versatility of the 30L pack during my last climb in the range.

-Blake Herrington

With 48 hours remaining in my Patagonian trip, I was frustratingly resigned to spend the final two days waiting out storms, nursing a sore knee, and feeling sorry for myself. That depressing prognostication was altered by what looked like 25 hours of dry weather, timed to allow a last-minute climb. After which, bearing any epic descents or unforeseen delays (those never happen in Patagonia do they?) I would spend the night racing back to town in time for a 6am car out of town.

Mutual Washington friends introduced me to Jon Gleason, a northwest native who had climbed in the range in years past. He suggested the Cerro Torre valley as a good objective, an area of several of the fastest-drying routes in the range. I limped over to Jon’s tent 38 hours before I’d have to leave town in the other direction, and his incredulity at the size of my pack was immediate. I had paired down my alpine kit to 18 pounds, and included it all within the confines of my 30L worksack. I emptied my pack’s contents on the ground to assure John that I did indeed have a sleeping bag and food.

Meanwhile I  pulled the empty pack up over my feet and cinched down the top, simulating the lilliputian bivy sack I planned to use that night. With a 45L or 60L pack I can wiggle the majority of my legs into the space for some extra warmth when sleeping, but with this smaller bag, I wasn’t even able to reach my knees. In lieu of an ice pack, perhaps exposure during the cold night would do my knee some good.

This trip was my first to the Torre Valley, and I had heard nothing but complaints about the 12-mile approach, much of it on the Torre Glacier. My knee felt good and my pack felt almost nonexistent compared with the 40+ pound loads I been carrying elsewhere. Jon and I rolled into Nipo Nino base camp 3 minutes before headlamp-necesitating levels of darkness fell across the valley. The remaining teams were excited to get the next day’s forecast, and we traded stories with Belgians, Spanish, and a The North Face/Sender Films crew of gringos who had climbed and BASE-jumped from El Mocho the day before. The jump had ocured prior to a storm an all-night cluster-f%*k descent, leaving two chopped ropes hanging on the peak. We planned to do this route the next day and quickly headed off to bed. I found an overhanging boulder, wrapped myself in a one-pound sleeping bag, shoved my stinking feet to the bottom of my CiloGear pack, and shivered off to semi-sleep.

The approach and route (El Mocho – The Benitiers – 5.11 A2 ED-) went perfectly, with the day being one of the warmest I experienced in the range.

The follower carried our pack for the climb, with just some food, water, headlamp, and belay jackets inside.

I tried to remain aware of the ticking clock, and we began our rappels from the summit 15 hours before my carpool out of Chalten. We had noticed increasing clouds throughout the day, and wind gusts began to pick up as we cleaned the two stuck ropes off the peak. By the time we hit the slabs beneath our route, the trickles and small cascades had reversed course and now shot up into our faces in wind-assisted defiance of gravity. By the time we reached our camp, Fitzroy was lost in snow clouds and the summit of El Mocho was rapidly fading. We packed  up and skittered down the glacier, happy to be traveling with wind at our backs. Waves of rain slapped at us, washing the accumulated trail dust, granite dust, chalk dust, and tiredness from our hands and faces. By moving steadily we stayed warm through the storm, and even the additional pounds of an added rope and soaked gear carried easily in my 30L bag.

In the end I made it back to town in time for my ride. And as I spread my gear across the airport to dry, I was more impressed than ever with Cilogear’s 30L worksack, even if it doesn’t quite cut it as a bivy bag.

For a humorous look at Patagonia’s social scene, check out: Blake’s Climbing Blog